Today is our last day as roommates. AH. Amy moves out tomorrow, and Liz and I are going to Tennessee. When we get back home, I will go upstairs, and she will drive to Carrollton.
Last night we all sat around and pre-judged the two replacement roommates. Sometimes you have to be mean to avoid feeling sad. That's not a good life lesson. But it's true. Liz and I were kind of cuddled up watching a movie with Greta Gerwig (the movie was okay, and after, Liz said, "the moral of the story is: Greta Gerwig is adorable" which is really all that matters), when Amy came in and later Jess. Jess even put her head in my lap momentarily. We are not a touchy-feely bunch. I mean, actually, I think we all are, but we are mostly touch-receivers rather than touch-initiators, so all that random affection was seriously depressing.
Jess and I are going to be reading cat-lovers, which will be nice, and then Liz started sneezing at the mere mention of cats in the house. Amy entertained us with her Day From Hell; I will miss her drama. Jess and I argued over what movie to watch tonight on our Last Night Together--she wanted to watch The Kite Runner, and I insisted I would cry and didn't want to. Instead I suggested Silver Linings Playbook, but Jess said bipolor was a trigger for her, and Liz piped in and said, "Well, The Kite Runner is pretty bad for Tricia like bipolor is for you. She wouldn't like it." Ugh, Liz. She's my little defender.
ALSO she is weirdly proud of the strangest things about me. Apparently when she was telling Amy and Jess about me before I moved in, she told them I passionately wrote on forum threads about Buffy the Vampire Slayer and liked to make dance videos. They were scared to meet me. When I told Liz that those are not things I want people to know about me before meeting me, she said, "But those are things I love about you!"
UGH, LIZ. I swear, she is so great. She's my best friend and so easy to live with and we get along like a married couple. If friends could get married or something, I might, because I can't imagine living with a husband as seemlessly as I live with her. But friends are often transient, and the power is in the non-commitment--it's choosing to wind the threads of your lives together for awhile, making each other stronger, and then spinning off to separate ways.
I freaking love her, and I'll miss her, and I'm so glad we have a four day roadtrip weekend!
Thursday, June 27, 2013
Ranting on the Interwebs!
One of my pet peeves on the Internet (oh man, that's a can of worms) is when people use Scripture to defend their opinion, and it especially bothers me if it's a political opinion. But that's not all. What I hate the most is when someone then refutes that statement with non-logic or disdain for religion or a misunderstanding of Scripture.
This happens all the time with marriage equality. When someone says the Bible says same-sex marriage is wrong, but then someone counters this by saying the Bible is great, but let's acknowledge that it's a 6,000 year old culture-ridden book written by men. And I just start writhing on the floor in a fetal position, because this could be a GREAT conversation, but now everyone is pissed off at each other.
If you want to engage in a conversation (and clearly, most of the time people do not), you have to enter into the world of your conversational partner and speak from their position. So in the first case, Christians should look at the complexity of the Bible from a non-believer's standpoint and empathize with the crazy, because let's be honest, even as a defender of inerrancy, there is a TON I don't understand, and if we bring interpretation into the equation (which we have to), it gets soooo confusing. And non-Christians should realize that they are not going to change any Christian's mind by mocking the Bible or making it less than the revealed word of God. So--engage in the interpretation conversation! There is a conversation to be had if both people respect and acknowledge the position of the other.
I've also been seeing responses to Mike Huckabee's tweet "My thoughts on the SCOTUS ruling that determined that same sex marriage is okay: 'Jesus wept." And the responses are all sassy things about how Jesus would think Mike Huckabee is a jerk, or that they were tears of joy or whatever. And that is also a disconnect! No one goes away happy!
And yeesh, I just want someone to tell Mike Huckabee that you CANNOT take words out of context without cheapening them. Jesus was crying because he was at his friend's tomb, and his other friends were freaking sad about their brother's death, and they didn't trust Jesus or know Him fully yet, and Jesus was sensitive to all that, and there was a lot going on in that moment, but I'm pretty sure the legalization of same sex marriage wasn't one of them. So. Just shut that conversation down, and everyone stop being so bigoted and insulting in perpetuating this awful culture war.
Ugh, the Internet. Basically, this post says I'm smarter than everyone, na na na na na na na.
Ugh, me. I'm so aware of the pridefulness behind this post, but also, I'm totally right. So.
This happens all the time with marriage equality. When someone says the Bible says same-sex marriage is wrong, but then someone counters this by saying the Bible is great, but let's acknowledge that it's a 6,000 year old culture-ridden book written by men. And I just start writhing on the floor in a fetal position, because this could be a GREAT conversation, but now everyone is pissed off at each other.
If you want to engage in a conversation (and clearly, most of the time people do not), you have to enter into the world of your conversational partner and speak from their position. So in the first case, Christians should look at the complexity of the Bible from a non-believer's standpoint and empathize with the crazy, because let's be honest, even as a defender of inerrancy, there is a TON I don't understand, and if we bring interpretation into the equation (which we have to), it gets soooo confusing. And non-Christians should realize that they are not going to change any Christian's mind by mocking the Bible or making it less than the revealed word of God. So--engage in the interpretation conversation! There is a conversation to be had if both people respect and acknowledge the position of the other.
I've also been seeing responses to Mike Huckabee's tweet "My thoughts on the SCOTUS ruling that determined that same sex marriage is okay: 'Jesus wept." And the responses are all sassy things about how Jesus would think Mike Huckabee is a jerk, or that they were tears of joy or whatever. And that is also a disconnect! No one goes away happy!
And yeesh, I just want someone to tell Mike Huckabee that you CANNOT take words out of context without cheapening them. Jesus was crying because he was at his friend's tomb, and his other friends were freaking sad about their brother's death, and they didn't trust Jesus or know Him fully yet, and Jesus was sensitive to all that, and there was a lot going on in that moment, but I'm pretty sure the legalization of same sex marriage wasn't one of them. So. Just shut that conversation down, and everyone stop being so bigoted and insulting in perpetuating this awful culture war.
Ugh, the Internet. Basically, this post says I'm smarter than everyone, na na na na na na na.
Ugh, me. I'm so aware of the pridefulness behind this post, but also, I'm totally right. So.
Tuesday, June 25, 2013
Boys Will Be Boys
When I picked up Anju this afternoon, she was watching the new One Direction trailer. I was pleased to see that a minute in, a 40-year-old woman was buying a lifesize cutout of Louis. "That's my future," I thought, and I forgot even to feel ashamed.
The thing is, I freaking love boys. Boys and their boyness. No matter the age.
There's a very particular memory I have from college, when Stephanie and her roommates and Kevin and his friends and I all went adventuring in the woods across the street from campus. It felt like an amalgamation of fantasy lands, so we dubbed the exploring MidNarniWartsLand. After we'd traipsed and jumped and nicknamed each other, we popped out of the treeline into a field. Cameron immediately held up his arms as though defending himself with a sword, and Kevin and whats-his-name charged. They had an epic imaginary duel, and they threw themselves to the ground and acted ridiculous.
I was utterly charmed.
Ever since Roy and Aaron allowed (or were forced to allow) me to accompany them on their forest adventures, I have longed to be in BoyVille. The imagination, the danger, the nature, the silliness. It's wonderful. And even though I love, even though I've done it for most of my life, I've always felt like an outsider. The easy affection between boys (which is mostly why I'm obsessed with One Direction, they are freaking adorable with each other) and predisposition for mockery and punching and smiles--that's what I love, but I never felt like I was supposed to be that way. Because when I ran off to play with the boys, my girl friends stayed back. Eventually I stayed back too.
I don't know why that is, and I hate it, and I'm jealous. But despite my outsiderness, whenever I see boys being boys in that particular way, I just fall in love a little. Because that's how life ought to be, or how I want my life to be.
It's also, I think, why I love books like Bridge to Terabithia, where it's the girl who creates a forested fantasy world, or Beren and Luthien in The Silmarillion, who are Tolkien's original epic couple, but who fight together and love together and lose together and find together. And that's what I want. I want a boy with whom I can be a boy. I hope that makes sense after the entirety of the blog.
