young girls and Diary of a Young Girl

You may have heard that Miep Gies, the last surviving protector of Anne Frank and her family, died on Monday.  As a result, Anne Frank and her family’s story and the story of the people who tried to save them, has been in the news this week.  Last night, I read this piece by Monica Hesse of The Washington Post, and the first paragraph made me say out loud, “That’s ME!”  This is that paragraph:

The girls who loved Anne Frank loved her in a deep and abiding way, in a way that bordered on obsession and felt both bleak and wise. She was their first introduction to the terribleness of the world, and the beauty, and to sad endings that are also hopeful and true.

It’s sort of hard to talk about, but as an early teen, I got more than a little obsessed with Anne Frank and the holocaust. It’s a weird sort of thing to be obsessed with, particularly when you’re a Christian girl growing up without much hardship in America.  You can’t exactly tell people that you’re reading everything you can about the Holocaust and not seem a little odd, a little morbid.  And yet I related to Anne in a very deep way.  And it turns out, according to this article, this is the case for many, many women (maybe men? they weren’t mentioned, but surely this story has touched men too).  For me, looking back now at my Anne Frank years, it was that we were close to the same age.  We were both starting to realize that there was a whole lot of awful in the world.  We were both experiencing puberty and a budding interest in boys.  We were both bookish and awkward and prone to emotional outbursts and sudden tears.  We both had sometimes difficult relationships to our sisters.  We were both isolated in some ways, turning to journals to pour out our hearts rather than best friends.  In other words, it felt like we were coming of age together, and so I read her diary over and over and over. Continue reading “young girls and Diary of a Young Girl”

oh hai

Posting may be light around here for the next week or so, as I work at a university and classes are starting AND we’re opening a new building.  Any time I’ve gotten overwhelmed by the stress of it all today, one thing has calmed me down.  It’s this picture, via the Huffington Post, which should really be the #1 photo in a Google image search of “oh hai:” Feel free to bookmark this picture in case you need a quick pick me up sometime in the future.  Smiley seal says hello.

favored son

I’ve thought since the first time I brought him home that my family liked my husband more than they like me.  My mom is a feeder, loves to cook for people, and for the first time she had a BOY to feed and feed and feed.  He’s not picky, he has a ginormous appetite, and happily goes back for seconds.  And don’t even get me started on how he wowed all the women in the family by doing the dishes the first time we had him around for Thanksgiving.  And my dad? Well, much as he adores his three girls, it’s been adorable to see him with a son for the first time, geeking out about doctor stuff, playing ping pong for hours, working on projects around the house. Even my littlest sister thinks he rocks, because he’ll jump on the trampoline with her.  So you might see how I’d get the idea that he’s everyone’s favorite.  But now I have actual proof.

For Christmas this year, my Memaw gave everyone money and mittens.  My dad got $50. My mom got $50. My sister got $50. I got $50.

My husband?

He got $100.

The rest of us maintain that two $50 bills simply got stuck together, that it’s some sort of error. My husband maintains that Memaw simply likes him more than us.

God is not enough?

One of the most exiting things for me in the past year has been that Jon and I have both been excited by and interested in some new (for us) thinking, particularly around the issues of sustainable food (mostly thanks to Michael Pollan) and the emerging church movement (mostly thanks to Rob Bell and Brian McLaren).  We’ve been reading books passed back and forth, and talking about new ideas, and bouncing thoughts off of each other, and it’s just been really fun.  Maybe that’s one of the cool things about getting to live with my best friend: we can geek out over the same things.

All of this to say that I’ve been reading Brian McLaren’s The Story We Find Ourselves In.  It’s the sequel to his book A New Kind of Christian and I highly recommend both.  They’re sort of fictionalized dialogues between characters, and through their conversations, McLaren introduces a whole lot of just mind-blowing stuff. I just wanted to share one small snippet that struck me while I was reading yesterday, made me wonder why I’d never thought of it before.

There’s one other surprising thing that the second creation story in Genesis suggests to me. It’s something shocking, maybe put best when it’s put in a way that borders on heresy: God is not enough, the story says. That has nothing to do with any deficiency in God; it has to do with the storyline God had in mind for us. God doesn’t want to be the only reality in our lives, the only relationship in our network, the only message on our screen…This is the story we find ourselves in, isn’t it? Caught between two dangers: a hyperspiritual danger that says ‘It is good enough for human beings to be alone, so all they need is God,’ and a hypersecular danger that says, ‘It is good enough for human beings to be with the other created beings; forget about the Supreme Being from whom all being and blessing flow.’ Neither of those options is good enough. The only viable option in our story is for us human beings to enjoy the company both of our Creator and of our fellow creatures: our brother sun and sister moon, our brother fox and sister fruit bat, and especially of our mates–either sexual mates or mates in the Australian sense of the term, our friends–in whom we find a lost part of ourselves restored to us again.

