Avoiding hypocrisy while raising children is difficult. For instance, my policy on cussing is, "Don't say any word if you know it's going to offend someone." That goes for the common curse words, but also "jerk" or "divorce" (which once nearly made Ketan cry). Whenever Anju or Ketan get this sly look on their face and mention that some kid at school said something bad, I put on my non-reaction face and say, "Words are just words. But if you know a word is going to upset someone, don't say it. That's being kind." And that's enough.
Last week I introduced them to my three soundtracks from the Very Potter musicals. We started with Ron's sidekick song, which is hilarious and entirely without cursewords. Then I played the quintessential "Gotta Get Back to Hogwarts," and my heart stalled when Harry and Ron said they were going to kick some ass. Why the sudden freakout? Best I can tell, because I was the one who had introduced this sentence into their lives. As if I suddenly believed that words did matter. Oh, hypocrisy.
Yesterday, Anju and I had the afternoon to ourselves because Ketan was at a school function. She is in first grade, but reads at a fourth grade level. This causes some annoyances at the library, because the books she is capable of reading are emotionally mature for her.
Anju: This book is about middle school, and it's too old for me.
Me: Oh yeah? Why?
Anju: She has a crush on this boy, and people say stuff like, "Hey, you're smokin' hot!" No first graders say things like that.
Me: How do you feel, reading something that's too old for you?
Anju: I feel pretty confident. I know I can read it, so that's good. And I know that even though I'm reading something, I don't have to act that way. So even though they have crushes and stuff, and go on dates, I know I'm too little for that. Because it's a book, and it's fake. I'm just reading it. I don't have to do everything it talks about.
Kids, man! They're so smart! I feel like this applies to the great Harry Potter debate, to cussing, to dating, to everything! Six-year-olds are capable of understanding the difference between fiction and reality, and moreover, they are capable of understanding that not everything that exists or occurs is something that everyone ought to do.
So, good. I feel like I was on the right track. I'm not saying it's good to expose kids to extreme violence or porn, but I also don't think it's necessary to 100% shelter kids either. They are able to work stuff out, especially with the help of an adult who is willing to discuss and explain rather than immediately shut off conversation with, "That's wrong! Don't do it!" Hopefully I manage to be that adult for them most of the time.
Thursday, March 28, 2013
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
The Outsider
I often feel like an outsider amongst Christians, which is weird, because I find myself thinking, "We all love God, right? We're dependent upon Jesus's salvation? We all think the Holy Spirit lives within us? SO WHY DO I NOT UNDERSTAND ANYTHING YOU STAND FOR?"
Today was a great example of my outsider status. We talked about humanistic counseling theories, which operates under the assumption that people are inherently good and that in an ideal environment of unconditional positive regard, empathy, and genuineness, people will strive for betterment. Almost everything my professor said resonated with me. Except...she kept talking about it as if it were ridiculous.
And I get it, to some extent. Everyone in the class was hung up on the idea of original sin. People are inherently disgusting! Ew, sin! And, sure? I mean, I definitely believe we are inherently selfish--we want what is best for ourselves, regardless of if it comes at someone else's cost, at a gut level. I also believe our world is super screwed up. There are diseases and disasters, and people treat each other like crap. That is all there, I won't argue with you.
But I don't think that's the end of the story. I also think people are beautiful and creative and capable of great love and sacrifice. Men and women are created in the image of God, and that initial declaration of "very good" is still there, no matter how much we've been screwed over by the effects of sin in the world.
I didn't mean to actually defend humanism, but I guess I did a little. What I want to talk about is how every question asked and answered felt crazy to me. I literally could not understand how people were so against humanistic theories. It was like we were two different species, and since I was the one not talking and there were a whole bunch of people making comments, I thought, am I the weird one? Am I wrong?
I kept thinking this over as I drove home, and inspiration hit when I was listening to an Emmy the Great song. She sings about her first sexual experience, and it's strongly implied that it was against her consent. She sings:
"Well I wish I never met you that day
You said I have a room and music to play
I have a room let me show you the way
I wish that I'd never come
But now that I have, I would do it again
I would forget that I'd piss on a grave
I would forget that I'd piss on a grave
and the words as they came to my tongue were hallelujah. Hallelujah!
And the sky was so much bluer
Hallelujah! Hallelujah!
And the world was so much newer."
What is that craziness? She wishes that she'd never been with him, but she would do it again. It makes no sense. AND I LOVE IT. I love her conflicted emotions, and her desires that don't align with what she believes, and her confusion as to what happened and how to react.
That's when I realized the difference between me and the vocal majority of Christians. My gut instinct is to make things more complex. Other people's gut instinct is to make things simpler. Everything makes sense now. From my habit of loving villains (because I want to know why they are evil and what experiences made them think this was appropriate) to my definition of God (I have no desire to explain how God is both one and three, or how Jesus is both God and man--I want those paradoxes to lie hand in hand, undissected). This is also why my tag for thoughtful topics is "stubbornly hopeful skeptic." I have no problem being a skeptically hopeful, or a doubtful believer, or a selfish lover. These truths can co-exist, and I find joy in letting them breathe together rather, admitting the grey rather than living in black and white.
So there's my new self-awareness. I'm happy to let people be both sinful and self-actuating. I believe we screw each other over and build each other up. I believe God helps us whether we are believers or doubters. I believe we can make progress in bettering our lives and we need God. And I know that most people don't like to see the world that way, which is why I so often feel like an outsider.
Today was a great example of my outsider status. We talked about humanistic counseling theories, which operates under the assumption that people are inherently good and that in an ideal environment of unconditional positive regard, empathy, and genuineness, people will strive for betterment. Almost everything my professor said resonated with me. Except...she kept talking about it as if it were ridiculous.