Also, I'm totally going to pay money to see that One Direction movie. If only I can convince Anju to ask her mother if she can go with me, but make it seem like her idea...
The thing is, I freaking love boys. Boys and their boyness. No matter the age.
There's a very particular memory I have from college, when Stephanie and her roommates and Kevin and his friends and I all went adventuring in the woods across the street from campus. It felt like an amalgamation of fantasy lands, so we dubbed the exploring MidNarniWartsLand. After we'd traipsed and jumped and nicknamed each other, we popped out of the treeline into a field. Cameron immediately held up his arms as though defending himself with a sword, and Kevin and whats-his-name charged. They had an epic imaginary duel, and they threw themselves to the ground and acted ridiculous.
I was utterly charmed.
Ever since Roy and Aaron allowed (or were forced to allow) me to accompany them on their forest adventures, I have longed to be in BoyVille. The imagination, the danger, the nature, the silliness. It's wonderful. And even though I love, even though I've done it for most of my life, I've always felt like an outsider. The easy affection between boys (which is mostly why I'm obsessed with One Direction, they are freaking adorable with each other) and predisposition for mockery and punching and smiles--that's what I love, but I never felt like I was supposed to be that way. Because when I ran off to play with the boys, my girl friends stayed back. Eventually I stayed back too.
I don't know why that is, and I hate it, and I'm jealous. But despite my outsiderness, whenever I see boys being boys in that particular way, I just fall in love a little. Because that's how life ought to be, or how I want my life to be.
It's also, I think, why I love books like Bridge to Terabithia, where it's the girl who creates a forested fantasy world, or Beren and Luthien in The Silmarillion, who are Tolkien's original epic couple, but who fight together and love together and lose together and find together. And that's what I want. I want a boy with whom I can be a boy. I hope that makes sense after the entirety of the blog.
Also, I'm totally going to pay money to see that One Direction movie. If only I can convince Anju to ask her mother if she can go with me, but make it seem like her idea...
Monday, June 24, 2013
Nothing Coherent
There isn't much to write about today because...it was just a lovely day. Weird how it's harder to write about nice things than awful, huh?
I had breakfast with Libby until nearly lunchtime, which is the mark of a good breakfast if you ask me.
The kids and I started week 2 at the pool, which is turning me quite brown.
Me: I love being in the sun!
Anju: Ugh, it's hot.
Me: Yeah. But it's nice for tanning.
Anju: I'm getting tan, I think. I mean, it's hard to tell.
Me: Yeah, you probably are.
Anju: Why do you like being tan?
Me: Mmm, I just think I look prettier with brown skin.
Anju: I have brown skin.
Me: You're pretty all the time.
Also, it is consistently weird to me, every summer, how people just walk around in their underwear at pools and beaches, and no one is bothered by it. And then five minutes later, I'm not bothered by it either. How does such rapid desensitization occur? The human brain is amazing.
I had breakfast with Libby until nearly lunchtime, which is the mark of a good breakfast if you ask me.
The kids and I started week 2 at the pool, which is turning me quite brown.
Me: I love being in the sun!
Anju: Ugh, it's hot.
Me: Yeah. But it's nice for tanning.
Anju: I'm getting tan, I think. I mean, it's hard to tell.
Me: Yeah, you probably are.
Anju: Why do you like being tan?
Me: Mmm, I just think I look prettier with brown skin.
Anju: I have brown skin.
Me: You're pretty all the time.
Also, it is consistently weird to me, every summer, how people just walk around in their underwear at pools and beaches, and no one is bothered by it. And then five minutes later, I'm not bothered by it either. How does such rapid desensitization occur? The human brain is amazing.
Sunday, June 23, 2013
Praising God While Depressed
That book I mentioned previously, Carry On, Warrior, is essentially founded on my blogging motto--to be honest, to open up my life so that others might feel understood, accepted, and less alone. But that doesn't mean I share everything. There are still parts of myself that I hold back because I want to look put together and self-assured and fine. One of the biggest parts of my identity is my faith, and I want everyone always to think I've got that down pat, thank you very much.
But, I mean, I don't. I mentioned before that a symptom of depression/sadness for me is avoiding God. I've realized over the past couple weeks a few reasons why: I'm tired, and I think paying attention to God will only make me more tired. I feel stupid for even being depressed, because even though my life is changing, it's not like, cataclysmic. So I feel stupid for ignoring God, and I imagine that He's just frowning down on me, waiting for me to get my shit together, rolling his eyes over my privileged problems when there children dying of AIDS and people who don't know Jesus. I know, theologically, that God is not like that. But, well, there's theology for you. Not so useful in your head unless it penetrates your heart.
All of this is buildup to an epiphany I had today.
I've been having a really hard time going to church (for the above reasons, plus people! Depression brings out the introvert in me, and I just don't want to be friendly and peppy, ugh). I've gone the last two weeks, though, despite trying to snooze through my alarm and repeating to myself while driving there, "I could turn around. I don't have to do this. I'll just go home."
When I finally dragged myself out of the house this morning, ten minutes after I should have left, I sent up a mumbly prayer something like, "I'm sorry I don't want to go to church, God. But I'm going, because I think it will make you happy. I think it will be good for me. I know You gave us the church because we need each other, so I'm going, alright? I totally admit that I'm trying to win Your favor even though You always love me. Ugh."
Then as I was driving, I realized I've been treating God as a therapist lately. I've been sharing all my anxieties and worries and sadnesses. We talk a lot. But it's always about me. As I was about to turn onto 75, I realized I haven't praised God lately. And I immediately followed up that realization with, "Well, I don't really think You deserve to be praised."
That made me cry. Because it's pretty prideful to tell the God who created you and sustains you that well, I don't think you deserve praise. That's one of those smite-me moments, added to the fact that I really do like God, and I'm pissed at myself for being so apathetic toward Him.
I wasn't ready to praise Him, even with the knowledge that this was my deficiency, and thankfully, God didn't press the matter. This was one of those times when, who knows what was going on in my head. Maybe it was all my own neurons firing, thinking thoughts and putting words in God's mouth. But I just thought, "Jesus saved you." Nothing else. I didn't feel obligated to thank God for any of the thousands of blessings that I'm ungrateful for. He cut right to the heart of all matters. I frowned, trying to think of a way to not praise God for the saving work of His Son, but I couldn't. So I grudgingly said, "Thank you. That was...pretty awesome." And I kept driving to church.
When I got to Trinity, every song was about Jesus dying for us, saving us, promising us life. No feel good "I love God!" songs. Nothing sentimental or sappy. It was just truth, just this one central truth, over and over. So even though I still felt apathetic, and I'm still nowhere near a healthy relationship with God, I feel. Understood. God knows my pain, and maybe He's even allowing me to sit in it. He won't fix everything, and life will continue to be hard, but my soul is safe with Him. And that's all I need to cling to, so I guess I will, and I'll praise God for that with a tiny whisper that is all I have to give.
But, I mean, I don't. I mentioned before that a symptom of depression/sadness for me is avoiding God. I've realized over the past couple weeks a few reasons why: I'm tired, and I think paying attention to God will only make me more tired. I feel stupid for even being depressed, because even though my life is changing, it's not like, cataclysmic. So I feel stupid for ignoring God, and I imagine that He's just frowning down on me, waiting for me to get my shit together, rolling his eyes over my privileged problems when there children dying of AIDS and people who don't know Jesus. I know, theologically, that God is not like that. But, well, there's theology for you. Not so useful in your head unless it penetrates your heart.
All of this is buildup to an epiphany I had today.
I've been having a really hard time going to church (for the above reasons, plus people! Depression brings out the introvert in me, and I just don't want to be friendly and peppy, ugh). I've gone the last two weeks, though, despite trying to snooze through my alarm and repeating to myself while driving there, "I could turn around. I don't have to do this. I'll just go home."
