Posting has been light lately. I'm in my penultimate week of work, i don't have a new job yet, and if my MTEL scores don't come in soon i won't be able to student teach until January, meaning i will have to start paying student loans now. So my anxiety has been a little overwhelming.
BUT, i started a new book this week: Misquoting Jesus, by Bart D. Ehrman. This is not a reflective spiritual journey, but a scholarly analysis of the Bible and how it happened. I've taken two classes on this subject already, not to mention reading tons of articles and blog posts and listening to sermons and my dad, so i know a fair deal about the Bible's history. But i'm only one chapter in and i've already placed a dozen sticky notes, so i'm excited about all the learning to come!
Introduction
"The Bible did have a revered place in our home, especially for my mom, who would occasionally read from the Bible and make sure that we understood its stories and ethical teachings (less so its "doctrines"). Up until my high school years, I suppose I saw the Bible as a mysterious book of some importance for religion; but it certainly was not something to be learned and mastered. It had a feel of antiquity to it and was inextricably bound up somehow with God and church and worship. Still, I saw no reason to read it on my own or study it." (pg 2)
I was actually very serious about my Bible reading until college, at which point i was like, "I've read this thing in its entirety at least half a dozen times, not to mention all the bits and pieces from devotionals, Bible stories, Bible studies, sermons, youth group, and so on. Do i really need to read the descriptions of the temple measurements AGAIN?!" Which is, in part, the reason for this whole blogging and exploration thing: trying to keep myself accountable so that i will have to be intentional about my spiritual health.
"There was an obvious problem, however, with the claim that the Bible was verbally inspired -- down to its very words. As we learned . . . we don't actually have the original writings of the New Testament. What we have are copies of these writings . . . Moreover, none of these copies is completely accurate, since the scribes who produced them inadvertently and/or intentionally changed them in places . . . Surely we have to know what those words [of Scripture] were if we want to know how [God] had communicated to us . . . having some other words . . . didn't help us much if we wanted to know His words." (pg 4-5)
I posted something about this a while back, how if God wanted us to take the Bible literally, He probably would have designed language in such a way that translation errors were impossible. Instead, if i write something this very second and hand it immediately to someone who is perfectly bilingual in English and Spanish, there is still room for translation error. Because other languages are not simply codes. You can't just substitute an English word for a Spanish word and have it work perfectly every time. There are nuances and connotations and grammatical structures that complicate things. Even a perfect translation isn't perfect, and the translations of the Bible are based on imperfect copies of languages that no one speaks anymore.
"I kept reverting to my basic question: how does it help us to say that the Bible is the inerrant word of God if in fact we don't have the words that God inerrantly inspired, but only the words copied by the scribes -- sometimes correctly but sometimes (many times!) incorrectly? What good is it to say that the autographs (i.e., the originals) were inspired? We don't have the originals!" (pg. 7, bolding mine)
"Moreover, the vast majority of Christians for the entire history of the Church have not had access to the originals, making their inspiration something of a moot point." (pg. 10)
". . . I came to realize that it would have been no more difficult for God to preserve the words of scripture than it would have been for him to inspire them in the first place. If he wanted his people to have his words, surely he would have given them to them (and possibly even given them the words in a language they could understand, rather than Greek and Hebrew)." (pg. 11)
Yes. This.
The Disciples actually met and talked with Jesus, but we don't know if they all read one another's Gospels (were they all even literate?), especially the Big Four, and most of them were probably martyred long before some books were even written. So is talking to Jesus more or less important than reading Acts or 2 Timothy or Revelations? Less important? Okay, great. I'm going to go pray now. You can take your King James and go home.
"Among other things, this meant that Mark did not say the same thing that Luke said because he didn't mean the same thing as Luke. John is different from Matthew -- not the same. Paul is different from Acts. And James is different from Paul. Each author is a human author and needs to be read for what he (assuming they were all men) has to say, not assuming that what he says is the same, or conformable to, or consistent with what every other author has to say. The Bible, at the end of the day, is a very human book." (pg. 12)
I once witnessed an argument where one guy was talking about two books in the New Testament whose authors disagreed, and another guy was like, "No, but really they were saying the same thing, because they were all inspired by the Holy Spirit." And the first guy was like, "WTF. These are different words. Can you read?" It's okay to disagree, as long as we keep talking through it and loving Jesus.
"What if the book you take as giving you God's words instead contains human words? What if the Bible doesn't give a foolproof answer to the questions of the modern age -- abortion, women's rights, gay rights, religious supremacy, Western-style democracy, and the like? What if we have to figure out how to live and what to believe on our own, without setting up the Bible as a false idol -- or an oracle that gives us a direct line of communication with the Almighty?" (pg. 14)
Chapter One: The Beginnings of Christian Scripture
"Four such gospels became most widely used -- those of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John in the New Testament -- but many others were written. We still have some of the others: for example, Gospels allegedly written by Jesus' disciple Philip, his brother Judas Thomas, and his female companion Mary Magdalene. Other Gospels, including some of the very earliest, have been lost." (pg. 24)
"Some Christian authors produced prophetic accounts of what would happen at the cataclysmic end of the world as we know it. There were Jewish precedents for this kind of "apocalyptic" literature, for example, in the book of Daniel in the Jewish Bible, or the book of I Enoch in the Jewish Apocrypha. Of the Christian apocalypses, one eventually came to be included in the New Testament: the Apocalypse of John. Others, including the Apocalypse of Peter and The Shepherd of Hermas, were also popular reading in a number of Christian communities in the early centuries of the church." (pg. 25)
So, since the apocalypse hasn't happened yet, how do we know that John's is better than Peter's or the Shepherd's? Did they describe it the same, but John's was better written? Because that didn't prevent us from keeping four Gospel accounts. And none of it prevented Left Behind from happening, so. Maybe there is no God.
There's a long passage on page 35 that i won't quote in full here about a bishop named Irenaeus who argued that we needed exactly four Gospels, no more and no less, because there are four corners of the earth, and four winds, so it's only logical to have four Gospels as the four pillars of the church. And that's how Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John got into the canon. True story.
On page 36, we learn that the 27 books of the New Testament were not listed as the books of the New Testament until 367 C. E. Almost 300 years after they had been written. Even the people writing them didn't consider them to be on par with the actual Bible (they were mostly Jews, so we're talking about the Torah here). They were mostly just writing letters to clarify things they'd said before.
There's also an interesting point in the last two sections of the chapter about literacy in the ancient world. If the actual real words of the Bible were so important, why didn't God make sure everyone in the world was literate? And if illiteracy was so widespread (it wasn't until the Industrial Revolution that people started taking literacy for granted for all social classes, and even now illiteracy is a real problem in the global community), why didn't God figure out some other way to speak to us? Like, through prayer and personal revelation and community? Oh, wait . . .
Showing posts with label life lessons. Show all posts
Showing posts with label life lessons. Show all posts
Friday, August 23, 2013
Friday, July 19, 2013
A Year of Biblical Womanhood: January-July
"Now, I've got nothing against aluminum poles, sex outdoors, "sacred stripping", and that sort of thing, but you should be able to tell your spouse that you'd like to try it in the backyard without insisting your instructions come directly from God. Poems were never meant to be forced into commands." (pg. 112) (emphasis mine)
Oh, Christian sexuality. We like to do this thing where we confuse descriptive with prescriptive. We also like to do this thing where we don't really understand what's being described, so it gets kinda messy. And not in the good way.
"Both Jesus and Paul spoke highly of celibacy and singleness, and for centuries the Church honored the contributions of virgins and widows to the extent that their stories occupied the majority of Christian literature." (pg. 179)
We have this narrative in the Church that behind every great man there's a great woman, that it is the role of men to be great and to do great things, and it is the role of women to support them in their accomplishments. Men are to go forth and do great things, and women are to have a clean house and warm meal waiting for them when they return.
But the Bible has a LOT to say about how great it is to never get married. So if men can do great things either married or single, but women have to be someone's wife in order to achieve something great, we are left with two options: men have multiple wives, or women marry each other.
For the first, while it is Biblical, it's mostly been rejected. But if we're talking about Biblical roles for men and women, i guess i can't really stop you. You just have to move to Utah.
For the second, it's a little dicey. I mean, here you have two women, married to each other, making their home an absolutely perfect haven of domestic bliss: clean, orderly, well-managed, with three hot meals a day and never any quarreling or bitterness or discontent or jealousy or anything. Just two happy, domestic, virtuous women being perfect wives to one another. They may not be preaching sermons or writing books or running businesses or ministering to the heathens in foreign lands, but they can certainly feed and clothe the the poor, and they can make their home open to those who need a place to stay, and those are all important Biblical things, too. In fact, hospitality is one of the things the Bible talks about the most. Definitely way more than homosexuality. Really, if you think about it, being a married lesbian is pretty much the highest calling there could be for a Christian woman.
Or, you know, maybe women can be allowed to accomplish things outside of the house and can even be praised for and encouraged in those accomplishments. "As a Christian, my highest calling is not motherhood; my highest calling is to follow Christ." (pg. 180)
"Traditionally, readers of the text have assumed that Jesus called the (Samaritan woman at the well) out on her loose morals, confronting the aberrant nature of her sexual history in order to convict her of her sin. But such a confident interpretation reveals a certain level of bias, for John never actually revealed the reason why the Samaritan woman had five husbands. It is just as plausible, therefore, to assume that her marital history was a tragic one -- women were not permitted to initiate divorce at that time, after all -- and that Jesus sought to acknowledge the difficult set of circumstances facing a woman in first-century Palestine. She may have been a concubine or a slave, which would explain why the man she was with was not her husband." (pg. 199)
The story of the Samaritan woman was an important one for me in coming to terms with my own sexuality, so i was very pleased to see an interpretation of her story that gives her a little more grace.
"In the biblical narrative, hierarchy enters human relationship as part of the curse, and begins with man's oppression of women -- "your desire will be for your husband, and he will rule over you" (Genesis 3:16). But with Christ, hierarchical relationships are exposed for the sham that they are, as the last are made first, the first are made last, the poor are blessed, the meek inherit the earth, and the God of the universe takes the form of a slave.
"Women should not have to pry equality from the grip of Christian men. It should be surrendered willingly, with the humility and love of Jesus, or else we miss the once radical teaching that slaves and masters, parents and children, husbands and wives, rich and poor, healthy and sick, should "submit to one another" (Ephesians 5:21)."
*slow clap*
Oh, Christian sexuality. We like to do this thing where we confuse descriptive with prescriptive. We also like to do this thing where we don't really understand what's being described, so it gets kinda messy. And not in the good way.
"Both Jesus and Paul spoke highly of celibacy and singleness, and for centuries the Church honored the contributions of virgins and widows to the extent that their stories occupied the majority of Christian literature." (pg. 179)
We have this narrative in the Church that behind every great man there's a great woman, that it is the role of men to be great and to do great things, and it is the role of women to support them in their accomplishments. Men are to go forth and do great things, and women are to have a clean house and warm meal waiting for them when they return.
But the Bible has a LOT to say about how great it is to never get married. So if men can do great things either married or single, but women have to be someone's wife in order to achieve something great, we are left with two options: men have multiple wives, or women marry each other.
For the first, while it is Biblical, it's mostly been rejected. But if we're talking about Biblical roles for men and women, i guess i can't really stop you. You just have to move to Utah.
For the second, it's a little dicey. I mean, here you have two women, married to each other, making their home an absolutely perfect haven of domestic bliss: clean, orderly, well-managed, with three hot meals a day and never any quarreling or bitterness or discontent or jealousy or anything. Just two happy, domestic, virtuous women being perfect wives to one another. They may not be preaching sermons or writing books or running businesses or ministering to the heathens in foreign lands, but they can certainly feed and clothe the the poor, and they can make their home open to those who need a place to stay, and those are all important Biblical things, too. In fact, hospitality is one of the things the Bible talks about the most. Definitely way more than homosexuality. Really, if you think about it, being a married lesbian is pretty much the highest calling there could be for a Christian woman.
Or, you know, maybe women can be allowed to accomplish things outside of the house and can even be praised for and encouraged in those accomplishments. "As a Christian, my highest calling is not motherhood; my highest calling is to follow Christ." (pg. 180)
"Traditionally, readers of the text have assumed that Jesus called the (Samaritan woman at the well) out on her loose morals, confronting the aberrant nature of her sexual history in order to convict her of her sin. But such a confident interpretation reveals a certain level of bias, for John never actually revealed the reason why the Samaritan woman had five husbands. It is just as plausible, therefore, to assume that her marital history was a tragic one -- women were not permitted to initiate divorce at that time, after all -- and that Jesus sought to acknowledge the difficult set of circumstances facing a woman in first-century Palestine. She may have been a concubine or a slave, which would explain why the man she was with was not her husband." (pg. 199)
The story of the Samaritan woman was an important one for me in coming to terms with my own sexuality, so i was very pleased to see an interpretation of her story that gives her a little more grace.
"In the biblical narrative, hierarchy enters human relationship as part of the curse, and begins with man's oppression of women -- "your desire will be for your husband, and he will rule over you" (Genesis 3:16). But with Christ, hierarchical relationships are exposed for the sham that they are, as the last are made first, the first are made last, the poor are blessed, the meek inherit the earth, and the God of the universe takes the form of a slave.