And I get it, to some extent. Everyone in the class was hung up on the idea of original sin. People are inherently disgusting! Ew, sin! And, sure? I mean, I definitely believe we are inherently selfish--we want what is best for ourselves, regardless of if it comes at someone else's cost, at a gut level. I also believe our world is super screwed up. There are diseases and disasters, and people treat each other like crap. That is all there, I won't argue with you.
But I don't think that's the end of the story. I also think people are beautiful and creative and capable of great love and sacrifice. Men and women are created in the image of God, and that initial declaration of "very good" is still there, no matter how much we've been screwed over by the effects of sin in the world.
I didn't mean to actually defend humanism, but I guess I did a little. What I want to talk about is how every question asked and answered felt crazy to me. I literally could not understand how people were so against humanistic theories. It was like we were two different species, and since I was the one not talking and there were a whole bunch of people making comments, I thought, am I the weird one? Am I wrong?
I kept thinking this over as I drove home, and inspiration hit when I was listening to an Emmy the Great song. She sings about her first sexual experience, and it's strongly implied that it was against her consent. She sings:
"Well I wish I never met you that day
You said I have a room and music to play
I have a room let me show you the way
I wish that I'd never come
But now that I have, I would do it again
I would forget that I'd piss on a grave
I would forget that I'd piss on a grave
and the words as they came to my tongue were hallelujah. Hallelujah!
And the sky was so much bluer
Hallelujah! Hallelujah!
And the world was so much newer."
What is that craziness? She wishes that she'd never been with him, but she would do it again. It makes no sense. AND I LOVE IT. I love her conflicted emotions, and her desires that don't align with what she believes, and her confusion as to what happened and how to react.
That's when I realized the difference between me and the vocal majority of Christians. My gut instinct is to make things more complex. Other people's gut instinct is to make things simpler. Everything makes sense now. From my habit of loving villains (because I want to know why they are evil and what experiences made them think this was appropriate) to my definition of God (I have no desire to explain how God is both one and three, or how Jesus is both God and man--I want those paradoxes to lie hand in hand, undissected). This is also why my tag for thoughtful topics is "stubbornly hopeful skeptic." I have no problem being a skeptically hopeful, or a doubtful believer, or a selfish lover. These truths can co-exist, and I find joy in letting them breathe together rather, admitting the grey rather than living in black and white.
So there's my new self-awareness. I'm happy to let people be both sinful and self-actuating. I believe we screw each other over and build each other up. I believe God helps us whether we are believers or doubters. I believe we can make progress in bettering our lives and we need God. And I know that most people don't like to see the world that way, which is why I so often feel like an outsider.
Monday, March 25, 2013
Further Tattoo Thoughts
Alright, so it's been a week. What is it like to have a tattoo for a week, everyone desperately wants to know.
Well, it healed super fast. If I slammed my wrist against the edge of a desk, I'm sure it would hurt, but then again, it usually does. Other than that, it feels fine.
It's very slightly raised, and I don't know if that will stay. I kind of hope so, but I have a feeling it won't.
It's definitely weird. I mean, I knew it was permanent before I got it. But it's totally different, seeing something on my skin and knowing it will ALWAYS BE THERE. I don't regret it or anything like that, it's just strange. I guess it's what people feel after getting married, realizing, "Whoa, I knew I was going to spend my life with this person, but now it's real. We're really together forever."
In related news, I think I just found another really good reason for me to have gotten a tattoo. If anyone needs to practice commitment, it's me!
My grade school best friend Facebooked me some really fantastic information. She said the root of courage is "coer" which is heart. She also mentioned that the ancient meaning of coer was "the heart as the seat of intellect and imagination." HAVE YOU EVER HEARD OF SOMETHING SO PERFECT FOR ME? I didn't think so.
Anyway, I'm still in love, it's strange in ways I didn't expect, and no one has reacted extremely negatively (to my face)!
Well, it healed super fast. If I slammed my wrist against the edge of a desk, I'm sure it would hurt, but then again, it usually does. Other than that, it feels fine.
It's very slightly raised, and I don't know if that will stay. I kind of hope so, but I have a feeling it won't.
It's definitely weird. I mean, I knew it was permanent before I got it. But it's totally different, seeing something on my skin and knowing it will ALWAYS BE THERE. I don't regret it or anything like that, it's just strange. I guess it's what people feel after getting married, realizing, "Whoa, I knew I was going to spend my life with this person, but now it's real. We're really together forever."
In related news, I think I just found another really good reason for me to have gotten a tattoo. If anyone needs to practice commitment, it's me!
My grade school best friend Facebooked me some really fantastic information. She said the root of courage is "coer" which is heart. She also mentioned that the ancient meaning of coer was "the heart as the seat of intellect and imagination." HAVE YOU EVER HEARD OF SOMETHING SO PERFECT FOR ME? I didn't think so.
Anyway, I'm still in love, it's strange in ways I didn't expect, and no one has reacted extremely negatively (to my face)!
Thursday, March 21, 2013
Courage, Dear Heart
I drank coffee too near to sleeping, and instead I lay awake thinking about my tattoo. "Courage, dear heart," Aslan whispered in Lucy's ear. I smiled at the idea that God might whisper those words to me. That was nice. What a fun game. I started thinking about what else God might whisper to me.
"Stop doing that."
"You can do better."
I curled under my sheets, twisting into myself. God doesn't say those things, I know. I KNOW, right? But immediately that's what I imagined. God wants me to try harder, to avoid sin, to display the fruits of the Spirit. I should be more than I am. That is what the god of my imagination demanded.
In immediate contrast, I had "Courage, dear heart" carved into my skin. I pressed into the sore flesh to remind myself of the words in the dark. Maybe they were truer words than the ones cycling through my thoughts. I desperately wanted to believe that God would see my failures and my self-righteous striving and instead of commenting on any of those things, He would say, "Courage, dear heart." He would remind me that this is not the end, and that holding on to Him is all I need to do.