When I finally dragged myself out of the house this morning, ten minutes after I should have left, I sent up a mumbly prayer something like, "I'm sorry I don't want to go to church, God. But I'm going, because I think it will make you happy. I think it will be good for me. I know You gave us the church because we need each other, so I'm going, alright? I totally admit that I'm trying to win Your favor even though You always love me. Ugh."
Then as I was driving, I realized I've been treating God as a therapist lately. I've been sharing all my anxieties and worries and sadnesses. We talk a lot. But it's always about me. As I was about to turn onto 75, I realized I haven't praised God lately. And I immediately followed up that realization with, "Well, I don't really think You deserve to be praised."
That made me cry. Because it's pretty prideful to tell the God who created you and sustains you that well, I don't think you deserve praise. That's one of those smite-me moments, added to the fact that I really do like God, and I'm pissed at myself for being so apathetic toward Him.
I wasn't ready to praise Him, even with the knowledge that this was my deficiency, and thankfully, God didn't press the matter. This was one of those times when, who knows what was going on in my head. Maybe it was all my own neurons firing, thinking thoughts and putting words in God's mouth. But I just thought, "Jesus saved you." Nothing else. I didn't feel obligated to thank God for any of the thousands of blessings that I'm ungrateful for. He cut right to the heart of all matters. I frowned, trying to think of a way to not praise God for the saving work of His Son, but I couldn't. So I grudgingly said, "Thank you. That was...pretty awesome." And I kept driving to church.
When I got to Trinity, every song was about Jesus dying for us, saving us, promising us life. No feel good "I love God!" songs. Nothing sentimental or sappy. It was just truth, just this one central truth, over and over. So even though I still felt apathetic, and I'm still nowhere near a healthy relationship with God, I feel. Understood. God knows my pain, and maybe He's even allowing me to sit in it. He won't fix everything, and life will continue to be hard, but my soul is safe with Him. And that's all I need to cling to, so I guess I will, and I'll praise God for that with a tiny whisper that is all I have to give.
Saturday, June 22, 2013
Get Out of My Brain (Just Kidding, Stay)
My friend Lindsay from DTS texted me awhile ago and said she had a book she thought I would like. When we went out to eat the other night, she brought the book, and guys, I definitely read the whole thing today. It's a memoir blog-turned-book, and everything this woman says is so much of how I see myself and who I want to be. Imma review it all proper over on my book review blog, but I had to share a portion that made my jaw drop because of the uncanny ability she has to read my thoughts.
"Still, I was afraid to join this new church. Because I don't want to pretend to believe anything I don't believe. I don't want to pretend to not have doubts...Before I joined any church, I needed permission from whomever was in charge to be different.
So I invited one of the ministers over to my house.
I was scared.
...I told her that I love Jesus madly and deeply, but my problem always seemed to be that I understand him quite differently than many other Christians do. And I love these other Christians, so I didn't want to offend them. I suggested that maybe it was better for me to remain unattached to any particular church rather than disrupt a perfectly lovely one.
I explained that I had all kinds of doubts and questions and negative feelings about the church's role throughout history. But I told her I still loved the church. I felt kind of like St. Augustine, who said, 'The church is a whore, but she's my mother.' If I were to become a member of her church, I would need permission to speak my mind respectfully but freely. I would need permission to be myself."
Oh, and the book is Carry On, Warrior: Thoughts on Life Unarmed by Glennon Doyle Melton.
"Still, I was afraid to join this new church. Because I don't want to pretend to believe anything I don't believe. I don't want to pretend to not have doubts...Before I joined any church, I needed permission from whomever was in charge to be different.
So I invited one of the ministers over to my house.
I was scared.
...I told her that I love Jesus madly and deeply, but my problem always seemed to be that I understand him quite differently than many other Christians do. And I love these other Christians, so I didn't want to offend them. I suggested that maybe it was better for me to remain unattached to any particular church rather than disrupt a perfectly lovely one.
I explained that I had all kinds of doubts and questions and negative feelings about the church's role throughout history. But I told her I still loved the church. I felt kind of like St. Augustine, who said, 'The church is a whore, but she's my mother.' If I were to become a member of her church, I would need permission to speak my mind respectfully but freely. I would need permission to be myself."
Oh, and the book is Carry On, Warrior: Thoughts on Life Unarmed by Glennon Doyle Melton.
What is Courage When Life is Boring?
The other day while we were swimming, Ketan asked if my tattoo hurt in the water. Oh, Ketan, why would anyone get a tattoo if the presence of H2O caused agony? Because the thing is, it's just skin now. There's a part of my wrist that is fancily darker than the rest of my skin, but mostly it's just part of me. I don't notice it all that much.
Which is unfortunate, because, well, the point of a tattoo was to notice it and think on it and have "courage, dear heart" shoved in my face on a regular basis. So I'm trying to do that.
But what does it mean? To be courageous? Pretty obvious when someone dies or you're confronted with a tough decision or something. But what about on a daily basis?
Today I woke up and wandered outside, where Amy and Liz were three hours into a garage sale. I went back to the air conditioning and read from a book a friend lent to me. Then I ate in the garage when Liz and her mom returned with breakfast tacos. A while later I helped store the unsold goods away and went to the pool with Liz for a couple hours. I laid out, and read some more, and talked a little. When we got home, we drank coffee and I read some more, and Liz's sister came over. They left, and I read some more, and I thought a lot, and I ate dinner.
Nothing today screamed, "OH FREAKING CRAP THIS IS TOO MUCH, TAKE COURAGE, DO IT NOW, YOU NEED COURAGE!" Perhaps I should be living in such a way as to make this scenario a daily reality. I do think there's merit to pushing yourself outside your comfort zone so you will rely on God and exercise courage.
But I think God is in the daily minutiae too. He's in the books I read and the interactions with my roommates and the comments I leave on social media sites. I mean, that's pretty boring, and while it might be true, I don't necessarily need courage.
The problem is, I'm an introvert. I like slow, predictable, small groups of people with whom I am deeply intimate, preferably within the walls I call home. For years I felt like a loser Christian, because I had friends who did everything and always complained (bragged) about being "spent for the Lord" and I thought, "oh no, God, am I not doing enough for you?"
And probably the answer is yes. Are any of us ever doing enough? No, that's wrong. Nothing is "enough" because God doesn't need "enough." But we can always do more. We can always deepen our love for God and the people He created, and that deeper love can always inspire us to serve more and care more and learn more. So sure, God can use me to do more. But it's not necessary. And more to the point, I don't think God uses all people in the same way.
I read a lot. This is not news. I sometimes feel guilty about it, though, how much time of my day I devote to my brain. But sometimes I get this image of God pouring stories and information into my head, all of which trickles out through my mouth and my fingers. Maybe I'm just one of those people that God uses to fill up with ideas and compassion so that when I interact with people not so crazy about reading, I can say, "Hey! Here's a consolidation of the last novel I read, blog I keep track of, a random quote, and something my professor said. You don't have time to take all that in, so here's a sound bite." Sometimes those sound bites stick. Sometimes all the thinking I do rubs off on others.
Liz came home yesterday and said her coworker called Liz a feminist. She wanted to tell me because she knew I'd be proud, and I was! When I first met Liz, she was skeptical about the term and the movement, but as I've wrestled with my opinions and become passionate and outspoken, she's warmed to it. I doubt she'll ever be as crazy as me, but now she cares.
That's it, I think. I'll be the crazy one, and my insane passion will spill over into other people's lives so that a new way of thinking or feeling or considering will grow in them.
And it takes courage to be crazy. Hahaha. I'm reaching, because I want to tie the end of this post back to the beginning, but the more I think about it, the truer it seems. It takes courage to be passionate, and to lose yourself in "fantasy" without caring that others think you're wasting your time. Maybe I am. I mean, I'm definitely not perfect. But God redeems everything, and if my love for reading is boring and a time-suck and wasteful, well, I'm grateful that He uses it anyway. So maybe by "courage, dear heart" my tattoo really means, "don't worry, Tricia, I've got You covered."