"Women should not have to pry equality from the grip of Christian men. It should be surrendered willingly, with the humility and love of Jesus, or else we miss the once radical teaching that slaves and masters, parents and children, husbands and wives, rich and poor, healthy and sick, should "submit to one another" (Ephesians 5:21)."
*slow clap*
Friday, July 5, 2013
"A Year of Living Biblically", concluded
First and foremost, A.J. Jacobs is a great writer. Smart, self-deprecating, witty, and observant, he could write about anything and i'd be hooked. (Which explains why his first writing project, "The Know-It-All" did so well, despite being about him reading the encyclopedia.)
As far as great spiritual/religious wisdom goes, however, it's difficult to pick out any great, shining gems. First of all, his journey was so gradual and personal that you really have to read the whole thing to get anything major from it. I could quote some bits at you, but they wouldn't really give you a sense of what he's like, or how the Bible transformed his behaviors and mindset. I can tell you that there was a transformation, though.
Secondly, this is not a book written by someone spiritual/religious who was looking for deeper meaning or a higher purpose or anything like that. A.J. was not trying to expand his Biblical knowledge or firm up his theology or anything like that. He walked into this experiment as an agnostic-ish Jewish-ish New Yorker, and he was basically trying to see if walking the walk and talking the talk would do anything. It does some stuff, but if your heart's not in it there's a limit to what you'll experience. To his credit, he realizes this and acknowledges it.
Anyway, there are two things i'd like to take note of before moving on to the next book. The first one comes from one of A.J.'s many interviews with religious leaders and laypersons. "'Let me drop an atom bomb on you,' said this Karaite . . . 'You can't follow all of the Bible literally because we can't know what some of the words mean.'" We can make really good guesses about a lot of them, but for many words, guesses are all we really have. If God cared about us following the Bible literally, don't you think He would have provided a decoder ring?
The closing thought comes right after A.J.'s wife, Julie, gave birth to their twins. Reflecting on a Bible story that reminds him of his sons and of his crazy roller-coaster year, A.J. says this: "The Bible may not have been dictated by God, it may have had a messy and complicated birth, one filled with political agendas and outdated ideas -- but that doesn't mean the Bible can't be beautiful and sacred."
Next up: "A Year of Biblical Womanhood", by Rachel Held Evans. Stay tuned!
As far as great spiritual/religious wisdom goes, however, it's difficult to pick out any great, shining gems. First of all, his journey was so gradual and personal that you really have to read the whole thing to get anything major from it. I could quote some bits at you, but they wouldn't really give you a sense of what he's like, or how the Bible transformed his behaviors and mindset. I can tell you that there was a transformation, though.
Secondly, this is not a book written by someone spiritual/religious who was looking for deeper meaning or a higher purpose or anything like that. A.J. was not trying to expand his Biblical knowledge or firm up his theology or anything like that. He walked into this experiment as an agnostic-ish Jewish-ish New Yorker, and he was basically trying to see if walking the walk and talking the talk would do anything. It does some stuff, but if your heart's not in it there's a limit to what you'll experience. To his credit, he realizes this and acknowledges it.
Anyway, there are two things i'd like to take note of before moving on to the next book. The first one comes from one of A.J.'s many interviews with religious leaders and laypersons. "'Let me drop an atom bomb on you,' said this Karaite . . . 'You can't follow all of the Bible literally because we can't know what some of the words mean.'" We can make really good guesses about a lot of them, but for many words, guesses are all we really have. If God cared about us following the Bible literally, don't you think He would have provided a decoder ring?
The closing thought comes right after A.J.'s wife, Julie, gave birth to their twins. Reflecting on a Bible story that reminds him of his sons and of his crazy roller-coaster year, A.J. says this: "The Bible may not have been dictated by God, it may have had a messy and complicated birth, one filled with political agendas and outdated ideas -- but that doesn't mean the Bible can't be beautiful and sacred."
Next up: "A Year of Biblical Womanhood", by Rachel Held Evans. Stay tuned!
Monday, April 1, 2013
[something clever]
I love doing research. Love, love, love it. I love reading new things, encountering new ideas, watching debates unfold on paper over decades and centuries as new scholars and critics attempt to shed light on old themes and ideas. I love to see the constancy of opinion on some things, and the ever-shifting disagreements on others.
I hate citing my research. Footnotes and in-text citations are so fussy, and bibliographies are annoying, and making sure that you put the quotation marks in exactly right makes me want to die. I'd rather just hand you a list (formatted any damn way i please) of everything i read while writing this paper and let you do your own research.
So, in the tradition of many great bloggers, i feel that the time has come to provide you with a weekly bibliography. I read a lot of things online, and these things often inform and influence my thoughts, directly and indirectly. Also, a lot of the stuff i post is going to be old stuff from way back in some other blogger's archives. I'm not timely.
1. I've been learning a lot lately about fat-shaming and fat-acceptance and the pros and cons of both. Basically, it can be boiled down to this: fat-shaming is good because it encourages people to control themselves and change bad habits and become healthier. Fat-shaming is bad because standards of health and beauty are arbitrary and subjective, and being more attractive than someone else in no way makes you a better person or more deserving of good things in life. Fat-acceptance is bad because sometimes being overweight is really unhealthy and is entirely due to poor choices in your life and if you don't change your ways you will die. Fat-acceptance is good because not all fat people are that way from their own bad choices, and not all fat people are unhealthy (and not all thin people are healthy) and anyway regardless of your attractiveness to other people or your physical health you should be happy and feel comfortable in your own skin.
So i found this gallery of photos. You can watch in a slideshow, but if you look at them one by one you can see what their BMI is. It is shocking. There are rail-thin people who look seriously ill who are classified as "normal weight". There are gloriously curvy people with amazing figures classified as "a pound or two shy of obese". There are people who look happier and healthier and sexier than me who are "dangerously overweight". The point is, BMI is bullshit. (Check out the "overweight" triathlete and the "morbidly obese" Wonder Woman).
2. "Should gay marriage be legal?" Ginsburg continued. "Yes. Done. Case closed. Goodbye. Christ, were we seriously scheduled to spend the next few months debating this?"
All over the country, states are voting to legalize gay marriage, or voting to remove bans on gay marriage, or otherwise ending bigotry. On my own tiny, conservative Christian college campus, we recently approved an LGBT organization. Some day, our children or grandchildren will be in history class and will learn about the LGBTQI fight for civil rights, and will say, "I don't understand. Why did people object to this?" I can't wait for the day that all LGBTQI organizations are dissolved, because there is no longer a need for them. I mean, think about it: how ludicrous would it be to start a heterosexual/cisgender club on a college campus? Why would anyone even need that? There's no point; the world belongs to us. Some day, LGBTQI clubs and organizations will be just as unnecessary as straight/cis ones.
3. I, too, have a debilitating fear of the phone and a job that requires me to make and answer calls pretty frequently, so this piece by Julianne "Boobs Radley" Smolinsky touched my soul like a call from the Holy Spirit. True story: once, when ordering Chinese food, i forgot my phone number and had to ask my roommate what it was. If i thought i could get away with it, i'd copy and paste the whole thing here and pretend i wrote it, and it wouldn't even technically be a lie, because it was pretty much lifted straight from my brain anyway. But instead, i'll just quote some tidbits and then order some spring rolls online.
"Nobody was more delighted by the advent of online food ordering than I was, because calling a restaurant used to fill me with a singular dread. I have a bizarre middle child's terror of being inconvenient to other people, so asking for something like "dressing on the side" had all the magnitude of requesting, say, a kidney, even in my deferential sexy baby timbre.
. . . I think the fact that I still fear the phone is an issue of control -- you don't have the degree of planning you do when having a conversation via email or text message. After I write something out, I have the option to edit or delete it. Even when calling was still the preferred method to get in touch with someone, I'd often write a script on a piece of paper if I was nervous enough about the subject to be discussed.
. . . I've encountered similar problems in my personal life. I had a brief non-relationship with a guy last year who kept asking if he could call me, just to talk. I was repelled. Call to talk about what? Is there something you can't say in a series of text messages that I can respond to in a way carefully calibrated to demonstrate my exceptional cleverness? You know who calls people just to talk? The Long Island Serial Killer."
4. I've been in a season of doubt recently. Well, not doubt precisely, but definitely asking questions and testing boundaries and trying to find my footing. And Rachel Held Evans, the Queen of Christian Doubters, wrote this prose-poem of a post that hit me where i live.
"Or it will pull you farther out to sea like rip tide,
Or hold your head under as you drown --"
5. Hey, look! More body-image stuff!
". . . it was so apparent to me that my looking beautiful, or sexy, or whatever, was an important component of the event. It was a feature. My appearance was part of the entertainment, and no matter what I did, if I went along with the cultural prescription by getting dolled up, I was going to be rewarded with oos and aahs."
I hate citing my research. Footnotes and in-text citations are so fussy, and bibliographies are annoying, and making sure that you put the quotation marks in exactly right makes me want to die. I'd rather just hand you a list (formatted any damn way i please) of everything i read while writing this paper and let you do your own research.
So, in the tradition of many great bloggers, i feel that the time has come to provide you with a weekly bibliography. I read a lot of things online, and these things often inform and influence my thoughts, directly and indirectly. Also, a lot of the stuff i post is going to be old stuff from way back in some other blogger's archives. I'm not timely.
1. I've been learning a lot lately about fat-shaming and fat-acceptance and the pros and cons of both. Basically, it can be boiled down to this: fat-shaming is good because it encourages people to control themselves and change bad habits and become healthier. Fat-shaming is bad because standards of health and beauty are arbitrary and subjective, and being more attractive than someone else in no way makes you a better person or more deserving of good things in life. Fat-acceptance is bad because sometimes being overweight is really unhealthy and is entirely due to poor choices in your life and if you don't change your ways you will die. Fat-acceptance is good because not all fat people are that way from their own bad choices, and not all fat people are unhealthy (and not all thin people are healthy) and anyway regardless of your attractiveness to other people or your physical health you should be happy and feel comfortable in your own skin.
So i found this gallery of photos. You can watch in a slideshow, but if you look at them one by one you can see what their BMI is. It is shocking. There are rail-thin people who look seriously ill who are classified as "normal weight". There are gloriously curvy people with amazing figures classified as "a pound or two shy of obese". There are people who look happier and healthier and sexier than me who are "dangerously overweight". The point is, BMI is bullshit. (Check out the "overweight" triathlete and the "morbidly obese" Wonder Woman).
2. "Should gay marriage be legal?" Ginsburg continued. "Yes. Done. Case closed. Goodbye. Christ, were we seriously scheduled to spend the next few months debating this?"
All over the country, states are voting to legalize gay marriage, or voting to remove bans on gay marriage, or otherwise ending bigotry. On my own tiny, conservative Christian college campus, we recently approved an LGBT organization. Some day, our children or grandchildren will be in history class and will learn about the LGBTQI fight for civil rights, and will say, "I don't understand. Why did people object to this?" I can't wait for the day that all LGBTQI organizations are dissolved, because there is no longer a need for them. I mean, think about it: how ludicrous would it be to start a heterosexual/cisgender club on a college campus? Why would anyone even need that? There's no point; the world belongs to us. Some day, LGBTQI clubs and organizations will be just as unnecessary as straight/cis ones.
3. I, too, have a debilitating fear of the phone and a job that requires me to make and answer calls pretty frequently, so this piece by Julianne "Boobs Radley" Smolinsky touched my soul like a call from the Holy Spirit. True story: once, when ordering Chinese food, i forgot my phone number and had to ask my roommate what it was. If i thought i could get away with it, i'd copy and paste the whole thing here and pretend i wrote it, and it wouldn't even technically be a lie, because it was pretty much lifted straight from my brain anyway. But instead, i'll just quote some tidbits and then order some spring rolls online.
"Nobody was more delighted by the advent of online food ordering than I was, because calling a restaurant used to fill me with a singular dread. I have a bizarre middle child's terror of being inconvenient to other people, so asking for something like "dressing on the side" had all the magnitude of requesting, say, a kidney, even in my deferential sexy baby timbre.
. . . I think the fact that I still fear the phone is an issue of control -- you don't have the degree of planning you do when having a conversation via email or text message. After I write something out, I have the option to edit or delete it. Even when calling was still the preferred method to get in touch with someone, I'd often write a script on a piece of paper if I was nervous enough about the subject to be discussed.
. . . I've encountered similar problems in my personal life. I had a brief non-relationship with a guy last year who kept asking if he could call me, just to talk. I was repelled. Call to talk about what? Is there something you can't say in a series of text messages that I can respond to in a way carefully calibrated to demonstrate my exceptional cleverness? You know who calls people just to talk? The Long Island Serial Killer."
4. I've been in a season of doubt recently. Well, not doubt precisely, but definitely asking questions and testing boundaries and trying to find my footing. And Rachel Held Evans, the Queen of Christian Doubters, wrote this prose-poem of a post that hit me where i live.
"Or it will pull you farther out to sea like rip tide,
Or hold your head under as you drown --"
5. Hey, look! More body-image stuff!
". . . it was so apparent to me that my looking beautiful, or sexy, or whatever, was an important component of the event. It was a feature. My appearance was part of the entertainment, and no matter what I did, if I went along with the cultural prescription by getting dolled up, I was going to be rewarded with oos and aahs."