I will be courageous if He will make me courageous.
"Stop doing that."
"You can do better."
I curled under my sheets, twisting into myself. God doesn't say those things, I know. I KNOW, right? But immediately that's what I imagined. God wants me to try harder, to avoid sin, to display the fruits of the Spirit. I should be more than I am. That is what the god of my imagination demanded.
In immediate contrast, I had "Courage, dear heart" carved into my skin. I pressed into the sore flesh to remind myself of the words in the dark. Maybe they were truer words than the ones cycling through my thoughts. I desperately wanted to believe that God would see my failures and my self-righteous striving and instead of commenting on any of those things, He would say, "Courage, dear heart." He would remind me that this is not the end, and that holding on to Him is all I need to do.
I will be courageous if He will make me courageous.
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
Mystery Poem
I've been writing poetry irregularly regular, and when flipping through my notebook I came across this one written on a post-it with purple pen, which means I wrote it in the car at a stoplight.
Our conversation killed a million futures;
The maybes and what-ifs no longer have power.
One question,
One answer,
And suddenly I know
Who I am and
Where I am going.
THAT IS SO DRAMATIC. But I have no idea what I was talking about! This was written in the last couple weeks. That is not long ago. What could possibly have happened that inspired me to write this, but which wasn't important enough to remember? I'm so intrigued by my mysterious past.
Our conversation killed a million futures;
The maybes and what-ifs no longer have power.
One question,
One answer,
And suddenly I know
Who I am and
Where I am going.
THAT IS SO DRAMATIC. But I have no idea what I was talking about! This was written in the last couple weeks. That is not long ago. What could possibly have happened that inspired me to write this, but which wasn't important enough to remember? I'm so intrigued by my mysterious past.
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
The Why of Getting a Tattoo
I grew up thinking Christians with tattoos were spiritually suspect. That judgment must not have run very deep, however, because I was simultaneously in love with the idea of them. I'm a symbolic person, and engraving symbols onto your body? That is right up my alley. I love the physicality, the permanence, the commitment.
Once I concretely decided that Leviticus was referring to cultic practices and being a holy temple was more about the insides than the outsides, I got serious thinking about tattoos. For a while in college I wanted a name of God or a title of God in Greek or Hebrew. But I didn't really like how they looked aesthetically, and then I got weirded out by the idea of labeling myself with a name for God.
A few short-term desires later, I landed on "Courage, dear heart." This is a quote from The Voyage of the Dawn Treader. In this scene, the Narnians have sailed into the Island of Darkness, where all their dreams come true. Sounds good, but actually those dreams are nightmares, and everyone is freaking out. From the top of the ship, Lucy sees something, a bright something which guides the ship out of darkness into light, a something that reveals itself as an albatross, but which whispers to her in Aslan's voice, "Courage, dear heart."
My love for this quote is many-fold. I've always known I would want a word as my tattoo. I am a word person far more than a picture person. I love that it is a quote from a book. I love both books and quotes. I love that it is spiritual, and very much refers to Jesus and my walk following Him, but isn't IN YOUR FACE. I think it invites conversation rather than blocks it.
More specifically, I love the command to be courageous. I've heard that "be strong and courageous" (and similarly stated phrases) are the most numerous commands of the Bible, and I believe it. When dealing with a mysterious and great God as well as a dark and scary world, the thing people most need to hear is, "You can get through this. Keep walking. Be strong." So the courage part of the tattoo is necessary.
And the "dear heart"? That is the icing on the cake. Not only does God desire for us to be courageous, He reminds us WHY we can act courageously. We can follow Him through darkness and fear and uncertainty because He loves us, because He looks fondly upon us and calls us "dear heart." That mix of bold determination and loving tenderness is just the best.
Alright, so it's a great quote. But did I really need to tattoo it to my body? Yes. Because here's the thing. Tattoos are permanent. Gasp! People have frequently asked me whether I will regret it, or maybe grow out of it. And yeah, I'm 100% sure there will be times I wish this were not on my wrist. And I'm getting it tattooed because of that. I want to be reminded of God's promises and affections, because all too often I try to run away from those truths. I don't want to be courageous. I want to run away from God and do my own thing, and hearing His loving voice is the last thing I need.
In those moments, I can't run away from my own skin. I now carry around with me a physical, permanent reminder of God's goodness, grace, and call. Someday I may fall away from the faith, temporarily or permanently. I don't know. But I do know that I don't want that decision to be easy. I want it to be painful, and I want as many obstacles in place to make it difficult.
I also want the reminder for more immediate pains, not just the long slide into doubt. There will be deaths of loved ones in my future. I'm going to lose people, and I'm going to run into things that make me cry out, "God, what are You doing!? Why do You allow these things to happen!?" I am sure that the worst times in my life are in my future, and when they come, I want to take desperate comfort in my tattoo that reminds me that in my darkest hours, an albatross might fly by and whisper in my ear.
Also, I definitely want to be a grandma who sits her grandkids on her lap, and one of them might touch my wrist and giggle, because what? This old wrinkled lady has ink on her skin! I want them to laugh at me, and ask about it, and I'll share my stories with them. I'll be buried carrying this tattoo (unless my arm is amputated at some point, in which case I will definitely need to re-ink the reminder to be courageous!). Then I'll walk into the next life, and I won't have the ink anymore because I'll no longer need to be reminded to be brave, and I'll never again doubt the reassurance that God considers me dear.
Once I concretely decided that Leviticus was referring to cultic practices and being a holy temple was more about the insides than the outsides, I got serious thinking about tattoos. For a while in college I wanted a name of God or a title of God in Greek or Hebrew. But I didn't really like how they looked aesthetically, and then I got weirded out by the idea of labeling myself with a name for God.