Which is unfortunate, because, well, the point of a tattoo was to notice it and think on it and have "courage, dear heart" shoved in my face on a regular basis. So I'm trying to do that.
But what does it mean? To be courageous? Pretty obvious when someone dies or you're confronted with a tough decision or something. But what about on a daily basis?
Today I woke up and wandered outside, where Amy and Liz were three hours into a garage sale. I went back to the air conditioning and read from a book a friend lent to me. Then I ate in the garage when Liz and her mom returned with breakfast tacos. A while later I helped store the unsold goods away and went to the pool with Liz for a couple hours. I laid out, and read some more, and talked a little. When we got home, we drank coffee and I read some more, and Liz's sister came over. They left, and I read some more, and I thought a lot, and I ate dinner.
Nothing today screamed, "OH FREAKING CRAP THIS IS TOO MUCH, TAKE COURAGE, DO IT NOW, YOU NEED COURAGE!" Perhaps I should be living in such a way as to make this scenario a daily reality. I do think there's merit to pushing yourself outside your comfort zone so you will rely on God and exercise courage.
But I think God is in the daily minutiae too. He's in the books I read and the interactions with my roommates and the comments I leave on social media sites. I mean, that's pretty boring, and while it might be true, I don't necessarily need courage.
The problem is, I'm an introvert. I like slow, predictable, small groups of people with whom I am deeply intimate, preferably within the walls I call home. For years I felt like a loser Christian, because I had friends who did everything and always complained (bragged) about being "spent for the Lord" and I thought, "oh no, God, am I not doing enough for you?"
And probably the answer is yes. Are any of us ever doing enough? No, that's wrong. Nothing is "enough" because God doesn't need "enough." But we can always do more. We can always deepen our love for God and the people He created, and that deeper love can always inspire us to serve more and care more and learn more. So sure, God can use me to do more. But it's not necessary. And more to the point, I don't think God uses all people in the same way.
I read a lot. This is not news. I sometimes feel guilty about it, though, how much time of my day I devote to my brain. But sometimes I get this image of God pouring stories and information into my head, all of which trickles out through my mouth and my fingers. Maybe I'm just one of those people that God uses to fill up with ideas and compassion so that when I interact with people not so crazy about reading, I can say, "Hey! Here's a consolidation of the last novel I read, blog I keep track of, a random quote, and something my professor said. You don't have time to take all that in, so here's a sound bite." Sometimes those sound bites stick. Sometimes all the thinking I do rubs off on others.
Liz came home yesterday and said her coworker called Liz a feminist. She wanted to tell me because she knew I'd be proud, and I was! When I first met Liz, she was skeptical about the term and the movement, but as I've wrestled with my opinions and become passionate and outspoken, she's warmed to it. I doubt she'll ever be as crazy as me, but now she cares.
That's it, I think. I'll be the crazy one, and my insane passion will spill over into other people's lives so that a new way of thinking or feeling or considering will grow in them.
And it takes courage to be crazy. Hahaha. I'm reaching, because I want to tie the end of this post back to the beginning, but the more I think about it, the truer it seems. It takes courage to be passionate, and to lose yourself in "fantasy" without caring that others think you're wasting your time. Maybe I am. I mean, I'm definitely not perfect. But God redeems everything, and if my love for reading is boring and a time-suck and wasteful, well, I'm grateful that He uses it anyway. So maybe by "courage, dear heart" my tattoo really means, "don't worry, Tricia, I've got You covered."
Friday, June 21, 2013
From This Thought to That
1) You know that moment of sweet relief when you admit something that you feel is so strange, and everyone says, "Oh I do that too!"? Well, it's very strange for the opposite to happen, to assume that your experience is universal and then to suddenly find out that it is not. Turns out everyone did not go through the suicidal teenage thing? I thought that was a thing.
2) I used to buy swimsuits in an attempt to cover up as much skin as possible. Now there are ominous strapless dresses looming in my future and the repetitious "no tan lines!" echoing in my head, so I'm stuck emailing Liz pictures of me in the dressing room with the caption "what the hell is the difference between swimwear appropriate and slutty??"
3) I don't actually like the word slutty. I don't like slut-shaming, and the idea that women, and how they choose to dress, are responsible for the actions of men. Slut-shaming is a very short step away from victim-blaming, and no matter what a woman is wearing, she's not asking to be raped. Let's put our focus on teaching boys to respect women and NOT RAPE THEM rather than teaching women how not to get raped.
4) I freaking love Michal Ann, because she sends me links to feminist things, and we talk about it, and it's this huge part of my life that so few people share. Share entirely, I mean. The Interwebs and my brother are huge feminists, and I love that, but Michal Ann is my Christian feminist buddy who sees Jesus affirming the equality of women and loving the way the Bible tells the narratives of women and gives us dignity and sadness and purpose. I want her to stop being in Turkey and start being in Texas.
5) Amy and Liz are having a garage sale tomorrow, and they're selling a bunch of stuff, and this means there is only one more week in which they will be living here. I'm not thinking about this. I'm not thinking about it so hard that I work and sulk and hole up in my room and distract myself with books and schoolwork and TV shows. It's funny how long it took for me to realize that a major source of my flirtation with depression was Liz leaving. But I'm not going to think about that, because denial is a wonderful skillset.
2) I used to buy swimsuits in an attempt to cover up as much skin as possible. Now there are ominous strapless dresses looming in my future and the repetitious "no tan lines!" echoing in my head, so I'm stuck emailing Liz pictures of me in the dressing room with the caption "what the hell is the difference between swimwear appropriate and slutty??"
3) I don't actually like the word slutty. I don't like slut-shaming, and the idea that women, and how they choose to dress, are responsible for the actions of men. Slut-shaming is a very short step away from victim-blaming, and no matter what a woman is wearing, she's not asking to be raped. Let's put our focus on teaching boys to respect women and NOT RAPE THEM rather than teaching women how not to get raped.
4) I freaking love Michal Ann, because she sends me links to feminist things, and we talk about it, and it's this huge part of my life that so few people share. Share entirely, I mean. The Interwebs and my brother are huge feminists, and I love that, but Michal Ann is my Christian feminist buddy who sees Jesus affirming the equality of women and loving the way the Bible tells the narratives of women and gives us dignity and sadness and purpose. I want her to stop being in Turkey and start being in Texas.
5) Amy and Liz are having a garage sale tomorrow, and they're selling a bunch of stuff, and this means there is only one more week in which they will be living here. I'm not thinking about this. I'm not thinking about it so hard that I work and sulk and hole up in my room and distract myself with books and schoolwork and TV shows. It's funny how long it took for me to realize that a major source of my flirtation with depression was Liz leaving. But I'm not going to think about that, because denial is a wonderful skillset.
Thursday, June 20, 2013
Why I Like Kids
Okay, real post.
It hit me the other day that I'm getting paid to be a stay-at-home mom (this summer especially, since I'm with the kiddos pretty much all day) and I LIKE IT. Ah! I mean, I guess if I could read theology books and YA books and write a little on the side, I'd be okay with this career move? Also, if my hypothetical future kids are anywhere as awesome as Anju and Ketan.
This is what I like about hanging with kids all the time:
1) They make me think harder. They're always asking why, and I freaking love that game. I will come up with a new and unique answer if it kills me! Only twice in a whole year have I resorted to saying, "Because I said so." Heh heh. Take that, kids, I can totally outlast you. But I'm losing the point. I like having to think through all those steps, but I also like those teachable moments (mostly because the kids are teachable). Today Ketan said Anju was mean, and she got upset.
Anju: He said I'm mean!
Me: Were you being mean?
Anju: NO. I was being nice, but--
Me: Then it doesn't matter.
Anju: What? But I was being nice.
Me: I know. So if you know you were being nice, then what does it matter what Ketan thinks? It's like that episode of Fruits Basket we just watched, right? Haru thinks he's a fool because the cow carried the rat, and he freaks out on Yuki when he first meets him. And Yuki just says, "Well, are you a fool?" and Haru realizes he's not, so he stops being angry.