Friday, February 1, 2013
Leviticus 25-27, Numbers 1-30
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| from LePage's "Word" collection |
There is some cool stuff though, like one of my favorite Sunday School Bible stories: Balaam's donkey.
For those who are unfamiliar with it, i'd urge you to read the whole thing (it's not that long), in Numbers 22:1-35. For now, i'll summarize it.
Balaam was from Mesopotamia, and appears to have been some sort of magician or prophet. He knew something about the Israelites, but was not one of them. As the Israelites were cutting a bloody path through the ancient world, seeking to establish their Promised Land, they ran up against rulers from many different nations. Balak, king of the Midionites, called for Balaam to curse the Israelites, hoping to prevent them from attacking his people. Balaam accepted their fee and prepared to go, but God said, "Yeah, no. You can't curse My people." So then Balaam told the princes to go back home. They did, and then they sent more princes and more money and more dignitaries and honors, and asked him again. So God said, "If they keep begging, you can go, but only say the words I give you."
They didn't exactly keep begging, but Balaam went with them anyway, so God sent an angel to stand in their path. Balaam didn't notice, but the donkey he was riding did, and walked into a field to avoid the angel (who was standing there with a drawn sword). Balaam beat the donkey and got her back on the road. A little while later, as the path wound between two walls, the angel showed up again. The donkey pressed close to the wall, trying to squeeze past the angel, and crushed Balaam's foot against the wall, so he beat her again. Then the angel stood on a high, narrow path, where there was no way to avoid him, and the donkey laid down in the road. Balaam, enraged, began to beat her again, and the donkey spoke to him, asking why he kept beating her.
"Because you have abused me. I wish there were a sword in my hand, for now I would kill you!" said Balaam (vs 29).
vs. 31 "So the donkey said to Balaam, "Am I not your donkey on which you have ridden, ever since I became yours, to this day? Was I ever disposed to do this to you?" And he said, "No."
Then Balaam saw the angel and realized that the donkey had saved his life three times. He repented, and promised to say whatever God wanted him to say.
Couple of things about this: first, what the donkey said. Now, donkeys are notoriously stubborn and difficult, but this one has belonged to Balaam for a long time, and has apparently never given him trouble before. And the very first time she does, he gets angry and assumes she's just being stupid or stubborn or lazy, and never stops to consider if there might be a reason for her behavior. How often do we do this: something that always works for us, something that we have come to take for granted, stops working, and instead of considering whether there might be a reason for it, we heap abuse upon that thing (or that person, or that animal, or that whatever). Maybe that breakdown is God's way of trying to get our attention. Maybe that thing (or person, or animal) is trying to save us from something. Don't immediately get angry at delays and setbacks. Look around to see what might be behind them.
Second, am i the only one who is a little bit happy that the donkey is specifically noted to be female? Anyone who says that God's design is for women to serve men, who says that women can't lead in the church, who says that God doesn't call or speak to women, that women shouldn't lead or speak to men, they should read this and shut the hell up. God spoke to Balaam, and when Balaam wouldn't listen, He spoke to a female animal, who listened to His word and chastised Balaam. When God speaks, we are ALL empowered to listen, obey, and prophesy.
And finally, i leave you with these:
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| from the "Old & New" project |
Monday, September 10, 2012
College 101
Okay guys, it's time for some tough truth: not everyone should go to college.
My dad is a genius. Literally. He's taken the IQ tests and was a member of Mensa until he opted out because he was tired of all the flyers they kept sending him. He skipped a grade in school, he coasted through high school, he was admitted to Dartmouth as a chemistry major, and he got kicked out in his freshman year because his depression was so crippling that he couldn't even get out of bed. He transferred to a small Christian school in Massachusetts, where he met my mother, and when they got married and moved to Baltimore, he got jobs and worked while she finished school. He never graduated from college, and is still one of the most brilliant, talented, educated people i know.
I know someone who is borderline retarded. I'm not being insensitive or politically incorrect -- she is actually close to being intellectually disabled. She told me this herself. Her IQ is 85 (mental retardation is 70 or below, 100 is considered average). She spent some time in rehab as a teenager. She did a lot of drugs and drank a lot of booze when she was younger, and she didn't get a chance to start college until she was well into her twenties. But she finished her degree in four years, and last i heard she was checking out grad schools.
Here's the thing: we've all seen the articles about how people with graduate and postgraduate degrees earn more money over their lifetime than those without. But the important part of that phrase is "over their lifetime". When you graduate from college, you have two choices: find a job immediately and start paying off your student loans, or take out more loans to go to grad school so that you can postpone paying your student loans and also postpone finding a full-time job with good pay. Jobs that require degrees are harder to get than jobs that don't, and they often don't pay as well at the entry level. Once you've earned more degrees and advanced your education (and your debt) further, you can get promotions and raises, and by the time you retire you'll be making bank. But you still have to pay off your student loans, and you may find yourself eating ramen and cold pizza for several years after obtaining your BA or BS. College is expensive, and it will be a long time before you see any financial benefits from your degree.
If you want to go to college so that you can make more money, turn back now. It will be a long time before you can realize that dream. Your best money-making bet is to get an Associate's degree in business from a community college, find a good internship or entry-level position in a financially stable corporation, and work your way up. When you've been there long enough, they may help you pay for additional classes, which can also be taken at a community college or even online. If all you want is to make money, don't travel out of state to a private, liberal arts college and pay for four years of tuition, room and board, student fees, and books. It will likely be many long, hard years before you see any return on that investment. Some people are luckier than others and fall into their dream job immediately after graduation, and they make six figure salaries after two years and pay off all their student loans in fifteen months. Do not assume that this person will be you. The only reason that they got that lucky is because they never assumed that they would get that lucky. They worked hard, they took chances, they pursued the things they wanted. And for every one of those stories i can tell you ten more of people who took years to get any luck, of people who slacked off and never achieved their dreams, of people who worked as hard as they could but still had to settle for second best, or even third.
I know that culturally, college is viewed like thirteenth grade. It's sort of assumed that you'll be going to college, studying for four years, getting a bachelor's degree in something. But i have seen so many people graduate with a degree in liberal arts, or business, or English, just because they picked something they liked in high school or something their roommate was studying or something that sounded easy to get a degree in. Those people ended up working in pet grooming shops, or in a department store, or as someone's secretary or receptionist. If that's what you want to do, you should do it right out of high school, instead of wasting four years and tens of thousands of dollars. If you work in a pet grooming shop for a few years and then suddenly realize that you want to be a vet, or a research biologist, or an architect, you can always go back to school. Yes, it's harder to go back when you've been gone for a while. But it's also hard to pay rent and student loans at the same time when you're working 35 hours a week at Dunkin Donuts. And if you work at a pet grooming shop for a few years and then suddenly realize that all you want to do is groom pets, start taking night classes, or online courses, and get a business degree and open your own pet grooming shop.
Don't let anyone pressure you into college, including your parents. Ask them if they really want to pay for four years of education when you don't know what you want to study. Make a deal with them: you can live at home and work and save money for one year. If at the end of the year you know what you want to major in, you'll go to school. If you don't, you'll move out and support yourself. Do some research: show them statistics about student loan default rates, about how much money you can expect to make your first year after graduation, about the average debt of college students after graduation. Tell them that you are making the responsible decision to hold off on spending money for college until you're sure it will be worthwhile.
If you know exactly what you want to major in and where you want to work and what you want to do with your life, you may still want to consider a state school or community college, or postponing college for a year or two. College is fucking expensive, and it takes a long time to pay off. Even if you are one thousand percent certain and committed and motivated and driven, it will take a long time to realize your dreams. It will take a long time until you can live the life you've dreamed of. Do not get drunk in a hot tub three months after graduation and start crying in a fake British accent about how you've been waiting "so long" but you can't find a job (yeah, Fay, thanks for ruining my 21st birthday). It's been three months. This is going to be a long, expensive, difficult, stressful, exhausting struggle. Be patient, work hard, and understand that you're going to face a lot of failure before your "big break".
Think of it this way: if you inherited some sort of legacy that gave you an allowance of $100,000 a year, what would you do with your time? Would you still want to write? Would you still want to teach? Would you still want to clean teeth? Would you still want to sell clothes? What is the one thing you could see yourself doing for the rest of your life, even if you didn't need any money? Now imagine that you are getting an allowance of $30,000 a year. It's enough to make ends meet, as long as you don't have kids. But working would give you some extra income, would help you save and afford big purchases and maybe even support a family. What is the one thing you would want to do? Now imagine that there is no allowance, no inheritance. It is up to you, to your talents and skills and passions to support yourself and your future family. What do you want to do?
If the answers you're coming up with are things like "socialize", "something that would give me lots of vacation days and leave my weekends free", or "something with a good benefits package", don't go to a liberal arts college. Maybe don't go to college at all. Go to a vocational school, take business classes online, work full-time at a bagel shop or part-time as a security guard or intern at a business. But if the answers you're coming up with are things like "counsel suicidal teenagers" or "write poetry" or "teach seventh grade math", go to college. Get your degree. Just understand that, while all of the stress and money and hardship will be worth it in the end, the end is a long way from where you are now. Be prepared.
My dad is a genius. Literally. He's taken the IQ tests and was a member of Mensa until he opted out because he was tired of all the flyers they kept sending him. He skipped a grade in school, he coasted through high school, he was admitted to Dartmouth as a chemistry major, and he got kicked out in his freshman year because his depression was so crippling that he couldn't even get out of bed. He transferred to a small Christian school in Massachusetts, where he met my mother, and when they got married and moved to Baltimore, he got jobs and worked while she finished school. He never graduated from college, and is still one of the most brilliant, talented, educated people i know.
I know someone who is borderline retarded. I'm not being insensitive or politically incorrect -- she is actually close to being intellectually disabled. She told me this herself. Her IQ is 85 (mental retardation is 70 or below, 100 is considered average). She spent some time in rehab as a teenager. She did a lot of drugs and drank a lot of booze when she was younger, and she didn't get a chance to start college until she was well into her twenties. But she finished her degree in four years, and last i heard she was checking out grad schools.
Here's the thing: we've all seen the articles about how people with graduate and postgraduate degrees earn more money over their lifetime than those without. But the important part of that phrase is "over their lifetime". When you graduate from college, you have two choices: find a job immediately and start paying off your student loans, or take out more loans to go to grad school so that you can postpone paying your student loans and also postpone finding a full-time job with good pay. Jobs that require degrees are harder to get than jobs that don't, and they often don't pay as well at the entry level. Once you've earned more degrees and advanced your education (and your debt) further, you can get promotions and raises, and by the time you retire you'll be making bank. But you still have to pay off your student loans, and you may find yourself eating ramen and cold pizza for several years after obtaining your BA or BS. College is expensive, and it will be a long time before you see any financial benefits from your degree.
If you want to go to college so that you can make more money, turn back now. It will be a long time before you can realize that dream. Your best money-making bet is to get an Associate's degree in business from a community college, find a good internship or entry-level position in a financially stable corporation, and work your way up. When you've been there long enough, they may help you pay for additional classes, which can also be taken at a community college or even online. If all you want is to make money, don't travel out of state to a private, liberal arts college and pay for four years of tuition, room and board, student fees, and books. It will likely be many long, hard years before you see any return on that investment. Some people are luckier than others and fall into their dream job immediately after graduation, and they make six figure salaries after two years and pay off all their student loans in fifteen months. Do not assume that this person will be you. The only reason that they got that lucky is because they never assumed that they would get that lucky. They worked hard, they took chances, they pursued the things they wanted. And for every one of those stories i can tell you ten more of people who took years to get any luck, of people who slacked off and never achieved their dreams, of people who worked as hard as they could but still had to settle for second best, or even third.
I know that culturally, college is viewed like thirteenth grade. It's sort of assumed that you'll be going to college, studying for four years, getting a bachelor's degree in something. But i have seen so many people graduate with a degree in liberal arts, or business, or English, just because they picked something they liked in high school or something their roommate was studying or something that sounded easy to get a degree in. Those people ended up working in pet grooming shops, or in a department store, or as someone's secretary or receptionist. If that's what you want to do, you should do it right out of high school, instead of wasting four years and tens of thousands of dollars. If you work in a pet grooming shop for a few years and then suddenly realize that you want to be a vet, or a research biologist, or an architect, you can always go back to school. Yes, it's harder to go back when you've been gone for a while. But it's also hard to pay rent and student loans at the same time when you're working 35 hours a week at Dunkin Donuts. And if you work at a pet grooming shop for a few years and then suddenly realize that all you want to do is groom pets, start taking night classes, or online courses, and get a business degree and open your own pet grooming shop.
Don't let anyone pressure you into college, including your parents. Ask them if they really want to pay for four years of education when you don't know what you want to study. Make a deal with them: you can live at home and work and save money for one year. If at the end of the year you know what you want to major in, you'll go to school. If you don't, you'll move out and support yourself. Do some research: show them statistics about student loan default rates, about how much money you can expect to make your first year after graduation, about the average debt of college students after graduation. Tell them that you are making the responsible decision to hold off on spending money for college until you're sure it will be worthwhile.