A few short-term desires later, I landed on "Courage, dear heart." This is a quote from The Voyage of the Dawn Treader. In this scene, the Narnians have sailed into the Island of Darkness, where all their dreams come true. Sounds good, but actually those dreams are nightmares, and everyone is freaking out. From the top of the ship, Lucy sees something, a bright something which guides the ship out of darkness into light, a something that reveals itself as an albatross, but which whispers to her in Aslan's voice, "Courage, dear heart."
My love for this quote is many-fold. I've always known I would want a word as my tattoo. I am a word person far more than a picture person. I love that it is a quote from a book. I love both books and quotes. I love that it is spiritual, and very much refers to Jesus and my walk following Him, but isn't IN YOUR FACE. I think it invites conversation rather than blocks it.
More specifically, I love the command to be courageous. I've heard that "be strong and courageous" (and similarly stated phrases) are the most numerous commands of the Bible, and I believe it. When dealing with a mysterious and great God as well as a dark and scary world, the thing people most need to hear is, "You can get through this. Keep walking. Be strong." So the courage part of the tattoo is necessary.
And the "dear heart"? That is the icing on the cake. Not only does God desire for us to be courageous, He reminds us WHY we can act courageously. We can follow Him through darkness and fear and uncertainty because He loves us, because He looks fondly upon us and calls us "dear heart." That mix of bold determination and loving tenderness is just the best.
Alright, so it's a great quote. But did I really need to tattoo it to my body? Yes. Because here's the thing. Tattoos are permanent. Gasp! People have frequently asked me whether I will regret it, or maybe grow out of it. And yeah, I'm 100% sure there will be times I wish this were not on my wrist. And I'm getting it tattooed because of that. I want to be reminded of God's promises and affections, because all too often I try to run away from those truths. I don't want to be courageous. I want to run away from God and do my own thing, and hearing His loving voice is the last thing I need.
In those moments, I can't run away from my own skin. I now carry around with me a physical, permanent reminder of God's goodness, grace, and call. Someday I may fall away from the faith, temporarily or permanently. I don't know. But I do know that I don't want that decision to be easy. I want it to be painful, and I want as many obstacles in place to make it difficult.
I also want the reminder for more immediate pains, not just the long slide into doubt. There will be deaths of loved ones in my future. I'm going to lose people, and I'm going to run into things that make me cry out, "God, what are You doing!? Why do You allow these things to happen!?" I am sure that the worst times in my life are in my future, and when they come, I want to take desperate comfort in my tattoo that reminds me that in my darkest hours, an albatross might fly by and whisper in my ear.
Also, I definitely want to be a grandma who sits her grandkids on her lap, and one of them might touch my wrist and giggle, because what? This old wrinkled lady has ink on her skin! I want them to laugh at me, and ask about it, and I'll share my stories with them. I'll be buried carrying this tattoo (unless my arm is amputated at some point, in which case I will definitely need to re-ink the reminder to be courageous!). Then I'll walk into the next life, and I won't have the ink anymore because I'll no longer need to be reminded to be brave, and I'll never again doubt the reassurance that God considers me dear.
The How of Getting a Tattoo
I've wanted to get "Courage, dear heart" tattooed on my person for years. Probably around five. This past year it became a more insistent thought, and in November I decided that if I still passionately wanted the tattoo by my 25th birthday, that would be the day. Today is my 25th birthday! And I got the tattoo.
Emily gave me a journal with "courage, dear heart" written on the cover, so I took that in. My tattoo artist tweaked it a little, but mostly kept the design the same. I knew what I wanted, but my default reaction is one of laid-back compliance.
Tattoo artist: This would look better stacked.
Me: Yeah, okay.
Tattoo artist: Actually, maybe we could do it in two lines?
Me: Yeah, okay.
Now, let me be clear. I've thought about this for five years. I knew what I wanted. Yet still I did whatever he told me. Thankfully, I had Liz along.
Tattoo artist: Sign this form.
Me: Okay, cool.
Liz: How long will it take for her to heal?
Me: Oh yeah, that's a good question.
Tattoo artist: Seven to ten days.
Liz: And what should she do as treatment? Should she avoid anything? What if something goes wrong, can she come back? How long have you been in this business?
My tattoo artist was awesome, though. I completely understand how repeat tattoo receivers become friends with their artists. My guy was also pretty chill and desperately sarcastic.
Tattoo artist: Alright, we're getting started. Your job is to hold still.
Me: What if I jump because it hurts?
Tattoo artist: ...Try not to do that.
He bandaged me up with saran wrap and went to take a call while Liz and I gazed adoringly at my body art. Liz realized he had forgotten to add the comma, so we waited for him to come back out.
Me: The comma!
Tattoo artist: Aw, s***! No problem, just sit down. I knew I would forget that.
Me: Me too. That's why Liz is here.
And then it was done! And I was tattooed! We went outside and I danced in place, got in the car, and screamed, "I HAVE A TATTOO."
Emily gave me a journal with "courage, dear heart" written on the cover, so I took that in. My tattoo artist tweaked it a little, but mostly kept the design the same. I knew what I wanted, but my default reaction is one of laid-back compliance.
Tattoo artist: This would look better stacked.
Me: Yeah, okay.
Tattoo artist: Actually, maybe we could do it in two lines?
Me: Yeah, okay.
Now, let me be clear. I've thought about this for five years. I knew what I wanted. Yet still I did whatever he told me. Thankfully, I had Liz along.
Tattoo artist: Sign this form.
Me: Okay, cool.
Liz: How long will it take for her to heal?
Me: Oh yeah, that's a good question.
Tattoo artist: Seven to ten days.
Liz: And what should she do as treatment? Should she avoid anything? What if something goes wrong, can she come back? How long have you been in this business?