Anju: Oh, you're right. Okay.
HAHAHAH. I get to use story analysis to teach a ridiculous lesson, and she got it. Best.
2) They love doing annoying things. Anju wanted to go to Whole Foods with me, and she insisted on carrying the basket, and picking out the peaches, and putting them in the scale. Boring stuff! But seeing how excited she was about it made me want to carry the stupid basket.
3) There aren't walls. Kids all the time do and say exactly what they feel. Sometimes this is annoying, like when Anju says, "You have a pimple," and I grit out, "Yes, I do, but remember how I told you people don't like to have that sort of thing pointed out?" And other times it's just endearingly awesome, like when Anju and Alessandra faceplanted the library doors because they were desperate for the place to open. Ketan is right on the edge of gaining self-awareness (bad in this case), so he's coyly sweet, saying, "Well, I don't hate you" or "You were pretty okay at that" which means he loooves me. Both are nice, but I just really love that innocent trust that it's safe to say what you're thinking, and it's okay to do what you want to do. My life involves a lot of flailing because I'm passionate, but far too often I reign in my emotions because adulthood means containing oneself.
On the other hand, when they are hungry or tired, they are pissed. They're smart enough to say, "I'm hungry, so I'm CRANKY" but it's still annoying as hell. And then I act like the hypocrite I am and teach them about maturity meaning knowing when to hold in your opinions and when to let them out.
Alright. So awesome kids are awesome. I'm so overwhelmed with gratitude that the children I nanny are basically my clones, so everything is easy and enjoyable. Most of the time, obviously. So I guess if I were guaranteed to have kids like them, I wouldn't mind being with them all the time. Although would I? Because I'm in school. Eh, whatever. I could probably never for years at a time stay home with kids all the freaking time, but it's not as bad as all that.
(IMPORTANT NOTE: I'm not saying I've thought stay-at-home moms were crazy. I have the utmost respect for them precisely because I thought it would be so stinking hard for me to do the same. Like thinking I would never want to be a pro wrestler, because that looks insane! Now I see that maybe I could, in fact, be a pro wrestler. Er, stay-at-home mom. But I'm still going to study counseling.)
It hit me the other day that I'm getting paid to be a stay-at-home mom (this summer especially, since I'm with the kiddos pretty much all day) and I LIKE IT. Ah! I mean, I guess if I could read theology books and YA books and write a little on the side, I'd be okay with this career move? Also, if my hypothetical future kids are anywhere as awesome as Anju and Ketan.
This is what I like about hanging with kids all the time:
1) They make me think harder. They're always asking why, and I freaking love that game. I will come up with a new and unique answer if it kills me! Only twice in a whole year have I resorted to saying, "Because I said so." Heh heh. Take that, kids, I can totally outlast you. But I'm losing the point. I like having to think through all those steps, but I also like those teachable moments (mostly because the kids are teachable). Today Ketan said Anju was mean, and she got upset.
Anju: He said I'm mean!
Me: Were you being mean?
Anju: NO. I was being nice, but--
Me: Then it doesn't matter.
Anju: What? But I was being nice.
Me: I know. So if you know you were being nice, then what does it matter what Ketan thinks? It's like that episode of Fruits Basket we just watched, right? Haru thinks he's a fool because the cow carried the rat, and he freaks out on Yuki when he first meets him. And Yuki just says, "Well, are you a fool?" and Haru realizes he's not, so he stops being angry.
Anju: Oh, you're right. Okay.
HAHAHAH. I get to use story analysis to teach a ridiculous lesson, and she got it. Best.
2) They love doing annoying things. Anju wanted to go to Whole Foods with me, and she insisted on carrying the basket, and picking out the peaches, and putting them in the scale. Boring stuff! But seeing how excited she was about it made me want to carry the stupid basket.
3) There aren't walls. Kids all the time do and say exactly what they feel. Sometimes this is annoying, like when Anju says, "You have a pimple," and I grit out, "Yes, I do, but remember how I told you people don't like to have that sort of thing pointed out?" And other times it's just endearingly awesome, like when Anju and Alessandra faceplanted the library doors because they were desperate for the place to open. Ketan is right on the edge of gaining self-awareness (bad in this case), so he's coyly sweet, saying, "Well, I don't hate you" or "You were pretty okay at that" which means he loooves me. Both are nice, but I just really love that innocent trust that it's safe to say what you're thinking, and it's okay to do what you want to do. My life involves a lot of flailing because I'm passionate, but far too often I reign in my emotions because adulthood means containing oneself.
On the other hand, when they are hungry or tired, they are pissed. They're smart enough to say, "I'm hungry, so I'm CRANKY" but it's still annoying as hell. And then I act like the hypocrite I am and teach them about maturity meaning knowing when to hold in your opinions and when to let them out.
Alright. So awesome kids are awesome. I'm so overwhelmed with gratitude that the children I nanny are basically my clones, so everything is easy and enjoyable. Most of the time, obviously. So I guess if I were guaranteed to have kids like them, I wouldn't mind being with them all the time. Although would I? Because I'm in school. Eh, whatever. I could probably never for years at a time stay home with kids all the freaking time, but it's not as bad as all that.
(IMPORTANT NOTE: I'm not saying I've thought stay-at-home moms were crazy. I have the utmost respect for them precisely because I thought it would be so stinking hard for me to do the same. Like thinking I would never want to be a pro wrestler, because that looks insane! Now I see that maybe I could, in fact, be a pro wrestler. Er, stay-at-home mom. But I'm still going to study counseling.)
Whoops
Oh no! I forgot to post something yesterday!
And today's post: mentioning I forgot to post something yesterday!
And today's post: mentioning I forgot to post something yesterday!
Tuesday, June 18, 2013
Into Darkness
What is it that makes us like darkness? Metaphorical.
I don't like scary movies. THEY FREAKING TERRIFY ME. I can't even watch scary trailers. I can't even listen to scary movies. This used to embarrass me, because I guess watching horror films is a bit of a rite of passage? But now it just seems ridiculous--I honestly don't understand why someone would deliberately do something to scare themselves.
But then I fall off my high horse where serious eff-ed up stories are concerned. I've always been a fan of dark humor, like haha death and stuff! And then when you get into deeply manipulative and well, everything I can think of to describe this stuff involves the f-word. A tamer version that does not capture the power the emotion is: stories that mess with your head.
Those things where you read or watch something and think, "How could someone DO that!?" and it repulses you, but if the story is done well, you've been pulled into the action, and the weird thing is, you do understand.
Maybe that's the sick appeal. Being pulled so deeply into a narrative that you understand someone's actions, no matter how reprehensible. Alright, so maybe not everything. We've all got our limits. It is near freaking impossible for me to accept being in the head of a rapist or serial killer. But there are a lot of other ways in which a person can screw someone over, and I just really enjoy blinking through a story, thinking, "How am I feeling compassion for this horrible person?"
Now that I write it out, it's not such a mystery. I lately realized that my central driving force is the desire to understand (I mean, this was a pretty big self-revelation, and I feel bad that I shunted it to the middle of a blog post on a separate topic). I want to know WHY, and about everything, but especially people. That is why I've always been drawn to literature and psychology and counseling. So of course dark stories are appealing to me; they help me understand the darkness and depravity that people are capable of. And through understanding comes compassion.
It's fair to say that this is potentially dangerous. Well, I GET why that woman cheated on her husband, and don't I feel bad, so maybe adultery isn't always horrible? Right, it's hard to keep a hold of morality and absolute truth when you're confronted with stories outside the norm. And that's true, and I worry about that sometimes. But also...I don't think that's a good enough reason to avoid such things? Not all the time, at least. I want to have the courage to, kind of, metaphorically hold onto the rope of Christ and then jump into the abyss of humanity. Hahaha.