If you know exactly what you want to major in and where you want to work and what you want to do with your life, you may still want to consider a state school or community college, or postponing college for a year or two. College is fucking expensive, and it takes a long time to pay off. Even if you are one thousand percent certain and committed and motivated and driven, it will take a long time to realize your dreams. It will take a long time until you can live the life you've dreamed of. Do not get drunk in a hot tub three months after graduation and start crying in a fake British accent about how you've been waiting "so long" but you can't find a job (yeah, Fay, thanks for ruining my 21st birthday). It's been three months. This is going to be a long, expensive, difficult, stressful, exhausting struggle. Be patient, work hard, and understand that you're going to face a lot of failure before your "big break".
Think of it this way: if you inherited some sort of legacy that gave you an allowance of $100,000 a year, what would you do with your time? Would you still want to write? Would you still want to teach? Would you still want to clean teeth? Would you still want to sell clothes? What is the one thing you could see yourself doing for the rest of your life, even if you didn't need any money? Now imagine that you are getting an allowance of $30,000 a year. It's enough to make ends meet, as long as you don't have kids. But working would give you some extra income, would help you save and afford big purchases and maybe even support a family. What is the one thing you would want to do? Now imagine that there is no allowance, no inheritance. It is up to you, to your talents and skills and passions to support yourself and your future family. What do you want to do?
If the answers you're coming up with are things like "socialize", "something that would give me lots of vacation days and leave my weekends free", or "something with a good benefits package", don't go to a liberal arts college. Maybe don't go to college at all. Go to a vocational school, take business classes online, work full-time at a bagel shop or part-time as a security guard or intern at a business. But if the answers you're coming up with are things like "counsel suicidal teenagers" or "write poetry" or "teach seventh grade math", go to college. Get your degree. Just understand that, while all of the stress and money and hardship will be worth it in the end, the end is a long way from where you are now. Be prepared.
Monday, September 3, 2012
scars, 3
My mother is in the unfortunate position of being differently intelligent than her children and her ex-husband. Let me be clear: she is fiercely intelligent in ways that we are not. But in the ways that allow you to show off while watching Jeopardy, in the ways that genuinely enjoy intellectual pursuits for their own sakes, in the ways that allow you to write brilliant books and papers and achieve good grades without effort and have your intelligence be immediately apparent to anyone who meets you, she is lacking. And there's nothing wrong with that, except that it can be a little awkward at times.
For my mother, it is more than awkward. She is dismissive and contemptuous of us one moment and jealous the next. For years, she praised my intelligence, so that even in the depths of my high school depression, even when i planned my suicide, even when i felt that almost nothing about me was redeemable or worthy of notice or interesting or in any way mattered, i knew that i was intelligent. I knew that i was more intelligent than most, and that if all else failed, i could cling to that. It was the one thing i was sure of, the one part of me the value of which i never doubted. And then she began to tell me that intelligence was not enough, that i needed to change who i was to succeed in the world. She told me that my type of intelligence, like my dad's, was one that she did not understand and did not always like. She disparaged my accomplishments and dismissed my efforts.
She accelerated this with my sister, telling her that she had no reason to be proud of straight As, because she didn't have to study. Accomplishments only mattered, only had any worth, if you had to work for them. Things that came naturally didn't count.
Any time that any of us find something in ourselves to be proud of, she finds a way to devalue it. And we are not a naturally confident bunch with lots of things we like about ourselves. We mostly don't like ourselves very much, so when we finally find something we're okay with, that is something to celebrate and cherish.
But my mother has a very hard time looking favorably on anything that is different from her, especially if it's not something she can readily understand. She has no patience with or understanding of mental illness (despite having been surrounded by it, experiencing it herself, and taking many psych classes while attaining her three post-graduate degrees). She thinks that people who are good and smart and beautiful, people who are healthy and loved, people who have a lot going for them, have no reason to be mentally ill. She thinks that depression only happens to people who don't have anything else to distinguish them, people whose lives are empty and difficult. She thinks that anyone who has a good, full, happy life has no reason to be depressed, and that the chemical imbalance in their brains can be corrected through a determination to be happy and the simple decision to "get over it".
She is her own standard of correctness and perfection, her own yardstick of health and normalcy. If someone disagrees with her, they are wrong. If someone thinks differently from her, they are weird. If someone's skill set is different from hers, they need to adapt and change in order to succeed. If someone has accomplished more than her, they were lucky. If someone is happier than her, they are lying to themselves.
I was fed a steady stream of these messages for twenty years. When i got my first tattoo, in addition to all of the beautiful and uplifting messages about family and heritage and goals and love and connections and roots and wings, it was my way of saying that i was done with all that bullshit. When i turned twenty, i turned a corner in my life. I decided that no one else got to decide my worth, that only i got to place any kind of value on my self. I decided that it was time to pick up the parts of my mother that were uplifting and encouraging, the parts that i loved and felt connected to, and leave the rest behind.
A tattoo is like a scar, but it is not accidental and it does not come from someone else. A tattoo is a sign that you will accept no one else's marks on yourself, that only you will decide what will stay with you and what will be brushed off. A tattoo is a reminder that you have the final say in who you are.
There are still things that are beyond my control. The scars from my mother are still healing, still bleeding, still hurting. I still have weeks and months where i fall from the high wire. But now, my mother is not my partner or my safety net. I have built my own arena, my own circus ring. I have choreographed my own act, chosen my own partners. I am dancing above the abyss, and while i know that i may fall, i also know i will not be falling forever. There is rest to be found. There are places of safety. There are times of stability. And in the meantime, i am learning to dance, free and fearless, on the tightrope of my sanity. Because if you're going to be up there anyway, you might as well make something beautiful of it.
For my mother, it is more than awkward. She is dismissive and contemptuous of us one moment and jealous the next. For years, she praised my intelligence, so that even in the depths of my high school depression, even when i planned my suicide, even when i felt that almost nothing about me was redeemable or worthy of notice or interesting or in any way mattered, i knew that i was intelligent. I knew that i was more intelligent than most, and that if all else failed, i could cling to that. It was the one thing i was sure of, the one part of me the value of which i never doubted. And then she began to tell me that intelligence was not enough, that i needed to change who i was to succeed in the world. She told me that my type of intelligence, like my dad's, was one that she did not understand and did not always like. She disparaged my accomplishments and dismissed my efforts.
She accelerated this with my sister, telling her that she had no reason to be proud of straight As, because she didn't have to study. Accomplishments only mattered, only had any worth, if you had to work for them. Things that came naturally didn't count.
Any time that any of us find something in ourselves to be proud of, she finds a way to devalue it. And we are not a naturally confident bunch with lots of things we like about ourselves. We mostly don't like ourselves very much, so when we finally find something we're okay with, that is something to celebrate and cherish.
But my mother has a very hard time looking favorably on anything that is different from her, especially if it's not something she can readily understand. She has no patience with or understanding of mental illness (despite having been surrounded by it, experiencing it herself, and taking many psych classes while attaining her three post-graduate degrees). She thinks that people who are good and smart and beautiful, people who are healthy and loved, people who have a lot going for them, have no reason to be mentally ill. She thinks that depression only happens to people who don't have anything else to distinguish them, people whose lives are empty and difficult. She thinks that anyone who has a good, full, happy life has no reason to be depressed, and that the chemical imbalance in their brains can be corrected through a determination to be happy and the simple decision to "get over it".
She is her own standard of correctness and perfection, her own yardstick of health and normalcy. If someone disagrees with her, they are wrong. If someone thinks differently from her, they are weird. If someone's skill set is different from hers, they need to adapt and change in order to succeed. If someone has accomplished more than her, they were lucky. If someone is happier than her, they are lying to themselves.
I was fed a steady stream of these messages for twenty years. When i got my first tattoo, in addition to all of the beautiful and uplifting messages about family and heritage and goals and love and connections and roots and wings, it was my way of saying that i was done with all that bullshit. When i turned twenty, i turned a corner in my life. I decided that no one else got to decide my worth, that only i got to place any kind of value on my self. I decided that it was time to pick up the parts of my mother that were uplifting and encouraging, the parts that i loved and felt connected to, and leave the rest behind.
A tattoo is like a scar, but it is not accidental and it does not come from someone else. A tattoo is a sign that you will accept no one else's marks on yourself, that only you will decide what will stay with you and what will be brushed off. A tattoo is a reminder that you have the final say in who you are.
There are still things that are beyond my control. The scars from my mother are still healing, still bleeding, still hurting. I still have weeks and months where i fall from the high wire. But now, my mother is not my partner or my safety net. I have built my own arena, my own circus ring. I have choreographed my own act, chosen my own partners. I am dancing above the abyss, and while i know that i may fall, i also know i will not be falling forever. There is rest to be found. There are places of safety. There are times of stability. And in the meantime, i am learning to dance, free and fearless, on the tightrope of my sanity. Because if you're going to be up there anyway, you might as well make something beautiful of it.
Monday, August 20, 2012
scars, 1
I attended a writing retreat last January. One of the workshops was about writing biographies and memoirs, and the woman leading the workshop gave us several prompts. One of those prompts was to write about how we got our scars. This is what i wrote that day:
The scar on my left index finger was incurred during an unbelievable bout of stupidity. I had been painstakingly whittling something for weeks, despite having no whittling talent or training and nothing but a battered Swiss Army knife to work with.
But it was my latest obsession, and i took any and every opportunity to work on it.
One day, we were at a stoplight. I knew it was a long light, so i pulled out my tools. So engrossed was i in my work that i didn't see the light change. The old Ford Windstar minivan started moving with a lurch, and the knife blade slid smoothly into my finger.
I stared at it for a moment, watching the blood bubble up around the blade. It had gone in horizontally and lay under my skin. Then it clicked: i had a knife in my finger and it hurt.
I don't remember what i said to my dad to alert him to the emergency. I do remember him yelling at me as he tried to find a place to pull over. Our first aid kit was empty except for Band-aid wrappers and some calamine lotion. Dad found an old Sunday school paper to wrap around my finger until we got home.
I never finished whittling that thing. I think it was going to be a doll. I've long since lost both the block of wood and the knife, but the scar is still visible as a pale, slightly curved line on my left index finger.
The scar on my left index finger was incurred during an unbelievable bout of stupidity. I had been painstakingly whittling something for weeks, despite having no whittling talent or training and nothing but a battered Swiss Army knife to work with.
But it was my latest obsession, and i took any and every opportunity to work on it.
One day, we were at a stoplight. I knew it was a long light, so i pulled out my tools. So engrossed was i in my work that i didn't see the light change. The old Ford Windstar minivan started moving with a lurch, and the knife blade slid smoothly into my finger.
I stared at it for a moment, watching the blood bubble up around the blade. It had gone in horizontally and lay under my skin. Then it clicked: i had a knife in my finger and it hurt.
I don't remember what i said to my dad to alert him to the emergency. I do remember him yelling at me as he tried to find a place to pull over. Our first aid kit was empty except for Band-aid wrappers and some calamine lotion. Dad found an old Sunday school paper to wrap around my finger until we got home.
I never finished whittling that thing. I think it was going to be a doll. I've long since lost both the block of wood and the knife, but the scar is still visible as a pale, slightly curved line on my left index finger.
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
responsible citizens
Every Monday morning, the admissions team meets in the green conference room for a brief Bible study and prayer, followed by updates and assignments for the week. It's a nice way to start the week, although we have (unfortunately) been stuck in 1 Samuel for months now. Don't get me wrong; it's a great book, but it's long and dense and a little slow, and when you're only reading one chapter a week it feels endless.
But this week, we read the story of David sparing Saul's life (1 Sam. 24). As we talked about it afterwards, i began to think about modern American politics.
For those unfamiliar with the story, Saul (King of Israel), was suffering what some scholars/psychologists believe to be a manic episode. He knew that David would succeed him as King, instead of his son Jonathan, and he was worried about his legacy being forgotten and his name wiped out. So he went a little crazy and began trying to kill David, who had been like a second son to him for many years (in fact, David was his son-in-law). Saul and his army were chasing David all over the country, and David was building his own little army of supporters that he met along the way.
One day, David and his men were hiding in some caves, when Saul and his troops came upon them. Not knowing that they were in the caves, Saul's men camped outside, and Saul went in to relieve himself. David's men all began urging David to kill Saul then and there, and some even offered to do it themselves. In those days, that was a perfectly legitimate way to gain a throne, and since God had already chosen David to be King, and since Saul had all but lost his mind, there would have been few objections to this course of action. But David refused to kill him. Instead, he crawled forward and cut off a corner of Saul's robe. Later, he walked out of the cave and presented himself to Saul and the army, holding up the corner of the robe. He pleads with Saul for peace, showing how easy it would have been to kill him, and reminding Saul that he had extended mercy.
David is praised for his actions (or inactions) by God, by his men, by Saul, and by the author of the book.
Imagine a similar situation with today's leaders.
Think back to 9/11, how the whole country was calling out for retribution. Think of election years (like this one). Think of one Twitter response to the Colorado shooting: calling the candidates (Romney and Obama) to stop offering mere words of encouragement and support and give us a firm plan of action for how to prevent future tragedies.
We do not allow our candidates or our leaders any breathing space before we demand a response, an action. We do not allow them to pause in respect for lives lost, to weigh options, to talk to experts and look at statistics and think. We demand a knee-jerk answer to our pain.
David lived in a theocratic monarchy. The King had to do whatever God wanted, but the people had no say in the matter, and a corrupt King could ignore God and do whatever he wanted to the people (as we'll see later in the OT).