I’ve heard well-meaning people, even myself, say things like “God is all I need.” But even in Eden, God saw that there was something “not good” in paradise, something that needed fixing: the human being was alone. The human being NEEDED more than just God and nature. The human being needed companionship. And God creates a companion, and then everything is good.

Which brings me to something else the book pointed out that I hadn’t noticed before.  This is what my ESV Bible says in Genesis 1:26: Continue reading “God is not enough?”

stirring up…conversation

Earlier today, I tweeted this:
It was in response to reading a rumor that the Christian (as they define it) organization Focus on the Family is set to spend $4 million on an anti-abortion-rights ad during the Super Bowl.  According to rumor, the ad would feature the parents of college football phenom Tim Tebow, and would tell how they chose not to abort their son, despite recommendations from a doctor (Mrs. Tebow had been on some meds that could have seriously damaged her fetus), they chose to carry the pregnancy to term, and that baby grew up to be a football star.

My tweet was re-tweeted a few times by some of my Twitter friends, people I don’t know in real life, but who I’m closer to than Kevin Bacon if it came down to degrees of separation. I know people who know these people, and who knows, maybe once we move to Little Rock, I’ll know them myself.  Those re-tweets and replies stirred up more replies. Continue reading “stirring up…conversation”

back in ten

I’ve decided my theme for the new year is Back in Ten. Back to Arkansas. Hopefully back to a more normal schedule for Jon now that residency is over. Back in our old neighborhood.  Maybe even back to school for me, we’ll see.  No matter what, I’m BACK in ten, baby.

And hopefully, the entire country is on its way back, too.  Back from the recession. Soldiers back from war. The uninsured back on health plans. Back on track. We can do it.

retrospective

Today’s the last day of the year, and for about a week, retrospectives of the year and the decade have been filling my Google Reader with bests and worsts of, lists, and general nostalgia.  While I maintain that we still have a year to go in the decade before we can wrap it all up and tie it with a bow (think about it, there was no year 0 A.D.), I see the argument that we don’t consider 1990 part of the 80s, so I guess I’ll let it slide.

I thought of writing a decade retrospective of my own, but remembered that ten years ago I was only 15, so what the hell do I know. Still, it’s good to look at where we’ve been before thinking of where we’re headed.

On the New Year’s Eve that was known as Y2K, my mom made my sister and me stay home, because she wasn’t sure what was going to happen. We didn’t stockpile food or firearms or anything weird like that, but we did stay at home and play Monopoly, because Lord knows what the crazies were going to be up to that night.  Lo and behold, our computer, a behemoth Gateway that came in one of those dang ol’ cow boxes, didn’t up and explode at the stroke of midnight, and the world kept on spinning.

Then it felt like it stopped for a bit about a year later, on 9/11, when I watched the Towers fall live in U.S. History class.

I turned 16 a few months later, although it wasn’t much of a milestone, since I was freaked out at the thought of driving and didn’t get my license until a year later.

I turned 18. I graduated from high school.  I got a job at a summer camp and met the love of my life.

I went off to Lyon College.  I met some of the best friends I’ll ever have.  I learned how to drink.  I voted in my first presidential election, for John Kerry, and got into a huge fight with Jon when I found out that not only had he voted for Bush, he thought it “didn’t really matter anyway.” It was the only time he’s ever hung up on me.

My parents adopted a foster child, now my youngest sister.  She has Autism. I was so proud of my parents, and so impressed with the progress she made from the minute she arrived in our home.

Hurricane Katrina decimated the coast.  We watched in horror as people not that far from us lost everything.  Many refugees ended up in Arkansas.  Some of them ended up in our classrooms.

On the way to Thanksgiving dinner at my Meme and Papa’s, I hydroplaned and Jon and I ended up in a ditch.  The airbag kicked my ass, and after an ambulance ride and a lot of pain and a lot of meds, we discovered that I had fractured three vertebrae. I learned that I have an extra vertebrae. I became 1/4″ shorter on my left side. I discovered that my fear of needles is so severe I’ll refuse a pain shot, even with a broken back.  I realized Jon was the man I wanted to marry when he was the one who took care of me after the wreck.

Jon and I got engaged.

I lost my grandfather, and with him, for a time, my faith.

Jon and I got married.

I found my way back to faith.

We found out Jon had matched in Charleston, SC for a residency in pediatrics.

I graduated from college, and Jon graduated from medical school.  I finally got to go to England, though I missed getting to go to Jon’s graduation.

We bought our first house, moved over 1,000 miles from everyone we loved, and started the three hardest years of our lives.  We got our first dog, Bessie.  I got my first post-college job and learned what it means to live below expectations, learned creative ways to avoid saying “I’m just a secretary,” wondered why I don’t know what the heck to do with myself, a BA in English and Political Science, and my life.

We spent as much time as possible at the beach.  We made new friends.  We found new rhythms.  We made a new life in a new place.  We ate a lot of real seafood.