Oh my gosh, I'm not even trying to be coherent anymore. Basically I read a really screwed up story online, and it has OVERRUN my brain, and I know it's an awful story (so I'm not describing it or telling you what it was, because frankly I'm a bit embarrassed I read it), but I can't stop thinking about it. It was SO depraved, but so well-written, and each step taken by the characters was obviously a bad one, but it made total sense within the narrative. It was fascinating! It so accurately portrayed real life, how it's not like we think, "I'm going to kill someone today!" but a series of tiny steps can naturally and subtly progress to something "unthinkable."
Like I said, this thing took over my brain, and I had to process somewhere, so....there's my blog post for today!
I don't like scary movies. THEY FREAKING TERRIFY ME. I can't even watch scary trailers. I can't even listen to scary movies. This used to embarrass me, because I guess watching horror films is a bit of a rite of passage? But now it just seems ridiculous--I honestly don't understand why someone would deliberately do something to scare themselves.
But then I fall off my high horse where serious eff-ed up stories are concerned. I've always been a fan of dark humor, like haha death and stuff! And then when you get into deeply manipulative and well, everything I can think of to describe this stuff involves the f-word. A tamer version that does not capture the power the emotion is: stories that mess with your head.
Those things where you read or watch something and think, "How could someone DO that!?" and it repulses you, but if the story is done well, you've been pulled into the action, and the weird thing is, you do understand.
Maybe that's the sick appeal. Being pulled so deeply into a narrative that you understand someone's actions, no matter how reprehensible. Alright, so maybe not everything. We've all got our limits. It is near freaking impossible for me to accept being in the head of a rapist or serial killer. But there are a lot of other ways in which a person can screw someone over, and I just really enjoy blinking through a story, thinking, "How am I feeling compassion for this horrible person?"
Now that I write it out, it's not such a mystery. I lately realized that my central driving force is the desire to understand (I mean, this was a pretty big self-revelation, and I feel bad that I shunted it to the middle of a blog post on a separate topic). I want to know WHY, and about everything, but especially people. That is why I've always been drawn to literature and psychology and counseling. So of course dark stories are appealing to me; they help me understand the darkness and depravity that people are capable of. And through understanding comes compassion.
It's fair to say that this is potentially dangerous. Well, I GET why that woman cheated on her husband, and don't I feel bad, so maybe adultery isn't always horrible? Right, it's hard to keep a hold of morality and absolute truth when you're confronted with stories outside the norm. And that's true, and I worry about that sometimes. But also...I don't think that's a good enough reason to avoid such things? Not all the time, at least. I want to have the courage to, kind of, metaphorically hold onto the rope of Christ and then jump into the abyss of humanity. Hahaha.
Oh my gosh, I'm not even trying to be coherent anymore. Basically I read a really screwed up story online, and it has OVERRUN my brain, and I know it's an awful story (so I'm not describing it or telling you what it was, because frankly I'm a bit embarrassed I read it), but I can't stop thinking about it. It was SO depraved, but so well-written, and each step taken by the characters was obviously a bad one, but it made total sense within the narrative. It was fascinating! It so accurately portrayed real life, how it's not like we think, "I'm going to kill someone today!" but a series of tiny steps can naturally and subtly progress to something "unthinkable."
Like I said, this thing took over my brain, and I had to process somewhere, so....there's my blog post for today!
Monday, June 17, 2013
Live Through the Past Again
A couple weeks ago I saw The Avett Brothers, and there was one particular song that lit up my eyes and awakened my ears. I leaned over to Liz and said, "They are singing my life."
The song was "Paul Newman Vs. The Demons," which I have since listened to ad nauseum. I'll put the video at the end of this post for any interested. The relevant lyrics, though, are these:
"Live through the past again/ How many times must I/ Live through the past again?/ No more/ Wait."
Something that bothered me for a long time was the fact that I still struggle with the same doubts and sins and selfishnesses that I did before I got serious at following Jesus. Shouldn't I be conquering things? Shouldn't I be better? It took a couple years of learning that following Jesus is a journey (which is why I like to say I follow Jesus rather than believe in Him or trust in Him--all are true, but I think "follow" captures the heart of this choice better than other verbs), and since it is a journey, there are ups and downs and backtracks and resting periods and painful climbs.
Put another way, I used to think life ought to be a straight line--always getting better, always going higher and closer to God.
This is one of those times when I've actually internalized a thing. I no longer freak out at my sinful habits and unhealthy coping mechanisms. Sure, I need to work on them, and I need to pray that God will heal me. But they don't matter. I actually believe that God has saved me, that Jesus's salvation covered me, and nothing I do affects how God feels about me. I'm safe, and I can't lose that. I can screw up my life here and now, and there are consequences for the things I do, but God has me, and He knows my failings, and He's okay with the fact that I'm not actually superhuman. The Holy Spirit is committed to walking with me through anything and everything.
Okay, I got a bit PASSIONATE there. I'm just really happy that somewhere along the way those ideas sank into my heart and I don't have to force myself to believe them--I just do.
So the point is this: instead of life being a line, I now think of it as a pulled-apart slinky. Loop after loop. There is direction, but it's not straight. It looks as though just as much time is spent going backwards as going forwards, but somehow at the end of it all, you're further along than you were at the beginning.
The Avett Brothers sing about living the past again, and I get that. God has consistently proven that He is trustworthy, but I still freak out about the future. God has consistently proven that His love is pure, but I still pursue cheap imitations. God has consistently proven that living selflessly is more fulfilling, but I still put myself above everyone else.
And that's okay. I'm going to repeat the past. And I'm going to learn. And God will change me, slowly, sometimes painfully, usually without me noticing. It's going to look really pathetic from the outside, I think, and that's okay. God knows me, and He loves me, past-repeater that I am.
(The whole song is really genius. Here are a few more lyrics that make me think of The Avett Brothers as prophets: "You may have to drag me away from my demons/ Kicking and screaming/ It's been so long now, I've been with them/ I don't know where they stop and I begin."
The song was "Paul Newman Vs. The Demons," which I have since listened to ad nauseum. I'll put the video at the end of this post for any interested. The relevant lyrics, though, are these:
"Live through the past again/ How many times must I/ Live through the past again?/ No more/ Wait."
Something that bothered me for a long time was the fact that I still struggle with the same doubts and sins and selfishnesses that I did before I got serious at following Jesus. Shouldn't I be conquering things? Shouldn't I be better? It took a couple years of learning that following Jesus is a journey (which is why I like to say I follow Jesus rather than believe in Him or trust in Him--all are true, but I think "follow" captures the heart of this choice better than other verbs), and since it is a journey, there are ups and downs and backtracks and resting periods and painful climbs.
Put another way, I used to think life ought to be a straight line--always getting better, always going higher and closer to God.
This is one of those times when I've actually internalized a thing. I no longer freak out at my sinful habits and unhealthy coping mechanisms. Sure, I need to work on them, and I need to pray that God will heal me. But they don't matter. I actually believe that God has saved me, that Jesus's salvation covered me, and nothing I do affects how God feels about me. I'm safe, and I can't lose that. I can screw up my life here and now, and there are consequences for the things I do, but God has me, and He knows my failings, and He's okay with the fact that I'm not actually superhuman. The Holy Spirit is committed to walking with me through anything and everything.
Okay, I got a bit PASSIONATE there. I'm just really happy that somewhere along the way those ideas sank into my heart and I don't have to force myself to believe them--I just do.
So the point is this: instead of life being a line, I now think of it as a pulled-apart slinky. Loop after loop. There is direction, but it's not straight. It looks as though just as much time is spent going backwards as going forwards, but somehow at the end of it all, you're further along than you were at the beginning.
The Avett Brothers sing about living the past again, and I get that. God has consistently proven that He is trustworthy, but I still freak out about the future. God has consistently proven that His love is pure, but I still pursue cheap imitations. God has consistently proven that living selflessly is more fulfilling, but I still put myself above everyone else.
And that's okay. I'm going to repeat the past. And I'm going to learn. And God will change me, slowly, sometimes painfully, usually without me noticing. It's going to look really pathetic from the outside, I think, and that's okay. God knows me, and He loves me, past-repeater that I am.