We live in a democratic republic. Our leaders are required to listen to us, to respond to us, to give us what we ask for. They are not empowered to do otherwise: if they don't make us happy, they won't be asked to serve again and may even be asked to leave early.
Perhaps we need to be more careful about what we ask of our leaders. Perhaps we need to consider more deliberately what we want.
When we demand immediate action, we may commit ourselves to a ten-year war where thousands of lives are lost, thousands of minds and bodies damaged. Is it not good to consider carefully before declaring war? Is a delayed, deliberate, lasting action sometimes better than immediate satisfaction? When we demand immediate response, we may provoke an emotional statement that will be revised under calmer circumstances, at which point we fling accusations of flip-flopping and unreliability. Are people not allowed to change their minds? Are our leaders not allowed to grow their ideas?
In this country, citizens have power over their leaders. They work for us. I know the system is flawed, i know some politicians are corrupt, i know that things could be infinitely better. But that's the whole point of our country: things could be better. If we want better things from our leaders, we need to ask them for better things.
But this week, we read the story of David sparing Saul's life (1 Sam. 24). As we talked about it afterwards, i began to think about modern American politics.
For those unfamiliar with the story, Saul (King of Israel), was suffering what some scholars/psychologists believe to be a manic episode. He knew that David would succeed him as King, instead of his son Jonathan, and he was worried about his legacy being forgotten and his name wiped out. So he went a little crazy and began trying to kill David, who had been like a second son to him for many years (in fact, David was his son-in-law). Saul and his army were chasing David all over the country, and David was building his own little army of supporters that he met along the way.
One day, David and his men were hiding in some caves, when Saul and his troops came upon them. Not knowing that they were in the caves, Saul's men camped outside, and Saul went in to relieve himself. David's men all began urging David to kill Saul then and there, and some even offered to do it themselves. In those days, that was a perfectly legitimate way to gain a throne, and since God had already chosen David to be King, and since Saul had all but lost his mind, there would have been few objections to this course of action. But David refused to kill him. Instead, he crawled forward and cut off a corner of Saul's robe. Later, he walked out of the cave and presented himself to Saul and the army, holding up the corner of the robe. He pleads with Saul for peace, showing how easy it would have been to kill him, and reminding Saul that he had extended mercy.
David is praised for his actions (or inactions) by God, by his men, by Saul, and by the author of the book.
Imagine a similar situation with today's leaders.
Think back to 9/11, how the whole country was calling out for retribution. Think of election years (like this one). Think of one Twitter response to the Colorado shooting: calling the candidates (Romney and Obama) to stop offering mere words of encouragement and support and give us a firm plan of action for how to prevent future tragedies.
We do not allow our candidates or our leaders any breathing space before we demand a response, an action. We do not allow them to pause in respect for lives lost, to weigh options, to talk to experts and look at statistics and think. We demand a knee-jerk answer to our pain.
David lived in a theocratic monarchy. The King had to do whatever God wanted, but the people had no say in the matter, and a corrupt King could ignore God and do whatever he wanted to the people (as we'll see later in the OT).
We live in a democratic republic. Our leaders are required to listen to us, to respond to us, to give us what we ask for. They are not empowered to do otherwise: if they don't make us happy, they won't be asked to serve again and may even be asked to leave early.
Perhaps we need to be more careful about what we ask of our leaders. Perhaps we need to consider more deliberately what we want.
When we demand immediate action, we may commit ourselves to a ten-year war where thousands of lives are lost, thousands of minds and bodies damaged. Is it not good to consider carefully before declaring war? Is a delayed, deliberate, lasting action sometimes better than immediate satisfaction? When we demand immediate response, we may provoke an emotional statement that will be revised under calmer circumstances, at which point we fling accusations of flip-flopping and unreliability. Are people not allowed to change their minds? Are our leaders not allowed to grow their ideas?
In this country, citizens have power over their leaders. They work for us. I know the system is flawed, i know some politicians are corrupt, i know that things could be infinitely better. But that's the whole point of our country: things could be better. If we want better things from our leaders, we need to ask them for better things.
Monday, July 23, 2012
So i guess the moral of the story is that my grandmother is a cougar. And i was a sexy, if somewhat androgynous, 14-year-old.
Gay guys always tell me i'm pretty. Like, lots of different gay guys in lots of different contexts at different times and places. And they are not always drunk in a dimly-lit room at the time.
I was always highly complimented by this. Like, "They don't even like girls and they still think i'm attractive!" But it recently occurred to me that maybe they just think i look like a hot guy. Which has been said of me before. By my grandmother.
When i was fourteen, i cut my own bangs. I had cut my own hair before, most notably my eyelashes (story for another day. Actually, no: one time, i cut my own eyelashes. End of story), but up until this point, most of my experience was with cutting Barbie hair. However, i did a decent job of it. They were a heavy, straight-across fringe that, according to my crazy friend Renee, made me look like a little like Anck Su Namun.
I was always highly complimented by this. Like, "They don't even like girls and they still think i'm attractive!" But it recently occurred to me that maybe they just think i look like a hot guy. Which has been said of me before. By my grandmother.
When i was fourteen, i cut my own bangs. I had cut my own hair before, most notably my eyelashes (story for another day. Actually, no: one time, i cut my own eyelashes. End of story), but up until this point, most of my experience was with cutting Barbie hair. However, i did a decent job of it. They were a heavy, straight-across fringe that, according to my crazy friend Renee, made me look like a little like Anck Su Namun.
 |
| Except my boobs were bigger. And usually covered by more than pasties and gold body paint. |
However, my mom hated them.
For about a year, i'd been toying with the idea of getting a pixie cut. My hair is very thick, and Maryland gets very humid in the summer (like, from late April through mid October). Also, i was lazy and self-conscious and didn't want to spend hours every day trying to get my hair to look good. That was time i could spend knitting or re-reading Harry Potter or talking to a cat. I figured a pixie cut would be cute, comfortable, easy to maintain, and would give me a hip, rock-and-roll edge over my much cooler friends. (I was homeschooled and fourteen. Shut up.)
My mom decided that this was the perfect opportunity to talk me into making the leap. I was nervous, but consoled myself with the thought that hair always grows back. We went to a salon and i picked out a style. I was completely thrilled with the look and comfort, although less than thrilled with the sticky styling waxes and clays the stylist recommended. Can't i just comb it and air-dry, like boys do? Have we invented metrosexuality already?
The next day, at Wednesday evening prayer service, i was wearing a slightly baggy t-shirt and my hair had that "I-got-a-new-haircut-yesterday-and-have-no-idea-how-to-style-it" look. My grandmother was sitting on the other side of the (very small) sanctuary. My mom was chatting with her before the service, and Mommom asked her who the good-looking young man was sitting next to my brother. My mom glanced over, and then looked back at Mommom and said, "That's Diana."
Whatever, Mommom. That haircut landed me the Abercrombie model-lookalike who worked in the grocery store, okay? And he was totally hot and older and not even homeschooled and my sister saw him recently and said she thinks he's gay now and -- oh, fuuuuuuuuu . . .
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Human Interactions 103
At 7:20 PM Monday night, a woman called one of our enrollment counselors and left a message, asking if she could bring a large group in for a tour on Tuesday morning. Several problems with this:
Be considerate of others, especially when you are demanding a service from them. I know this goes against much of what you were taught. You are the customer, and the customer is always right. However, this is not true. The customer is always the customer, and always deserves respect, patience, and our best efforts to make you happy. But you are not always right.
Remember that this is our job, and we know a lot more about how it works than you do. Defer to our knowledge, experience, and skills. Ask us how we can best serve you.
Give people plenty of advance notice when you are planning to visit, especially if you are asking them to do something special for you on that visit. When you drop in with no notice, you are only hurting yourself. If the abbreviated tour you demanded does not meet your expectations, that is your own fault.
Respect normal business hours. If you have to call outside of them, that's fine. We understand. But leave a voicemail with the understanding that we won't be able to even listen to your voicemail until 8 AM at the earliest, and more realistically, 9. We won't be able to return your call until after that. We won't be able to talk to you personally and set up a visit and make sure your needs and requests are met until after 9 AM. This is just how businesses work.
Know what you're asking for. Some requests are small and some are large. And when you don't work in that particular business, you don't always know which is which. Don't assume that a request that seems simple actually will be. There might be a lot more to it than you think.
There will be a test on all of this. Be prepared. Class dismissed.
- The counselor she called is not the one who arranges the tours. She does not have access to the tour guide schedules. It is therefore difficult for her to set up a tour for anyone.
- The person who does set up tours was not in the office at all on Monday. She works from home in the mornings on Tuesday, but she does not check her voicemail from home. And this Tuesday being the day before a national holiday, i'm not sure if she will be in at all today. There has therefore been no opportunity for the tour request to be passed along to her, leaving it to the counselor who received the voicemail to do everything herself.
- Calling thirteen and a half hours before you intend to show up is not really ideal. Especially if you are calling after normal business hours. (Hint: normal business hours are 9-5, though 8-6 is not totally unheard of.) If you call outside of normal business hours, you should do so at least 24 hours before you plan to show up, giving the other person time to hear your voicemail, call you to confirm your visit, and set up the tour for you.
- Group tours are harder to arrange than individual ones, and really really really need advance notice. We can throw together a really good individual visit at the last second, but group tours are very tricky.
- If you have left a voicemail for someone but have not yet spoken to them in person, you should not assume that they are prepared to handle your request. They may be on vacation, especially if you are calling two days before a national holiday. If their job requires travel (like, for example, a college enrollment counselor who goes to lots of college fairs and teen camps during the summer), they may not be in the office at all this week.
- Having left a voicemail thirteen and a half hours ago with the wrong person, and having failed to talk to anyone at all to confirm your visit, when you come strolling into the office at ten minutes after nine AM, it does not behoove you to demand that the tour be "quick". Our campus is a certain predetermined size and has a certain predetermined number of buildings. In order for the tour to be worth your while, it will necessarily take a certain predetermined amount of time. But showing up ten minutes after we have all gotten to the office and demanding that we abbreviate the service that we have not yet agreed to render you is a little presumptuous.
Be considerate of others, especially when you are demanding a service from them. I know this goes against much of what you were taught. You are the customer, and the customer is always right. However, this is not true. The customer is always the customer, and always deserves respect, patience, and our best efforts to make you happy. But you are not always right.
Remember that this is our job, and we know a lot more about how it works than you do. Defer to our knowledge, experience, and skills. Ask us how we can best serve you.
Give people plenty of advance notice when you are planning to visit, especially if you are asking them to do something special for you on that visit. When you drop in with no notice, you are only hurting yourself. If the abbreviated tour you demanded does not meet your expectations, that is your own fault.
Respect normal business hours. If you have to call outside of them, that's fine. We understand. But leave a voicemail with the understanding that we won't be able to even listen to your voicemail until 8 AM at the earliest, and more realistically, 9. We won't be able to return your call until after that. We won't be able to talk to you personally and set up a visit and make sure your needs and requests are met until after 9 AM. This is just how businesses work.
Know what you're asking for. Some requests are small and some are large. And when you don't work in that particular business, you don't always know which is which. Don't assume that a request that seems simple actually will be. There might be a lot more to it than you think.
There will be a test on all of this. Be prepared. Class dismissed.
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
Adulthood 101
To bring in a little extra cash and to practice for my future job, i do a little grading for one of my former professors. She recently brought me a stack of papers to look over for her. In sorting through them together, we discovered one handwritten piece with no name.
"Well, someone is going to be squawking about their grade, and I'll have to look through a whole file of assignments with no names to find it, and then I'll have to change their grade, and . . . " she trailed off, exhausted by the mere prospect of the work ahead.
Here's the thing, people: PUT YOUR NAME ON SHIT. For the love of all that is holy, when you have done an assignment for a class and are ready to turn it in, PUT YOUR NAME ON IT.
If your name is not on it, you cannot receive credit for it. If you do not receive credit for it, your grade will be lower than you may have hoped for. If you do not talk to your professor about why your grade is low, you may not discover that there is one very easy solution for your troubles: putting your name on your paper.
I'm in classes with graduate students who don't do this. Do you think the professor is psychic? Were you confused by the absence of a line saying "name" under it? We just assumed that, by the time you had graduated high school, you would be able to find a spot somewhere near the top to cram your name in. We assumed you would have the intelligence and good sense to put your name on your work, ensuring that you get credit for it.
Put your name on EVERYTHING except anonymous surveys. Take credit for your work. Make sure everyone knows who did this amazing work. And if it's less than amazing, guess what? Still your fault. Write your name on it.
Adulthood means taking credit and/or responsibility for all that you do. It means exercising common sense. It means asking questions when you feel you haven't gotten full credit for your accomplishments.
There will be a pop quiz on this. Many times. For the rest of your life.
"Well, someone is going to be squawking about their grade, and I'll have to look through a whole file of assignments with no names to find it, and then I'll have to change their grade, and . . . " she trailed off, exhausted by the mere prospect of the work ahead.
Here's the thing, people: PUT YOUR NAME ON SHIT. For the love of all that is holy, when you have done an assignment for a class and are ready to turn it in, PUT YOUR NAME ON IT.
If your name is not on it, you cannot receive credit for it. If you do not receive credit for it, your grade will be lower than you may have hoped for. If you do not talk to your professor about why your grade is low, you may not discover that there is one very easy solution for your troubles: putting your name on your paper.