My tattoo artist was awesome, though. I completely understand how repeat tattoo receivers become friends with their artists. My guy was also pretty chill and desperately sarcastic.
Tattoo artist: Alright, we're getting started. Your job is to hold still.
Me: What if I jump because it hurts?
Tattoo artist: ...Try not to do that.
He bandaged me up with saran wrap and went to take a call while Liz and I gazed adoringly at my body art. Liz realized he had forgotten to add the comma, so we waited for him to come back out.
Me: The comma!
Tattoo artist: Aw, s***! No problem, just sit down. I knew I would forget that.
Me: Me too. That's why Liz is here.
And then it was done! And I was tattooed! We went outside and I danced in place, got in the car, and screamed, "I HAVE A TATTOO."
Sunday, March 17, 2013
25th Birthday Party
I excitedly invited several people from my various worlds (church, school, family dinners) to my birthday, but almost everyone couldn't come. It was kind of depressing, but Liz introduced me to Bastille, an AWESOME new band, so the two of us had a dance party as we waited for anyone to show up.
Jessica, Bridgett, and Laura arrived, and we ate pizza in our backyard on a Senegalese mat. The picnic was made even better as we discussed embarrassing childhood obsessions and related the best scenes from Pitch Perfect. Then Chad and Melissa showed up! We all went inside to avoid mosquitos and were just about to cut into the cake when Gus also appeared! It was a legit party.
We had tea and cake, and we went through a couple Table Topics questions. After two okay questions, I pulled "How would the world be different if it were matriarchal instead of patriarchal?" That spiraled into a discussion on feminist nuns and wages and equality. After ten minutes I couldn't stand it, and I burst out, "We are sitting around talking about feminism and the patriarchy on my birthday! This is the best!" They accused me of screening the cards, and it was lovely.
After taking some pictures, Amy showed up, because her flight was delayed. We housemate bonded for a while after everyone else left. It was perfect, and it's not even my real birthday yet.
Jessica, Bridgett, and Laura arrived, and we ate pizza in our backyard on a Senegalese mat. The picnic was made even better as we discussed embarrassing childhood obsessions and related the best scenes from Pitch Perfect. Then Chad and Melissa showed up! We all went inside to avoid mosquitos and were just about to cut into the cake when Gus also appeared! It was a legit party.
We had tea and cake, and we went through a couple Table Topics questions. After two okay questions, I pulled "How would the world be different if it were matriarchal instead of patriarchal?" That spiraled into a discussion on feminist nuns and wages and equality. After ten minutes I couldn't stand it, and I burst out, "We are sitting around talking about feminism and the patriarchy on my birthday! This is the best!" They accused me of screening the cards, and it was lovely.
After taking some pictures, Amy showed up, because her flight was delayed. We housemate bonded for a while after everyone else left. It was perfect, and it's not even my real birthday yet.
Friday, March 15, 2013
Adventure Princess
A week ago, I was helping Anju get ready for bed (which usually devolves into me sighing, "You can sing and dance as much as you want, Anju, but you have to put on your pajamas WHILE singing and dancing.") and she rambled on about something entirely brilliant.
"Sometimes I want to be girly," she said, "And make my hair pretty and wear lots of pink and have glitter and stuff. But sometimes I want to attack people and fight and play games. I call myself an Adventure Princess."
I smiled at her and thought, "I'm totally stealing that idea." She's six. I don't think she understands copyright laws.
Because that's exactly how I see myself. I've written before about my discomfort with fitting into gendered boxes, and how I feel like I have a wider-than-normal masculine streak. And yes, I want to play videos games, and I punch people to show affection, and I think bowties and suspenders are the best items of clothing in the world. But I also like nail polish, and I love talking for hours on end, and I love Anju and Ketan pretty fierce.
I want to strap on (fitted) boots, arrange my hair in a messily fantastic braid, paint on dramatic eye makeup, grab a sword, and run screaming into an undiscovered wood.
I'm an Adventure Princess.
"Sometimes I want to be girly," she said, "And make my hair pretty and wear lots of pink and have glitter and stuff. But sometimes I want to attack people and fight and play games. I call myself an Adventure Princess."
I smiled at her and thought, "I'm totally stealing that idea." She's six. I don't think she understands copyright laws.
Because that's exactly how I see myself. I've written before about my discomfort with fitting into gendered boxes, and how I feel like I have a wider-than-normal masculine streak. And yes, I want to play videos games, and I punch people to show affection, and I think bowties and suspenders are the best items of clothing in the world. But I also like nail polish, and I love talking for hours on end, and I love Anju and Ketan pretty fierce.
I want to strap on (fitted) boots, arrange my hair in a messily fantastic braid, paint on dramatic eye makeup, grab a sword, and run screaming into an undiscovered wood.
I'm an Adventure Princess.
Thursday, March 14, 2013
Roommate Time
Last night Jessica and I were having such a great conversation that she rode along to Panera with me so I could buy a salad for dinner. Then we decided to have a reading night, so we settled into our Living Room #1 with novels. Amy came home, and sat with us. Liz came home, and sat on the floor. And we all talked until after 10:00.
It was perfectly lovely. We don't often hang out the four of us, because we are busy people with drastically different schedules. But when we do, I'm reminded of how much I like each of them.
All the more when everyone shared roommate horror stories and I realized, I have always had wonderful roommates. How is that even possible? I'm so grateful.
It was perfectly lovely. We don't often hang out the four of us, because we are busy people with drastically different schedules. But when we do, I'm reminded of how much I like each of them.
All the more when everyone shared roommate horror stories and I realized, I have always had wonderful roommates. How is that even possible? I'm so grateful.
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
Career Change
I've changed my mind about what I want to do with my life! Again!