(The whole song is really genius. Here are a few more lyrics that make me think of The Avett Brothers as prophets: "You may have to drag me away from my demons/ Kicking and screaming/ It's been so long now, I've been with them/ I don't know where they stop and I begin."
Sunday, June 16, 2013
The Arboretum
Last year, my mom and I went to the St. Louis Botanical Garden for a Chinese Lantern Festival. We got duped into buying yearlong memberships, only we weren't duped, because you can use them at any botanical garden, and I've gone to the one in Dallas four times since moving here. I get in for free, no parking, which saves $25, which means $100 for all the times I've gone (except I wouldn't, not for $25, yeesh). Unfortunately, my swanky membership is over June 30th.
So I went today! Alright, honest shameful admission: I mostly went so I could wear a tank top and get tan. But THEN I walked in and there was nature! And it was beautiful! The flowers were all, "hey, look at me! no, me!" and the sky was all, "my blueness and clouds make you want to fall asleep in heaven, huh?" and the grass was all, "WALK ON ME! TAKE OFF YOUR SHOES, WILL YOU?"
Noisy garden.
Because I don't do pretentious unless I'm going to do pretentious, I took some Auden and walked a ways, sat to read poetry, then walked a little further to read the next. You know, just so everyone in the arboretum could admire my dedication to literature.
Then I felt crispy, so I left.
So I went today! Alright, honest shameful admission: I mostly went so I could wear a tank top and get tan. But THEN I walked in and there was nature! And it was beautiful! The flowers were all, "hey, look at me! no, me!" and the sky was all, "my blueness and clouds make you want to fall asleep in heaven, huh?" and the grass was all, "WALK ON ME! TAKE OFF YOUR SHOES, WILL YOU?"
Noisy garden.
Because I don't do pretentious unless I'm going to do pretentious, I took some Auden and walked a ways, sat to read poetry, then walked a little further to read the next. You know, just so everyone in the arboretum could admire my dedication to literature.
Then I felt crispy, so I left.
Saturday, June 15, 2013
What Makes a Church
My thoughts, over the past week, have been forming stars, and I think they are finally discernible as a constellation of sorts. That's my highfalutin way of saying I finally know what I want to say.
I've spent a lot of this year thinking, "Finally! People who think/feel/act like me!" By which I mean, I met people outside the Baptist bubble who think Catholics can teach us things about Jesus, and Communion is a lovely weekly reminder of our dependency upon God, and drinking isn't evil, and cussing has a purpose, and women are equal imagers of God. When I found these people, I formed my own bubble. A snobby and exclusive bubble, I might add.
It was all very confusing, because while I adore my family at Woodland, I started feeling like maybe I'd been brought up wrong, and I resented the faceless and nameless church for raising me conservative and bigoted. I think I was taking legitimate experiences at Woodland and heavily overlaying them with my own personality as well as the face of the Church presented by media. I needed someone to blame for who I was, and I took it out on people I love.
Then I went home to Peoria last weekend. And I mean, went home. Woodland, for all its ridiculousness, is my family. It was heartbreakingly wonderful to hug dozens of people, to continue conversations from six months ago, to know and be known. It was so good to hear the Truth amongst people who may not agree with me about everything, but who love me anyway. It was complete crap, leaving after two days. Watching Woodland gear up for summer, with VBS (which I hate, even, but I wanted to be a part) and mission trips and youth gatherings and Sunday School plans and summer Sundays, I ached inside for missing it.
When I got back to Dallas, I didn't know what to feel, which is why I haven't written about it yet. Because the fact remains that sure, I don't 100% with Woodland's party line. There are people in Dallas with whom I can sigh, "You think that? I do too! Can we be best friends??" I'm so grateful to have those people in my life, who make me feel less weird, who encourage me to pursue the ideas I'm passionate about and engage with culture. But I couldn't ignore this huge hole inside reminding me of my church family in Peoria.
In July, I'm going to take a class on Ecclesiology, the theological word for "study of the Church." In preparation, I've been reading Life Together by Dietrich Bonhoeffer. He lectured pretty fiercely on the stupidity and sinfulness of "visionary" people who think they can "fix" the Church. Which, well, stung a little, because I can definitely remember a particular blog post I once wrote that was all about how Church would be if I were in charge. Bonhoeffer's point is that the Church is God's gift to us, with all its messiness and glory and frustrations. In fact, it's in the messiness and frustrations that we really shine.
That's what I realized. I'm copying a sentence I wrote earlier: "It was so good to hear the Truth amongst people who may not agree with me about everything, but who love me anyway." That's the Church. A bunch of people with a bunch of ideas, trying and failing to understand our great and mysterious God. Agreeing on every little detail is not what glorifies God--honestly, that might mean we are cult. It's in the disagreements, expressed in love, that Christians show the character of Jesus. The fact that I push people's buttons, but they still hug me and ask my opinions, well. That's what Woodland is. It's my church.
I guess the point of all this is, my feelings haven't changed. I still get frustrated with Woodland, and with Christianity as an institution. But my feelings about my feelings have changed. Those frustrations are something beautiful, I think, and I love being a part of a group of people who accept me despite my idiosyncrasies, and I love being friends with people even when I disagree with something they say.
I've spent a lot of this year thinking, "Finally! People who think/feel/act like me!" By which I mean, I met people outside the Baptist bubble who think Catholics can teach us things about Jesus, and Communion is a lovely weekly reminder of our dependency upon God, and drinking isn't evil, and cussing has a purpose, and women are equal imagers of God. When I found these people, I formed my own bubble. A snobby and exclusive bubble, I might add.
It was all very confusing, because while I adore my family at Woodland, I started feeling like maybe I'd been brought up wrong, and I resented the faceless and nameless church for raising me conservative and bigoted. I think I was taking legitimate experiences at Woodland and heavily overlaying them with my own personality as well as the face of the Church presented by media. I needed someone to blame for who I was, and I took it out on people I love.
Then I went home to Peoria last weekend. And I mean, went home. Woodland, for all its ridiculousness, is my family. It was heartbreakingly wonderful to hug dozens of people, to continue conversations from six months ago, to know and be known. It was so good to hear the Truth amongst people who may not agree with me about everything, but who love me anyway. It was complete crap, leaving after two days. Watching Woodland gear up for summer, with VBS (which I hate, even, but I wanted to be a part) and mission trips and youth gatherings and Sunday School plans and summer Sundays, I ached inside for missing it.
When I got back to Dallas, I didn't know what to feel, which is why I haven't written about it yet. Because the fact remains that sure, I don't 100% with Woodland's party line. There are people in Dallas with whom I can sigh, "You think that? I do too! Can we be best friends??" I'm so grateful to have those people in my life, who make me feel less weird, who encourage me to pursue the ideas I'm passionate about and engage with culture. But I couldn't ignore this huge hole inside reminding me of my church family in Peoria.
In July, I'm going to take a class on Ecclesiology, the theological word for "study of the Church." In preparation, I've been reading Life Together by Dietrich Bonhoeffer. He lectured pretty fiercely on the stupidity and sinfulness of "visionary" people who think they can "fix" the Church. Which, well, stung a little, because I can definitely remember a particular blog post I once wrote that was all about how Church would be if I were in charge. Bonhoeffer's point is that the Church is God's gift to us, with all its messiness and glory and frustrations. In fact, it's in the messiness and frustrations that we really shine.
That's what I realized. I'm copying a sentence I wrote earlier: "It was so good to hear the Truth amongst people who may not agree with me about everything, but who love me anyway." That's the Church. A bunch of people with a bunch of ideas, trying and failing to understand our great and mysterious God. Agreeing on every little detail is not what glorifies God--honestly, that might mean we are cult. It's in the disagreements, expressed in love, that Christians show the character of Jesus. The fact that I push people's buttons, but they still hug me and ask my opinions, well. That's what Woodland is. It's my church.
I guess the point of all this is, my feelings haven't changed. I still get frustrated with Woodland, and with Christianity as an institution. But my feelings about my feelings have changed. Those frustrations are something beautiful, I think, and I love being a part of a group of people who accept me despite my idiosyncrasies, and I love being friends with people even when I disagree with something they say.