I'm in classes with graduate students who don't do this. Do you think the professor is psychic? Were you confused by the absence of a line saying "name" under it? We just assumed that, by the time you had graduated high school, you would be able to find a spot somewhere near the top to cram your name in. We assumed you would have the intelligence and good sense to put your name on your work, ensuring that you get credit for it.
Put your name on EVERYTHING except anonymous surveys. Take credit for your work. Make sure everyone knows who did this amazing work. And if it's less than amazing, guess what? Still your fault. Write your name on it.
Adulthood means taking credit and/or responsibility for all that you do. It means exercising common sense. It means asking questions when you feel you haven't gotten full credit for your accomplishments.
There will be a pop quiz on this. Many times. For the rest of your life.
Monday, April 23, 2012
How to Use a Telephone
As the administrative assistant/receptionist for the admissions office of my school, I spend a lot of time on the phone. In the time i have spent talking to strangers, i have concluded that people tend to lose anywhere from 10-80 IQ points as soon as they pick up a telephone. Therefore, i have compiled a list of do's and don'ts that will hopefully make my life easier from this point forward.
DO speak clearly and enunciate carefully. There is often background noise in my office, and i cannot see your face. You need to make sure your words are perfectly articulated. This goes double if you are leaving a message, because i cannot ask you to repeat anything.
Before launching into a ten minute explanation of your problem, including background information on your entire family and a detailed schedule of your week, DO give me a brief synopsis of your question or problem. I don't want to waste your time, since you are clearly busy. And i don't want you to waste my time, because i hate you a little bit. It may be that i am already aware of your problem, because your sister has already called, and i am already taking care of it (true story). It may be that you have called the wrong department and that i need to transfer you elsewhere.
When leaving a message, DO provide your first and last name and a phone number or email address where you can be reached. I am not psychic. If you leave a message with your first name and ask me to call you back, i will not. This is a business land line, not a personal cell phone. I can't just scroll through my missed calls.
DO find a quiet area to make your phone call. As stated above, it is hard enough for me to hear and understand you under the best circumstances. It is not helpful when you are in the living room where your younger siblings are playing rock band while your mom yells at all of you to come set the table for dinner.
DON'T call without knowing what you want. It is not my job to figure out who your enrollment counselor is, how many of your documents you have sent it, how to get your SAT scores delivered, or deduce from your confused ramblings that you are interested in the criminal justice program and want to get some more information on it. Figure out what you want before you call. Write it down if you have to.
DON'T expect me to take care of your entire admissions process for you. First of all, i am not your enrollment counselor, so helping you get into college is not really in my job description. And second, you need to be assertive and proactive. This place you're calling is a college, an institute of higher education. If you can't even make a phone call without relying on me to take care of everything for you, you won't make it past your freshman year.
DON'T be rude. I am not being rude to you. Being rude to me with no provocation will severely tempt me to pretend i am connecting you to someone else and then "accidentally" disconnect you. I won't actually do it, because i am better than that, but when you are rude to me it does not make me want to help you. I begin the conversation on your side. Don't do anything to turn me against you.
DON'T swear. Firstly, it is unprofessional and inappropriate. You are on the phone with a stranger, trying to get into college. Do not use profane or offensive language. Secondly, we are a Christian college. We do not allow profanity on this campus. Using it to faculty, staff, and administrators may adversely affect your admission status.
I hope this was helpful. Feel free to print this out and keep it next to your phone at all times. By the way, these rules don't just apply to me. Any time you are on the phone with anyone for any reason, keep them in mind.
DO speak clearly and enunciate carefully. There is often background noise in my office, and i cannot see your face. You need to make sure your words are perfectly articulated. This goes double if you are leaving a message, because i cannot ask you to repeat anything.
Before launching into a ten minute explanation of your problem, including background information on your entire family and a detailed schedule of your week, DO give me a brief synopsis of your question or problem. I don't want to waste your time, since you are clearly busy. And i don't want you to waste my time, because i hate you a little bit. It may be that i am already aware of your problem, because your sister has already called, and i am already taking care of it (true story). It may be that you have called the wrong department and that i need to transfer you elsewhere.
When leaving a message, DO provide your first and last name and a phone number or email address where you can be reached. I am not psychic. If you leave a message with your first name and ask me to call you back, i will not. This is a business land line, not a personal cell phone. I can't just scroll through my missed calls.
DO find a quiet area to make your phone call. As stated above, it is hard enough for me to hear and understand you under the best circumstances. It is not helpful when you are in the living room where your younger siblings are playing rock band while your mom yells at all of you to come set the table for dinner.
DON'T call without knowing what you want. It is not my job to figure out who your enrollment counselor is, how many of your documents you have sent it, how to get your SAT scores delivered, or deduce from your confused ramblings that you are interested in the criminal justice program and want to get some more information on it. Figure out what you want before you call. Write it down if you have to.
DON'T expect me to take care of your entire admissions process for you. First of all, i am not your enrollment counselor, so helping you get into college is not really in my job description. And second, you need to be assertive and proactive. This place you're calling is a college, an institute of higher education. If you can't even make a phone call without relying on me to take care of everything for you, you won't make it past your freshman year.
DON'T be rude. I am not being rude to you. Being rude to me with no provocation will severely tempt me to pretend i am connecting you to someone else and then "accidentally" disconnect you. I won't actually do it, because i am better than that, but when you are rude to me it does not make me want to help you. I begin the conversation on your side. Don't do anything to turn me against you.
DON'T swear. Firstly, it is unprofessional and inappropriate. You are on the phone with a stranger, trying to get into college. Do not use profane or offensive language. Secondly, we are a Christian college. We do not allow profanity on this campus. Using it to faculty, staff, and administrators may adversely affect your admission status.
I hope this was helpful. Feel free to print this out and keep it next to your phone at all times. By the way, these rules don't just apply to me. Any time you are on the phone with anyone for any reason, keep them in mind.
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
first church of haagen-dazs
I'm not very good at being a Christian. I'm not very good at trusting, waiting, hoping. I'm snarky and rude and often judgmental and proud. I have fallen out of the habit of daily Bible readings. I lose myself in anger and frustration. I don't have a Scripture reference or sermon illustration to answer every question.
I was raised in faith. My family attended church three or four times a week and visited church members every day. We were homeschooled. My best friends were youth group members. We prayed over every meal. Until i got to college, i hardly owned any secular music. I wore a purity ring and had vowed to abstain from sex until i was married.
I don't evangelize. Not in the grocery store, not at work, not at home. Of my four siblings, i am the only one who still identifies as "Christian". The other three all call themselves agnostics. I pray for them, not that they would be convicted of their sin and led to the truth, but that Jesus would find them wherever they are and under whatever name makes most sense to them.
We've been through a lot in the last year as a family. And we've all had our own individual struggles. There have been times when i have felt that i only existed as God's afterthought, as a last-minute effort to correct an oversight. There have been moments when i doubted that God was paying any attention to me at all. There was one night where i was convinced that God did not exist at all.
I don't know why the wicked prosper and the good do not. I don't know why God doesn't tip the scales from time to time, why big miracles don't seem to happen any more, why babies die and my dad keeps getting fired and people starve to death while we throw away our uneaten French fries and hot fudge sundaes and cancer and AIDS exist and there is hatred and bigotry and ignorance and anger and fear and doubt.
I don't know what denomination, if any, i want to belong to. Sometimes, i don't know if i want to call myself a Christian anymore.
I am beset with doubt and instead of praying or talking to my pastor i am blogging quietly at my desk.
But this i do know:
Every time a major catastrophe touches me or my family, everything from dumping Casey to my mom's wedding to my brother's injury, there is a sale on Haagen-Dazs ice cream four days before.
Every time i need peace, strength, hope, and comfort, i am able to stock up on ice cream well beforehand. I like to think of it as God's way of wrapping His arms around me and saying, "Here. Have some ice cream. I love you."
I haven't yet put together a personal theology, nor have i found a more formal one with which to align myself. I may not have read the Bible in a while but i can confidently state that ice cream is not mentioned anywhere from Genesis to Revelations. Maybe in the Apocrypha somewhere, but i doubt it.
Here is what i do know: God is love. We are to love one another. Ice cream is good.
I was raised in faith. My family attended church three or four times a week and visited church members every day. We were homeschooled. My best friends were youth group members. We prayed over every meal. Until i got to college, i hardly owned any secular music. I wore a purity ring and had vowed to abstain from sex until i was married.
I don't evangelize. Not in the grocery store, not at work, not at home. Of my four siblings, i am the only one who still identifies as "Christian". The other three all call themselves agnostics. I pray for them, not that they would be convicted of their sin and led to the truth, but that Jesus would find them wherever they are and under whatever name makes most sense to them.
We've been through a lot in the last year as a family. And we've all had our own individual struggles. There have been times when i have felt that i only existed as God's afterthought, as a last-minute effort to correct an oversight. There have been moments when i doubted that God was paying any attention to me at all. There was one night where i was convinced that God did not exist at all.
I don't know why the wicked prosper and the good do not. I don't know why God doesn't tip the scales from time to time, why big miracles don't seem to happen any more, why babies die and my dad keeps getting fired and people starve to death while we throw away our uneaten French fries and hot fudge sundaes and cancer and AIDS exist and there is hatred and bigotry and ignorance and anger and fear and doubt.
I don't know what denomination, if any, i want to belong to. Sometimes, i don't know if i want to call myself a Christian anymore.
I am beset with doubt and instead of praying or talking to my pastor i am blogging quietly at my desk.
But this i do know:
Every time a major catastrophe touches me or my family, everything from dumping Casey to my mom's wedding to my brother's injury, there is a sale on Haagen-Dazs ice cream four days before.
Every time i need peace, strength, hope, and comfort, i am able to stock up on ice cream well beforehand. I like to think of it as God's way of wrapping His arms around me and saying, "Here. Have some ice cream. I love you."
I haven't yet put together a personal theology, nor have i found a more formal one with which to align myself. I may not have read the Bible in a while but i can confidently state that ice cream is not mentioned anywhere from Genesis to Revelations. Maybe in the Apocrypha somewhere, but i doubt it.
Here is what i do know: God is love. We are to love one another. Ice cream is good.
Monday, February 27, 2012
How Not to Get a Girl 1
These stories are all based on real events. In fact, they are all based on one guy who used to work with me.
A (picking up my hair): Your hair smells great.
Me: Please don't smell my hair.
A: See? This is why you should marry me.
Me: Because i told you about Dominos bread bowls?
A: Yes. We help each other out.
Me: But that's only an example of how i have helped you. What do you do for me?
A: I make you laugh. And that's the gift that lasts forever. How long can a bread bowl keep you satisfied? As long as it's on the menu. But how long can I keep you satisfied? As long as I'm alive.
A: This is why you should marry me. Because we have the same kind of energy beaming back and forth between us. I can see the energy in your soul beaming from your eyes into my eyes.
Me: Please stop talking.
A: I've updated my wardrobe, you know, trying to find more clothes like Casey might wear. Because I figured, you like the way he dresses, so maybe if I dress like him, you'll go out with me?
Me: I like Casey.
A: Did Casey give you that necklace?
Me: No. In fact, we broke up a few months ago.
A: What? You didn't tell me! I had no idea. Why didn't you tell me?
Me: It just didn't come up.
A: I'm so sorry. Man. Well, hey, now that that door is open, you wanna go get some coffee together or something?
Me: No.
A: See, I have a confession: the reason I've been asking you out more often is that I told Erica that I could get any girl I wanted. And she said I couldn't get you, no matter what. And I told her if I stepped up my game a little, I totally could.
Me: I know. She told me. She's my roommate.
A: So I'm stepping up my game.
Me: And stepping up your game involves . . . asking me out more often?
A: Well. Yeah. Pretty much.
Me: Yeah. It's not going to work. Erica was right.
A: We'll see.
A: I feel like I'll be at your wedding one day, and I'll be like, "Wow, you look so hot. You wanna go get coffee some time?" And your husband will go to punch me, and you'll be like, "No, babe. It's not worth it. His life is sad enough already."
Me: Yeah, that's pretty much how it would go down.
A: This is why we should get married, because we could just sit on our porch, and you could read, and I could be playing you music on the guitar, while we drink sweet tea and our beautiful adopted Black children run around in the yard.
Me: . . .
A (picking up my hair): Your hair smells great.
Me: Please don't smell my hair.
A: See? This is why you should marry me.
Me: Because i told you about Dominos bread bowls?
A: Yes. We help each other out.
Me: But that's only an example of how i have helped you. What do you do for me?
A: I make you laugh. And that's the gift that lasts forever. How long can a bread bowl keep you satisfied? As long as it's on the menu. But how long can I keep you satisfied? As long as I'm alive.
A: This is why you should marry me. Because we have the same kind of energy beaming back and forth between us. I can see the energy in your soul beaming from your eyes into my eyes.
Me: Please stop talking.
A: I've updated my wardrobe, you know, trying to find more clothes like Casey might wear. Because I figured, you like the way he dresses, so maybe if I dress like him, you'll go out with me?
Me: I like Casey.
A: Did Casey give you that necklace?
Me: No. In fact, we broke up a few months ago.
A: What? You didn't tell me! I had no idea. Why didn't you tell me?
Me: It just didn't come up.