So remember when--no, of course you don't, it's my memory. After I lived in Senegal, I took a spiritual gifts inventory, and Knowledge and Encouragement were near the top. That made sense, because I realized one of my favorite things about being in Senegal was telling everyone about it, and then seeing my friends and family travel there themselves and work alongside the Forsythes. I like to learn, and then I like to encourage other people to learn the same things.
Which is, well, exactly what I do with this blog and my Facebook statuses. I stir things up, I make people think from a different angle, I share what I learn.
It should not be surprising that I am SO excited about an elective I am taking this summer.
Sexual Educator Certification I. AW YEAH.
This is what I do. My poor married friends know that the first thing I ask after their honeymoon is how their sex life is, and then I give advice. I never let lack of experience stand in the way of my wisdom. I am a fan of making people uncomfortable, which is a convenient benefit to talking about sex. Ah, the days of living with Tim and Erin, discussing penises and male lactation. I didn't live with Tim, he was just around a lot.
Anyway, this first class (I of III) covers three topics: single sexuality, male sexuality and married sexuality. I AM SO STINKING READY FOR THIS.
Last semester we learned about different counseling career paths: lay counselor, pastoral counselor, professional counselor, or expertise counselor. I've just been assuming I would do the traditional professional counseling, but since that class I've been waffling toward expertise counseling. That means you, well, become an expert in a certain field, and teach it to others. Oh ho, that sounds like what I do for fun!
Maybe married couples won't want a single woman teaching them about sexuality, but probably some won't mind. Regardless, I'm also super excited about this single sexuality topic, and how fun it would be to reach out to a population that is largely ignored where sexuality is concerned (except to say STOP IT, IT'S ALL EVIL FOR YOU RIGHT NOW).
Literally the only thing that makes me uncomfortable with this idea is that I will have to introduce myself as "Tricia, Sex Expert." HAHAHA just kidding that sounds awesome.
So remember when--no, of course you don't, it's my memory. After I lived in Senegal, I took a spiritual gifts inventory, and Knowledge and Encouragement were near the top. That made sense, because I realized one of my favorite things about being in Senegal was telling everyone about it, and then seeing my friends and family travel there themselves and work alongside the Forsythes. I like to learn, and then I like to encourage other people to learn the same things.
Which is, well, exactly what I do with this blog and my Facebook statuses. I stir things up, I make people think from a different angle, I share what I learn.
It should not be surprising that I am SO excited about an elective I am taking this summer.
Sexual Educator Certification I. AW YEAH.
This is what I do. My poor married friends know that the first thing I ask after their honeymoon is how their sex life is, and then I give advice. I never let lack of experience stand in the way of my wisdom. I am a fan of making people uncomfortable, which is a convenient benefit to talking about sex. Ah, the days of living with Tim and Erin, discussing penises and male lactation. I didn't live with Tim, he was just around a lot.
Anyway, this first class (I of III) covers three topics: single sexuality, male sexuality and married sexuality. I AM SO STINKING READY FOR THIS.
Last semester we learned about different counseling career paths: lay counselor, pastoral counselor, professional counselor, or expertise counselor. I've just been assuming I would do the traditional professional counseling, but since that class I've been waffling toward expertise counseling. That means you, well, become an expert in a certain field, and teach it to others. Oh ho, that sounds like what I do for fun!
Maybe married couples won't want a single woman teaching them about sexuality, but probably some won't mind. Regardless, I'm also super excited about this single sexuality topic, and how fun it would be to reach out to a population that is largely ignored where sexuality is concerned (except to say STOP IT, IT'S ALL EVIL FOR YOU RIGHT NOW).
Literally the only thing that makes me uncomfortable with this idea is that I will have to introduce myself as "Tricia, Sex Expert." HAHAHA just kidding that sounds awesome.
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
Holy Holy Holy
At chapel this morning, we sang several missions-oriented songs that largely revolved around the theme of "change me, God, give me Your heart" etc. They left me cold. I knew I ought to feel the lyrics, desire to live them out, but I didn't. I don't want to change. I don't want to sacrifice and suffer and stop being who I am so that I can become something better.
The last song we sang was "Holy, Holy, Holy" and the focus on God Himself immediately revitalized me. Yes, this. I cannot change myself, and I cannot even desire sanctification. But the holy, triune God? He is everything, He is worthy, and I will sing about Him with all my heart.
"Holy! Holy! Holy! Though the darkness hide thee,
Though the eye of sinful man thy glory may not see,
Only thou art holy; there is none beside thee,
Perfect in power, in love and purity."
I'm very tired of self-focused religion. I understand that it is necessary to some extent, but I think the ratio ought to be split. Let's have 80% of our worship and fellowship be about God, and only 20% be about us. I think that might even have more of an impact on sanctification, and more powerfully, because it will be growth as a result of staring into the holy face of God, and not some struggling battle of the will.
The last song we sang was "Holy, Holy, Holy" and the focus on God Himself immediately revitalized me. Yes, this. I cannot change myself, and I cannot even desire sanctification. But the holy, triune God? He is everything, He is worthy, and I will sing about Him with all my heart.
"Holy! Holy! Holy! Though the darkness hide thee,
Though the eye of sinful man thy glory may not see,
Only thou art holy; there is none beside thee,
Perfect in power, in love and purity."
I'm very tired of self-focused religion. I understand that it is necessary to some extent, but I think the ratio ought to be split. Let's have 80% of our worship and fellowship be about God, and only 20% be about us. I think that might even have more of an impact on sanctification, and more powerfully, because it will be growth as a result of staring into the holy face of God, and not some struggling battle of the will.
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
Learning to Apologize
I like to post Facebook statuses that are mildly insulting of marriage or children and see how long it takes before someone says, "Oh, but really it's SO GREAT." My favorite was when I mentioned how hard motherhood would be for me since I am used to getting paid for watching kids, and someone responded, "But when they're your own you just won't care!"