I lost my job when the economy crashed.  I spent time in the unemployment office. I discovered just how measly unemployment benefits really are.  I realized how fortunate I was to be able to get health insurance through my husband’s job.  I became even more passionate about causes I believe in. I volunteered for the Obama campaign. We both voted for him.  I cried as election results came in– Jon was post-call, so he was sleeping on the couch next to me.

We got a second dog, Olive.

I got a new job, almost exactly a year ago, at a college.  I started taking graduate English classes and finally felt smart again, had something to be good at.

I stood in a freezing cold Marion Square to watch the inauguration with other Charlestonians.  I cried again.

We became passionate about more sustainable food and discovered the emerging church movement.

We found out Jon had matched in Little Rock, AR, for a fellowship in pediatric emergency medicine.

We started wondering what our next decade will hold.

So. I guess you could say that the biggest takeaway for me in the last decade is that I grew up.  I found love, I found grief, I lost and found my faith, I found strength, I found independence and dependence, I found myself.  I look forward to the next 10 years.

i’m not a heathen or a pagan, but i’m for the rebel Jesus

I know I’ve been mostly absent from the blog, and that’s likely to continue, as we’re splitting our Christmas time in Arkansas and Colorado, and I don’t have much internet access beyond what I can get on my BlackBerry, provided it’s working properly (maybe Santa will bring RIM some better infrastructure).  Anyway, we were in a restaurant the other day and I caught the tail end of a Christmas song I’d never heard before. The only line I heard was something about “a heathen and a pagan on the side of the rebel Jesus.”  So, thanks to Google, I’ve now found and fallen in love with this song by Jackson Browne. Consider it my Christmas card to you, Internets.

All the streets are filled with laughter and light
And the music of the season
And the merchants’ windows are all bright
With the faces of the children
And the families hurrying to their homes
While the sky darkens and freezes
Will be gathering around the hearths and tables
Giving thanks for God’s graces
And the birth of the rebel Jesus

Well they call him by ‘the Prince of Peace’
And they call him by ‘the Savior’
And they pray to him upon the seas
And in every bold endeavor
And they fill his churches with their pride and gold
As their faith in him increases
But they’ve turned the nature that I worship in
From a temple to a robber’s den
In the words of the rebel Jesus

Well we guard our world with locks and guns
And we guard our fine possessions
And once a year when Christmas comes
We give to our relations
And perhaps we give a little to the poor
If the generosity should seize us
But if any one of us should interfere
In the business of why there are poor
They get the same as the rebel Jesus

Now pardon me if I have seemed
To take the tone of judgement
For I’ve no wish to come between
This day and your enjoyment
In a life of hardship and of earthly toil
There’s a need for anything that frees us
So I bid you pleasure
And I bid you cheer
From a heathen and a pagan
On the side of the rebel Jesus

I wish you all joy and happiness, whatever you’re celebrating this time of year, from someone who is neither a heathen (well, that depends on who you ask, I guess) nor a pagan, but a fan of the rebel Jesus.

poor pitiful me

I have a cold, lovingly brought home to me by my pediatrician husband who spends his days with germy children and thought I needed a dose of their cooties, and I’m feeling pretty awful.  I only have to make it through one more day of work, though, so I’m hoping to stick it out. I’ve saved up 8 vacation days to tack on to the beginning of my already long (yay for being underpaid and working in academia!) Christmas break, and we’re headed out of town tomorrow evening.  All of this together means: posting will be extremely spotty until January or so. I hope you all stay healthy and happy and have a lovely holiday.

give a hoot

Give a hoot, don't pollute.

Today, after work, I was standing in a chilly drizzle at my bus stop, hands in my pockets, wishing I were wearing some sort of shoe with socks instead of ballet flats, when I saw an appalling display of poor parenting.  Near me, also waiting at the stop were two other young women, one with a baby on her hip, and the other with a toddler in tow.  The mom-of-toddler was juggling a couple of plastic grocery bags and talking on her cell phone. Toddler was guzzling a little plastic bottle of Kool Aid and eating Chex Mix.

Then I heard it. The kid finished the Kool Aid and didn’t just drop the bottle, she threw it on the ground, with gusto. Of course, I expected to hear the immediate “Pick that up, we don’t do that!” But no. Instead, MOT stomped on the bottle to smash it and then did the craziest thing.  She kicked it about half a block, walking, and kicking, and walking, and kicking, until she was several feet away.  Then she left the plastic bottle on the sidewalk and walked back to the stop. It was the most effort I’ve ever seen someone put into littering. I can’t understand why it wouldn’t have been easier to just reach down and pick up the bottle and put it in the plastic grocery sack, while telling the child that it’s not OK to throw trash on the street. But what do I know. I thought about going and picking up the bottle, as I’ve been known to come home with my messenger bag stuffed with the cans and bottles I find near the stop and toss them in the recycling, but I thought it might cause some sort of altercation. Some days I just don’t get people.