A: I'm so sorry. Man. Well, hey, now that that door is open, you wanna go get some coffee together or something?
Me: No.
A: See, I have a confession: the reason I've been asking you out more often is that I told Erica that I could get any girl I wanted. And she said I couldn't get you, no matter what. And I told her if I stepped up my game a little, I totally could.
Me: I know. She told me. She's my roommate.
A: So I'm stepping up my game.
Me: And stepping up your game involves . . . asking me out more often?
A: Well. Yeah. Pretty much.
Me: Yeah. It's not going to work. Erica was right.
A: We'll see.
A: I feel like I'll be at your wedding one day, and I'll be like, "Wow, you look so hot. You wanna go get coffee some time?" And your husband will go to punch me, and you'll be like, "No, babe. It's not worth it. His life is sad enough already."
Me: Yeah, that's pretty much how it would go down.
A: This is why we should get married, because we could just sit on our porch, and you could read, and I could be playing you music on the guitar, while we drink sweet tea and our beautiful adopted Black children run around in the yard.
Me: . . .
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
occasional vegetarian
This year, as once before in high school, i have decided to give up eating meat for Lent.
In some ways, it's almost too easy a decision to "count" as a Lenten sacrifice. In others, it is unimaginably difficult and complicated.
I eat meat nearly every day, because that's how you put together a meal: meat, grains (like rice or pasta), and vegetables. Except that, while you do need iron and protein every day, you don't need to get it from meat. You could serve pita bread with hummus and carrot sticks and still have a balanced meal, and with much less of the fat and salt that tend to accompany meat.
Cows are meant to eat grass. They are left all day to graze on grassy meadows. But when it's time for a real meal and not just all-day snacking, they are often fed grain instead of hay. This is because grain makes cows fatter faster, and people like their beef plump and juicy.
It takes about fifteen pounds of grain to make one pound of beef. That's fifteen pounds of grain that could have fed a starving child instead of clogging my arteries and padding my hips and draining my wallet. Because cows are left to graze all day anyway, and hay is pretty cheap. Grain, on the other hand, has to be bought, and that makes the beef more expensive. We are paying more money to die faster and let children around the world starve just because we like our burgers extra juicy.
I like chicken okay. I like roast pork and ribs sometimes, but i don't eat them very often. I'm not a big fan of turkey, ham, or roast pork. I love sea food, and the thought of bacon, steak, and burgers makes my mouth water.
But i eat chicken nearly every day, because it is a cheap and easy way to provide the meat that i somehow feel i am supposed to have.
If science could come up with meatless bacon, steak, and burgers that are as good as the real thing, i'd switch to vegetarianism in a heartbeat and never look back. But somehow, even turkey burgers are not quite the same thing. And i almost never eat these meats, because they are expensive and harder to cook than chicken, and because i know that chicken is healthier.
For the next forty days, i will be deliberately planning meatless meals. I will endeavor to get my daily allowance of protein and iron from other sources, and since i only eat red meat and bacon about three times a month, i won't miss them too much.
After Easter, who knows? I'll be glad to sink my teeth into a fat, juicy, steak: pink and tender in the middle, seared in olive oil, rosemary, and sea salt. But i doubt that i'll eat bacon or red meat any more often after Easter than i do now. And chicken is just something i buy to "finish" my meal. Why not plan meals more deliberately to exclude meat? Why not alternate between really delicious meats that i actually want to eat and no meat at all? Doesn't that seem more sensible?
In some ways, it's almost too easy a decision to "count" as a Lenten sacrifice. In others, it is unimaginably difficult and complicated.
I eat meat nearly every day, because that's how you put together a meal: meat, grains (like rice or pasta), and vegetables. Except that, while you do need iron and protein every day, you don't need to get it from meat. You could serve pita bread with hummus and carrot sticks and still have a balanced meal, and with much less of the fat and salt that tend to accompany meat.
Cows are meant to eat grass. They are left all day to graze on grassy meadows. But when it's time for a real meal and not just all-day snacking, they are often fed grain instead of hay. This is because grain makes cows fatter faster, and people like their beef plump and juicy.
It takes about fifteen pounds of grain to make one pound of beef. That's fifteen pounds of grain that could have fed a starving child instead of clogging my arteries and padding my hips and draining my wallet. Because cows are left to graze all day anyway, and hay is pretty cheap. Grain, on the other hand, has to be bought, and that makes the beef more expensive. We are paying more money to die faster and let children around the world starve just because we like our burgers extra juicy.
I like chicken okay. I like roast pork and ribs sometimes, but i don't eat them very often. I'm not a big fan of turkey, ham, or roast pork. I love sea food, and the thought of bacon, steak, and burgers makes my mouth water.
But i eat chicken nearly every day, because it is a cheap and easy way to provide the meat that i somehow feel i am supposed to have.
If science could come up with meatless bacon, steak, and burgers that are as good as the real thing, i'd switch to vegetarianism in a heartbeat and never look back. But somehow, even turkey burgers are not quite the same thing. And i almost never eat these meats, because they are expensive and harder to cook than chicken, and because i know that chicken is healthier.
For the next forty days, i will be deliberately planning meatless meals. I will endeavor to get my daily allowance of protein and iron from other sources, and since i only eat red meat and bacon about three times a month, i won't miss them too much.
After Easter, who knows? I'll be glad to sink my teeth into a fat, juicy, steak: pink and tender in the middle, seared in olive oil, rosemary, and sea salt. But i doubt that i'll eat bacon or red meat any more often after Easter than i do now. And chicken is just something i buy to "finish" my meal. Why not plan meals more deliberately to exclude meat? Why not alternate between really delicious meats that i actually want to eat and no meat at all? Doesn't that seem more sensible?
Monday, February 20, 2012
Broken
A few weeks ago, a minor spat with John spiraled into a total emotional breakdown on my part, including an hour of sobbing incoherently and talking about my parents. (To be clear, this was not at all John's fault. The minor spat was a conversation we'd been needing to have, and one off-handed remark of his opened my eyes to something in my life that i hadn't seen before and desperately needed to deal with.)
I knew that i had the power to hurt other people if i wished. I came to terms with that power a long time ago, and i try to use it responsibly. I am fully aware that i can intentionally hurt others with my words and actions.
What never struck me was how easily i could hurt someone unintentionally just because of who i am.
I am broken.
It's hard for me to be loved. Some of that comes from my stubborn streak, some of it from my natural independence, and some from bad experiences with my mom and Casey. Both of them hurt me a lot because of who they are, because of their brokenness, and some of my own brokenness comes from them. But somehow it never occurred to me that i could turn around and do the same thing. It never occurred to me that pulling away and putting up walls and drawing deeply into myself -- simply because that is who i am and i don't know another way to be -- hurts other people. Even when people would tell me this, in an attempt to help me open up to others and improve both my life and theirs, it never really clicked.
I am broken, and the shards can cut those who want to hold me close.
I had an epiphany a while back about letting people help me. I realized that turning down help is denying another person a chance to be blessed. I resolved to get better about accepting help from others, realizing that my pride was not worth more than another person's happiness.
And while i did get a little bit better, i was still placing myself at the center of the issue. I was blessing other people by allowing them to do things for me. Therefore, when i allowed someone to help me, i was really doing something for them.
Sometimes, i need to put my pride entirely away and allow myself to be opened and broken and emptied, so that i can be filled anew. Sometimes, i need to care more about another person's joy than my own. Sometimes, i need to allow myself to be uncomfortable for the sake of making someone else's day better.
I am broken, and cannot mend myself.
While there are some things that i simply need to process all on my own, there are many more times when i need to turn to someone else. Whether this is God, a counselor, a teacher, or a friend, there are times when someone else has to help me smooth out the rough parts, match up the pieces, and glue it all back together.
I need to be more honest with myself and with others about my brokenness, and warn them about the edges. I need to know that they understand that i am broken, and that getting too close means that they will inevitably be cut from time to time. It is not my job to protect everyone in the world from everything that could ever hurt them, even when that includes me.
I need to know that being mended leaves scars. Some of them will be stronger than before. Some will be weaker. Some will ache. None will ever be entirely forgotten. I will live with my broken places every day, and so will the people who love me. Because they love me, and that's what you do.
I am broken.
I knew that i had the power to hurt other people if i wished. I came to terms with that power a long time ago, and i try to use it responsibly. I am fully aware that i can intentionally hurt others with my words and actions.
What never struck me was how easily i could hurt someone unintentionally just because of who i am.
I am broken.
It's hard for me to be loved. Some of that comes from my stubborn streak, some of it from my natural independence, and some from bad experiences with my mom and Casey. Both of them hurt me a lot because of who they are, because of their brokenness, and some of my own brokenness comes from them. But somehow it never occurred to me that i could turn around and do the same thing. It never occurred to me that pulling away and putting up walls and drawing deeply into myself -- simply because that is who i am and i don't know another way to be -- hurts other people. Even when people would tell me this, in an attempt to help me open up to others and improve both my life and theirs, it never really clicked.
I am broken, and the shards can cut those who want to hold me close.
I had an epiphany a while back about letting people help me. I realized that turning down help is denying another person a chance to be blessed. I resolved to get better about accepting help from others, realizing that my pride was not worth more than another person's happiness.
And while i did get a little bit better, i was still placing myself at the center of the issue. I was blessing other people by allowing them to do things for me. Therefore, when i allowed someone to help me, i was really doing something for them.
Sometimes, i need to put my pride entirely away and allow myself to be opened and broken and emptied, so that i can be filled anew. Sometimes, i need to care more about another person's joy than my own. Sometimes, i need to allow myself to be uncomfortable for the sake of making someone else's day better.
I am broken, and cannot mend myself.
While there are some things that i simply need to process all on my own, there are many more times when i need to turn to someone else. Whether this is God, a counselor, a teacher, or a friend, there are times when someone else has to help me smooth out the rough parts, match up the pieces, and glue it all back together.
I need to be more honest with myself and with others about my brokenness, and warn them about the edges. I need to know that they understand that i am broken, and that getting too close means that they will inevitably be cut from time to time. It is not my job to protect everyone in the world from everything that could ever hurt them, even when that includes me.
I need to know that being mended leaves scars. Some of them will be stronger than before. Some will be weaker. Some will ache. None will ever be entirely forgotten. I will live with my broken places every day, and so will the people who love me. Because they love me, and that's what you do.
I am broken.
Monday, February 13, 2012
Ghosts of Boyfriends Past: Casey
I don't like thinking too much about "Casey", but it's good to get it out.
In my sophomore year of college, i was recovering from my first love. I was finally starting to move on, when along came Casey. He was a senior, and had spent the last semester studying at Oxford.
Initially, he was interested in my friend Emily, but after she rejected him he took an interest in me. I had always had a thing for him, despite my gut feeling that he was an asshole. Our relationship progressed slowly; it was April, and he was graduating in May. Plus there was the awkwardness of Emily to deal with. We were all three uncomfortable with the situation, and each of us was jealous of the others for one reason or another. It was messy.
In late April/early May, Casey and i were making out almost every day, though the words "relationship" and "boyfriend/girlfriend" had yet to be spoken, except in jest. He told me that he loved me, and that he wanted to marry me and raise children with me and settle down with me, but he would not call me his girlfriend. I was hopelessly besotted and was certain that everything would work out in time.
After graduation, his plan was to have his parents pay his rent and other expenses while he figured out what he wanted to do with his life. Shockingly, they objected to this plan, and brought him back with them to Texas. I was devastated by the separation, but he assured me that all would be well.
And for a time, it was. We talked constantly on Facebook, AIM, and text. I downloaded Skype and bought a webcam; he promised that he'd get around to it. We talked about his dreams, goals, desires, trying to figure out his calling in life. But as the summer went on, things got more and more strained. I was living on campus and had no friends nearby. He was living at home and likewise alone. We were both slipping into a depression, but while i clung to him as my source of light and comfort, he pushed me away. He wanted to wallow in his misery.
Toward the end of July, he was in a wedding in Massachusetts. He came up for a long weekend, and he got a hotel room. For the first time in my life, i shared a bed with a lover. Yet despite our closeness, we still lacked intimacy. There was a wall between us, and i didn't know how to get rid of it. Things came to a head on his last night. We had had a fight, and i was crying silently in the corner of the bed. I would have left, but it was dark and well after midnight and nearly a mile to walk back to campus. He noticed my trembling, and suddenly his arms were around me and he was whispering in my ear. He apologized for his distance and coldness, and begged my forgiveness. He promised that things would get better soon, that he would snap out of it and figure out his life, that he would move back to New England and we would be together.
That was the night that i almost had sex.
I was nineteen, naked, and saying yes, but Casey couldn't follow through. I later concluded (perhaps falsely; i'm not sure) that it was because he loved me. He told me that night that he knew i wanted to wait, that he didn't want to ruin my future, that he didn't want to ruin our future. So he abstained, and we slept together in only the most literal sense.
Over the next few weeks, our communication grew steadily more sporadic. From August to February, he did not speak to me at all. I wrote him letters almost daily, and saved them in a bundle to send to him one day.
At last, he contacted me again. We started to talk, and i sent him my letters. Our relationship took off to new heights. He had pulled out of his depression and was determined to find a job -- any job -- and save up to move back to me. He would go through Hell to be at my side, my love would sustain him through any trial, and together we would have a wonderful life.