I'm sorry, but. Isn't it the new American dream to get paid for something you love? Loving kids has nothing to do with it. I love watching TV, but I would definitely enjoy getting paid for every episode I watch.
It feels conspiratorial. Everyone knows marriage is not 100% awesome. Everyone knows raising kids is not 100% awesome. So when people say that it IS great all the time, all I can do is give them the side-eye and assume they are hiding something. Yes, I'm a cynic. But I'm also studying counseling, and I know how many ways relationships can go wrong.
It's also annoying, because people say things like, "Marriage teaches you sanctification more than anything else!" or "Being a parent has really helped me understand God's heart for us!" You might not mean it this way, but all I hear is, "Because you're single, you simply won't be as godly or love as unconditionally as us married parents!"
Today I think I glimpsed a bit into what these people mean. I took the kiddos to piano, and while Ketan was in lessons, Anju was doing theory near me. She asked me to help, and I told her to look back in her book for examples. She started crying, and cold-hearted bastard that I am, I intoned, "I understand that you're upset, but I gave you my advice. If you don't want to take it, you don't have to. But I'm not going to help you just because you're crying." She kept crying. Ketan came out to check on her. The teacher came out to check on her. I sat there, immovable. When the teacher said she could give it a rest until next week, I moved to another part of the lounge.
And immediately felt guilty. I should apologize, I thought. I'll do it when Ketan goes to Boy Scouts. I should do it now. She might not remember why as clearly if I wait. So I sucked up my pride, and knelt in front of the chair she was in.
"Anju, I'm sorry for not comforting you when you were upset earlier. I'm in kind of a bad mood because Ketan didn't feel well earlier, and I'm stressed because I have a midterm tomorrow. I took out my bad mood on you, and I shouldn't have. I care about you, and I'm sad that you were upset. Okay?"
She nodded sagely. "Can I hug you?" I asked. She nodded again. I hugged her, and she whispered, "That hurts my shoulders." So I rocked back on my heels, grasped her shoulders in a arms-length dance-hug, and said, "How about this?" and stared wistfully into her eyes. She giggled a little, and smiled, so I went back to my seat.
What I learned is this. You have to learn to apologize with kids because YOU ARE THE ONE SCREWING THEM UP. When you ignore adults, sure, you might be solidifying their distrust of relationships, but with kids, you are the one forming them to be distrustful. That's a lot of pressure. Also, kids are freaking annoying when they are in bad moods. They have not yet learned how to suck it up and put on a fake smile. So you have to apologize quickly to defuse their tantrum bomb.
I still don't think that parents have some magical insight into the mind of God. What I think is that we all need to be investing ourselves in people of all ages, sexes, races, and relationships. We can learn how to forgive, or be patient, or love unconditionally no matter our marital status. It just takes getting outside of ourselves and being in relationship with others.
In this case, it involved a child. But it doesn't always have to.
I'm sorry, but. Isn't it the new American dream to get paid for something you love? Loving kids has nothing to do with it. I love watching TV, but I would definitely enjoy getting paid for every episode I watch.
It feels conspiratorial. Everyone knows marriage is not 100% awesome. Everyone knows raising kids is not 100% awesome. So when people say that it IS great all the time, all I can do is give them the side-eye and assume they are hiding something. Yes, I'm a cynic. But I'm also studying counseling, and I know how many ways relationships can go wrong.
It's also annoying, because people say things like, "Marriage teaches you sanctification more than anything else!" or "Being a parent has really helped me understand God's heart for us!" You might not mean it this way, but all I hear is, "Because you're single, you simply won't be as godly or love as unconditionally as us married parents!"
Today I think I glimpsed a bit into what these people mean. I took the kiddos to piano, and while Ketan was in lessons, Anju was doing theory near me. She asked me to help, and I told her to look back in her book for examples. She started crying, and cold-hearted bastard that I am, I intoned, "I understand that you're upset, but I gave you my advice. If you don't want to take it, you don't have to. But I'm not going to help you just because you're crying." She kept crying. Ketan came out to check on her. The teacher came out to check on her. I sat there, immovable. When the teacher said she could give it a rest until next week, I moved to another part of the lounge.
And immediately felt guilty. I should apologize, I thought. I'll do it when Ketan goes to Boy Scouts. I should do it now. She might not remember why as clearly if I wait. So I sucked up my pride, and knelt in front of the chair she was in.
"Anju, I'm sorry for not comforting you when you were upset earlier. I'm in kind of a bad mood because Ketan didn't feel well earlier, and I'm stressed because I have a midterm tomorrow. I took out my bad mood on you, and I shouldn't have. I care about you, and I'm sad that you were upset. Okay?"
She nodded sagely. "Can I hug you?" I asked. She nodded again. I hugged her, and she whispered, "That hurts my shoulders." So I rocked back on my heels, grasped her shoulders in a arms-length dance-hug, and said, "How about this?" and stared wistfully into her eyes. She giggled a little, and smiled, so I went back to my seat.
What I learned is this. You have to learn to apologize with kids because YOU ARE THE ONE SCREWING THEM UP. When you ignore adults, sure, you might be solidifying their distrust of relationships, but with kids, you are the one forming them to be distrustful. That's a lot of pressure. Also, kids are freaking annoying when they are in bad moods. They have not yet learned how to suck it up and put on a fake smile. So you have to apologize quickly to defuse their tantrum bomb.
I still don't think that parents have some magical insight into the mind of God. What I think is that we all need to be investing ourselves in people of all ages, sexes, races, and relationships. We can learn how to forgive, or be patient, or love unconditionally no matter our marital status. It just takes getting outside of ourselves and being in relationship with others.
In this case, it involved a child. But it doesn't always have to.
Anticipating Travel
Bridgett and I are going to Arizona this weekend, and I honestly don't know if I'm more excited about the roadtrip through West Texas or the actual destination. It doesn't really matter, I guess, because the important thing is I'm satiating my wanderlust!
I wonder if I have an internal countdown clock that resets every time I see a new place.
I wonder what would happen if I let the countdown clock run out!?
Arizona, Arizona, please hurry up. I don't want to take my midterms.
I wonder if I have an internal countdown clock that resets every time I see a new place.
I wonder what would happen if I let the countdown clock run out!?
Arizona, Arizona, please hurry up. I don't want to take my midterms.
Sunday, March 3, 2013
Online Writing Community
I joined an online writer's community. For years I have been terrified of showing my writing to others. That is why I switched from my English major--I realized I couldn't spend four years letting people see my work and criticize it as a group. It's not just that I'm scared of people what people will say about what I write; I'm scared they'll say I'm no good at writing. And well, writing is my thing. It's the one part of me that I consider a talent. With very little else to fall back on, it felt too vulnerable to expose my one talent to possible criticism.
Anyway, I decided that since I'm nearly 25, I ought to suck things up and get on with being confident. So I joined an online community! AND IT IS AWESOME. Because here's the (obvious) thing: there's a vast difference between thinking you're good at something and hearing someone else affirm you.
Added benefit, most writers tend to be self-conscious and easily hurt. There's a reason we share our feelings on paper and in formalized stories or poems. Actual communication is scary. Writing allows us to share our thoughts from a distance. Since pretty much everyone else on the site feels similarly, everyone is lovely and encouraging.
ANOTHER benefit, which I thought of after Jessica played me a song by Pink. Usually when someone shares a problem or a hurt, the response is, "Oh, don't feel bad! It could be worse! I'm sorry, be happy!" And since most poetry is about the sad things in life, that could be an unwelcome response. Not so on this site. Everyone comments with things like, "Yes, exactly, I've felt that way. Thank you for sharing your feelings. I'm so impressed with how you dug into that grit."
Sigh. It's like finding a home, is what I'm saying. I should have done this ages ago.
Anyway, I decided that since I'm nearly 25, I ought to suck things up and get on with being confident. So I joined an online community! AND IT IS AWESOME. Because here's the (obvious) thing: there's a vast difference between thinking you're good at something and hearing someone else affirm you.
Added benefit, most writers tend to be self-conscious and easily hurt. There's a reason we share our feelings on paper and in formalized stories or poems. Actual communication is scary. Writing allows us to share our thoughts from a distance. Since pretty much everyone else on the site feels similarly, everyone is lovely and encouraging.
ANOTHER benefit, which I thought of after Jessica played me a song by Pink. Usually when someone shares a problem or a hurt, the response is, "Oh, don't feel bad! It could be worse! I'm sorry, be happy!" And since most poetry is about the sad things in life, that could be an unwelcome response. Not so on this site. Everyone comments with things like, "Yes, exactly, I've felt that way. Thank you for sharing your feelings. I'm so impressed with how you dug into that grit."
Sigh. It's like finding a home, is what I'm saying. I should have done this ages ago.
Saturday, March 2, 2013
Meta on Blogging
Tommy requested a new blog post, and I was going to make one, but I couldn't. So instead I'm going to describe why I sometimes stop blogging for weeks at a time.
Sometimes it's because I'm busy. Schoolwork piles up, and when I have to schedule in time for roommate conversations and TV, blogging falls off the list entirely.
Sometimes it's because I'm being creative elsewhere. The last couple months I've fallen pretty heavily into poetry, reading some and writing a lot. Most of my ideas or rants get turned into poetry rather than prose, and I'm not brave enough to post them instead of my typical rambling entries.
Sometimes it's because I've got too much going on inside. I can only really discuss thoughts in my blog once I've got a handle on my opinion, or what I learned, or what I want. When I'm in the middle of feeling and learning, as I have been for the last few weeks, it's hard to get anything out. I'm very internal, and that's where I tend to process the big things. I don't mind sharing the trivial things I experience, or the big things that I've understood. But right now, describing what goes through my mind would give too much weight to things I want to avoid, or it would trivialize the things I'm feeling deeply. I'm not ready to open up my vulnerability; I need some armor before writing anything.
I don't foresee what I'm working through to be done any time soon, but I'll try to blog about the more trivial things flitting through my life, like my kiddos who I'm starting to love something fierce, or the hilariously terrifying demon oppression stories Dr. Dickens tells, or how Austin is the city of weird that immediately makes me feel at home. Gotta put in some disciplined writing practice!
Sometimes it's because I'm busy. Schoolwork piles up, and when I have to schedule in time for roommate conversations and TV, blogging falls off the list entirely.
Sometimes it's because I'm being creative elsewhere. The last couple months I've fallen pretty heavily into poetry, reading some and writing a lot. Most of my ideas or rants get turned into poetry rather than prose, and I'm not brave enough to post them instead of my typical rambling entries.
Sometimes it's because I've got too much going on inside. I can only really discuss thoughts in my blog once I've got a handle on my opinion, or what I learned, or what I want. When I'm in the middle of feeling and learning, as I have been for the last few weeks, it's hard to get anything out. I'm very internal, and that's where I tend to process the big things. I don't mind sharing the trivial things I experience, or the big things that I've understood. But right now, describing what goes through my mind would give too much weight to things I want to avoid, or it would trivialize the things I'm feeling deeply. I'm not ready to open up my vulnerability; I need some armor before writing anything.
I don't foresee what I'm working through to be done any time soon, but I'll try to blog about the more trivial things flitting through my life, like my kiddos who I'm starting to love something fierce, or the hilariously terrifying demon oppression stories Dr. Dickens tells, or how Austin is the city of weird that immediately makes me feel at home. Gotta put in some disciplined writing practice!
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