But he couldn't follow through. His depression and self-doubt continued to hound him, and prevented him from supporting me. Understand this: i believed then and still do now that Casey loved me as completely as he was able to. I just don't believe that he was capable of very much love. He couldn't support me in my endeavors if he was not personally interested in them. It wasn't enough to love me. He couldn't ask about my day, he couldn't ask about my writing, he couldn't ask about my friends, my family, or my faith. I eventually realized that he only loved me in relation to himself. He only loved me because i was pretty and smart and talented and i loved him. He could see this wonderful creature who was interested in him and feel better about himself. Beyond that, i had no value to him. He didn't care about any intricacies of my personality and character that were not directly involved with his ego. He just wanted brainy arm candy, and if i had hobbies outside of him, that was fine. But he had no desire to be involved with any parts of my life that didn't intersect with his.
Finally, i ended it. My heart had been so broken and bruised that i had nothing left to give him. He begged for a second chance, but i was reluctant to give it. We continued to talk every day, but i was growing tired of his neediness and his shallow interest in me. Finally, after the whole Theo thing, i knew i had to tell him what i had done. Not because he was my boyfriend and i had been unfaithful, but because he wanted to be my boyfriend and i thought he was entitled to know the truth. I also had a presentiment that he would want nothing further to do with me when he found out what i'd done.
I was right. He told me that he wanted nothing further to do with me, that he never wanted to think about me again, and after one very strange email exchange that September, we never spoke again.
In my sophomore year of college, i was recovering from my first love. I was finally starting to move on, when along came Casey. He was a senior, and had spent the last semester studying at Oxford.
Initially, he was interested in my friend Emily, but after she rejected him he took an interest in me. I had always had a thing for him, despite my gut feeling that he was an asshole. Our relationship progressed slowly; it was April, and he was graduating in May. Plus there was the awkwardness of Emily to deal with. We were all three uncomfortable with the situation, and each of us was jealous of the others for one reason or another. It was messy.
In late April/early May, Casey and i were making out almost every day, though the words "relationship" and "boyfriend/girlfriend" had yet to be spoken, except in jest. He told me that he loved me, and that he wanted to marry me and raise children with me and settle down with me, but he would not call me his girlfriend. I was hopelessly besotted and was certain that everything would work out in time.
After graduation, his plan was to have his parents pay his rent and other expenses while he figured out what he wanted to do with his life. Shockingly, they objected to this plan, and brought him back with them to Texas. I was devastated by the separation, but he assured me that all would be well.
And for a time, it was. We talked constantly on Facebook, AIM, and text. I downloaded Skype and bought a webcam; he promised that he'd get around to it. We talked about his dreams, goals, desires, trying to figure out his calling in life. But as the summer went on, things got more and more strained. I was living on campus and had no friends nearby. He was living at home and likewise alone. We were both slipping into a depression, but while i clung to him as my source of light and comfort, he pushed me away. He wanted to wallow in his misery.
Toward the end of July, he was in a wedding in Massachusetts. He came up for a long weekend, and he got a hotel room. For the first time in my life, i shared a bed with a lover. Yet despite our closeness, we still lacked intimacy. There was a wall between us, and i didn't know how to get rid of it. Things came to a head on his last night. We had had a fight, and i was crying silently in the corner of the bed. I would have left, but it was dark and well after midnight and nearly a mile to walk back to campus. He noticed my trembling, and suddenly his arms were around me and he was whispering in my ear. He apologized for his distance and coldness, and begged my forgiveness. He promised that things would get better soon, that he would snap out of it and figure out his life, that he would move back to New England and we would be together.
That was the night that i almost had sex.
I was nineteen, naked, and saying yes, but Casey couldn't follow through. I later concluded (perhaps falsely; i'm not sure) that it was because he loved me. He told me that night that he knew i wanted to wait, that he didn't want to ruin my future, that he didn't want to ruin our future. So he abstained, and we slept together in only the most literal sense.
Over the next few weeks, our communication grew steadily more sporadic. From August to February, he did not speak to me at all. I wrote him letters almost daily, and saved them in a bundle to send to him one day.
At last, he contacted me again. We started to talk, and i sent him my letters. Our relationship took off to new heights. He had pulled out of his depression and was determined to find a job -- any job -- and save up to move back to me. He would go through Hell to be at my side, my love would sustain him through any trial, and together we would have a wonderful life.
But he couldn't follow through. His depression and self-doubt continued to hound him, and prevented him from supporting me. Understand this: i believed then and still do now that Casey loved me as completely as he was able to. I just don't believe that he was capable of very much love. He couldn't support me in my endeavors if he was not personally interested in them. It wasn't enough to love me. He couldn't ask about my day, he couldn't ask about my writing, he couldn't ask about my friends, my family, or my faith. I eventually realized that he only loved me in relation to himself. He only loved me because i was pretty and smart and talented and i loved him. He could see this wonderful creature who was interested in him and feel better about himself. Beyond that, i had no value to him. He didn't care about any intricacies of my personality and character that were not directly involved with his ego. He just wanted brainy arm candy, and if i had hobbies outside of him, that was fine. But he had no desire to be involved with any parts of my life that didn't intersect with his.
Finally, i ended it. My heart had been so broken and bruised that i had nothing left to give him. He begged for a second chance, but i was reluctant to give it. We continued to talk every day, but i was growing tired of his neediness and his shallow interest in me. Finally, after the whole Theo thing, i knew i had to tell him what i had done. Not because he was my boyfriend and i had been unfaithful, but because he wanted to be my boyfriend and i thought he was entitled to know the truth. I also had a presentiment that he would want nothing further to do with me when he found out what i'd done.
I was right. He told me that he wanted nothing further to do with me, that he never wanted to think about me again, and after one very strange email exchange that September, we never spoke again.
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Ghosts of Boyfriends Past: Fusco
This year is the first year in my life that i will be in a relationship for Valentine's Day. In recognition of that fact, i will be spending the weeks leading up to the 14th telling stories of my past relationships. Get ready to mock.
"Fusco" was my very first boyfriend. He moved into my town when i had just turned thirteen. He was pretty much the most amazing boy i'd ever met. Of course, being homeschooled in a small town sort of limited the selection, but i was thirteen and didn't know that.
Fusco had blue eyes and was tall and cute. He was also gangly and awkward looking, but i was thirteen. He was brilliant in all the ways i wasn't (math, computers, science), he was musically gifted (his dad, a professional jazz musician, was the new pianist at our church), and he was edgy and cool (he went to public school and listened to music by bands that were not explicitly Christian). Best of all, we had never seen each other in diapers. We had not spent our whole lives within a ten-mile radius of one another. He was new and exciting.
I was the most awkward of my group of friends (we were all homeschooled, so that title was hotly contested). As the boring one, i had already resigned myself to a life of spinsterhood. I did not get nearly as much attention as my cute and peppy friends, and was sure that boys would never notice me.
But Fusco was different. And by that i mean that i had big boobs.
We dated for seven months. After about three, Fusco declared his intention to propose to me on my eighteenth birthday. He had it all planned out. We'd be on my back deck, and it would be snowing, and he would go down on one knee. I was not impressed, but pretended to be, because i liked having a boyfriend.
However, there were problems. I was starting to develop a crush on my grandmother's exchange student, and everyone (including my dad, who was usually oblivious to all human social interactions) was convinced that he had a crush on me. Plus, Fusco was constantly flirting with "Renee", one of my best friends. When i would talk to him about it, he would reassure me that they were just friends and that there was nothing going on. Then he would go to Renee and talk to her about our conversation and ask how he should reassure me further.
Finally, in October, i was starting to feel like i needed to break up with him. But his birthday was in October, so i postponed it. Then in November, his parents started talking about divorce. December was Christmas, but i couldn't wait any longer. I ended the relationship.
Fusco was crushed. He wanted badly to win me back, but i insisted that we take some time to work on our friendship. After a few weeks had passed, Fusco and i had a serious talk. He told me that he still loved me, and still wanted to marry me one day, but that he didn't think i was ready for a relationship. Also, he really liked Renee, and had decided to date her while he was waiting for me.
Obviously, i was swept off my feet, and when i turned eighteen Fusco proposed and we lived happily ever after.
Sike! Renee broke Fusco's heart, and then they both dated other people for a while. Fusco and i lost touch, Renee and i stopped speaking (high school drama), and we all moved on with our lives. Renee went to rehab, got out, got pregnant, got engaged, broke up with the guy, and named her son Kratos Wolf (yes, for real).
Nearly eight years after all of this began, Renee and Fusco are back together. Love is weird.
"Fusco" was my very first boyfriend. He moved into my town when i had just turned thirteen. He was pretty much the most amazing boy i'd ever met. Of course, being homeschooled in a small town sort of limited the selection, but i was thirteen and didn't know that.
Fusco had blue eyes and was tall and cute. He was also gangly and awkward looking, but i was thirteen. He was brilliant in all the ways i wasn't (math, computers, science), he was musically gifted (his dad, a professional jazz musician, was the new pianist at our church), and he was edgy and cool (he went to public school and listened to music by bands that were not explicitly Christian). Best of all, we had never seen each other in diapers. We had not spent our whole lives within a ten-mile radius of one another. He was new and exciting.
I was the most awkward of my group of friends (we were all homeschooled, so that title was hotly contested). As the boring one, i had already resigned myself to a life of spinsterhood. I did not get nearly as much attention as my cute and peppy friends, and was sure that boys would never notice me.
But Fusco was different. And by that i mean that i had big boobs.
 |
| Me, right around the time i started high school. |
We dated for seven months. After about three, Fusco declared his intention to propose to me on my eighteenth birthday. He had it all planned out. We'd be on my back deck, and it would be snowing, and he would go down on one knee. I was not impressed, but pretended to be, because i liked having a boyfriend.
However, there were problems. I was starting to develop a crush on my grandmother's exchange student, and everyone (including my dad, who was usually oblivious to all human social interactions) was convinced that he had a crush on me. Plus, Fusco was constantly flirting with "Renee", one of my best friends. When i would talk to him about it, he would reassure me that they were just friends and that there was nothing going on. Then he would go to Renee and talk to her about our conversation and ask how he should reassure me further.
Finally, in October, i was starting to feel like i needed to break up with him. But his birthday was in October, so i postponed it. Then in November, his parents started talking about divorce. December was Christmas, but i couldn't wait any longer. I ended the relationship.
Fusco was crushed. He wanted badly to win me back, but i insisted that we take some time to work on our friendship. After a few weeks had passed, Fusco and i had a serious talk. He told me that he still loved me, and still wanted to marry me one day, but that he didn't think i was ready for a relationship. Also, he really liked Renee, and had decided to date her while he was waiting for me.
Obviously, i was swept off my feet, and when i turned eighteen Fusco proposed and we lived happily ever after.
Sike! Renee broke Fusco's heart, and then they both dated other people for a while. Fusco and i lost touch, Renee and i stopped speaking (high school drama), and we all moved on with our lives. Renee went to rehab, got out, got pregnant, got engaged, broke up with the guy, and named her son Kratos Wolf (yes, for real).
Nearly eight years after all of this began, Renee and Fusco are back together. Love is weird.
Monday, January 9, 2012
first love
I once spent a year of my life in love with someone who called me "buddy". True fact.
"Jacob" was amazing. He was handsome, and kind, and funny. He was in the Army. He was smart, and passionate, and mature. He loved Jesus. He loved his family. He loved burgers. It couldn't have been more perfect.
I started spending time with Jacob after i broke up with "James" in my freshman year. We became friends instantly, and i fell in love with him in a matter of days. Jacob was a very practical, sheltered boy (he had been homeschooled) who didn't want to date while he was in college, as he was afraid girls would distract him. I didn't let that deter my dreams of marrying him, though. I was prepared to wait.
I still think that, if he hadn't transferred to a school in Virginia, we would have gotten together sooner or later. He liked me, he just didn't really know what to do about it. But he transferred, and we kept up a close correspondence for a whole semester. But near Christmas break, we drifted apart. At last, i accepted that it wasn't meant to be, and i let go just in time to make the mistake of giving Casey a chance.
Looking back, i'm glad we never got together. He wouldn't have liked me drinking and swearing, and i wouldn't have liked him being a bad speller and a homophobe. We're great as friends, but for anything more than that, it would have been a disaster.
"Jacob" was amazing. He was handsome, and kind, and funny. He was in the Army. He was smart, and passionate, and mature. He loved Jesus. He loved his family. He loved burgers. It couldn't have been more perfect.
I started spending time with Jacob after i broke up with "James" in my freshman year. We became friends instantly, and i fell in love with him in a matter of days. Jacob was a very practical, sheltered boy (he had been homeschooled) who didn't want to date while he was in college, as he was afraid girls would distract him. I didn't let that deter my dreams of marrying him, though. I was prepared to wait.
I still think that, if he hadn't transferred to a school in Virginia, we would have gotten together sooner or later. He liked me, he just didn't really know what to do about it. But he transferred, and we kept up a close correspondence for a whole semester. But near Christmas break, we drifted apart. At last, i accepted that it wasn't meant to be, and i let go just in time to make the mistake of giving Casey a chance.
Looking back, i'm glad we never got together. He wouldn't have liked me drinking and swearing, and i wouldn't have liked him being a bad speller and a homophobe. We're great as friends, but for anything more than that, it would have been a disaster.
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