Friday, June 14, 2013
Teaching Hard Truths
I'm a big believer in being honest with kids. Share life with them, the good and the bad, and talk about it. Explain the things they hear and see, tell them about the brokenness of the world, and then tell them how it can be better. Information shared kindly and patiently is almost always better than willfully exerting ignorance. In my opinion. Anyway, today I took Ketan to my house (Anju was in camp) to play some Harry Potter PS2 (his gift earlier this week).
Every time we go to my house, the conversation winds up being about my roommates. Today Ketan wanted to know what Jessica's job was.
Me: She works at Genesis Women's Shelter. She does counseling for women who are abused by their husbands.
Ketan: What does that mean? Being abused by husbands?
Me: Some men hit or hurt their wives. Sometimes if the wives threaten to run away, the husbands say they'll hurt them even more. So Jessica counsels those women, and sometimes if it's very dangerous, her work has hidden places for the women to stay so their husbands can't find them.
Ketan was silent as we pulled into the driveway. When we got out, I tousled his hair and said, "That's why you should always respect and be nice to girls. You're going to grow up and have massive muscles and be stronger than women. You've got to make sure you don't use your strength to hurt others."
He cackled, kind of sly, so I elbowed his shoulder. He laughed for real, said, "Okay," and ran into my living room to play Flinstones on the keyboard.
I'm also a firm believer in "Stop telling girls not to get raped, and start telling boys not to rape!" so, job well done, at least for today.
Every time we go to my house, the conversation winds up being about my roommates. Today Ketan wanted to know what Jessica's job was.
Me: She works at Genesis Women's Shelter. She does counseling for women who are abused by their husbands.
Ketan: What does that mean? Being abused by husbands?
Me: Some men hit or hurt their wives. Sometimes if the wives threaten to run away, the husbands say they'll hurt them even more. So Jessica counsels those women, and sometimes if it's very dangerous, her work has hidden places for the women to stay so their husbands can't find them.
Ketan was silent as we pulled into the driveway. When we got out, I tousled his hair and said, "That's why you should always respect and be nice to girls. You're going to grow up and have massive muscles and be stronger than women. You've got to make sure you don't use your strength to hurt others."
He cackled, kind of sly, so I elbowed his shoulder. He laughed for real, said, "Okay," and ran into my living room to play Flinstones on the keyboard.
I'm also a firm believer in "Stop telling girls not to get raped, and start telling boys not to rape!" so, job well done, at least for today.
Thursday, June 13, 2013
I Will Watch Anything Starring Hugh Laurie
I keep leaving blogging until the last minute, because I forget I've decided to blog every day this month. By the end of the day, I have TOO MANY thoughts flying through my head, and I don't know where to even start laying them down. Or if I want to commit to the time it would take to go into them.
So I'll go with the easy and mention that Liz and I watched The Oranges, which we've wanted to watch for MONTHS, and it was so weirdly good! It stars Hugh Laurie, who gets sexier with age, and he sleeps with his best friend/neighbor's daughter. That's the story. HAHAHA. And it was so confusing, because a) Hugh Laurie, and b) everyone was ridiculous and sad and understandable. I love narratives that refuse to paint people as villains or heroes, but instead tell stories realistically and painfully.
Painfully funny, too. This movie does awkward like nothing. It was so wonderful. I have no opinions about it because it played spin the bottle with my moral compass, so I need time to digest and process.
Alright, that's a good couple paragraphs. Done.
So I'll go with the easy and mention that Liz and I watched The Oranges, which we've wanted to watch for MONTHS, and it was so weirdly good! It stars Hugh Laurie, who gets sexier with age, and he sleeps with his best friend/neighbor's daughter. That's the story. HAHAHA. And it was so confusing, because a) Hugh Laurie, and b) everyone was ridiculous and sad and understandable. I love narratives that refuse to paint people as villains or heroes, but instead tell stories realistically and painfully.
Painfully funny, too. This movie does awkward like nothing. It was so wonderful. I have no opinions about it because it played spin the bottle with my moral compass, so I need time to digest and process.
Alright, that's a good couple paragraphs. Done.
Wednesday, June 12, 2013
I Just Stepped Into the Present
Another thing about my writing I learned this weekend: someone said, "I can't wait to see how God uses your talent for writing!" and I said, "Me too!"
Until a couple nights later, when I thought about it a little longer. My whole life, I've seen my writing as a placeholder. That I'm practicing for something else, preparing for some mystical "THIS IS IT" writing assignment. And to some extent, duh, everything I write is a chance to play around, learn from mistakes and discoveries, and get better at the writing craft.
But that's not all it is.
I think God is using my Facebook statuses and blog posts right now. My goal with the inane, self-deprecating Facebook statuses is to bring a little levity and joy to people's days. My goal with my blog is the same, although sometimes I go surius biznez and write about something deeper. Two people called me to say they really appreciated my blog on homosexuality, which meant a lot, because I was kind of terrified to write it and make it available to public eyes. It encourages me to know that every once in a while, something I say hits a person in a particular way, either by making them see something in a new way, or by giving voice to a feeling they've had but couldn't articulate.
None of that is super fancy. It's just Facebook and blogging. Someday I'd love to be published, but honestly, that's more selfish vanity than anything. I think I'm using my talent for writing already, and I trust that God is happy with my use of the gifts He's given me. So. No more waiting. This is it! This is me writing, ridiculously and passionately and occasionally thoughtfully, and this is what counts.
Until a couple nights later, when I thought about it a little longer. My whole life, I've seen my writing as a placeholder. That I'm practicing for something else, preparing for some mystical "THIS IS IT" writing assignment. And to some extent, duh, everything I write is a chance to play around, learn from mistakes and discoveries, and get better at the writing craft.
But that's not all it is.
I think God is using my Facebook statuses and blog posts right now. My goal with the inane, self-deprecating Facebook statuses is to bring a little levity and joy to people's days. My goal with my blog is the same, although sometimes I go surius biznez and write about something deeper. Two people called me to say they really appreciated my blog on homosexuality, which meant a lot, because I was kind of terrified to write it and make it available to public eyes. It encourages me to know that every once in a while, something I say hits a person in a particular way, either by making them see something in a new way, or by giving voice to a feeling they've had but couldn't articulate.
None of that is super fancy. It's just Facebook and blogging. Someday I'd love to be published, but honestly, that's more selfish vanity than anything. I think I'm using my talent for writing already, and I trust that God is happy with my use of the gifts He's given me. So. No more waiting. This is it! This is me writing, ridiculously and passionately and occasionally thoughtfully, and this is what counts.
Tuesday, June 11, 2013
The Internet Creates Lopsided Relationships
I try really hard to make my Facebook statuses funny. I mean, not hard like I spend hours on each one, but I definitely tweak the wording and try to make them as concisely hilarious as possible. Unless I'm flailing, at which point, anything is possible.
It's an art form, I think. To be entertaining in a sentence or two. Clearly, this is not usually how I write, since I've always operated under the guidelines, "if one sentence is good, one hundred would be better!" So I'm branching out.
Which makes it so rewarding when people tell me they enjoy my Facebook statuses! When I went home to Peoria last weekend, a few people mentioned that I was so funny, ha ha, and it made my little heart light up. But there is a hidden side to Internet sharing!
Other people feel closer to me than I feel to them. Especially those people who never comment, and I have no idea they are even reading my thoughts. So for people to tell me I'm funny, or they love reading my stuff, or mention something I wrote weeks ago--it's strange! I am very aware that they know more about me than I know about them. Mostly I'm okay with that, because most of the stuff I share is either 1) carefully thought out for public consumption or 2) ridiculous funniness that doesn't really matter. The thing is, I need other people to understand this lopsided relationship. And I think people do, or at least no one acted as though I ought to know their thoughts like they knew mine.
It reminds me of when I met Donald Miller. Having read four of his books, I felt like we were BFFs. I knew his opinions, fears, and desires. My heart and his heart beat simultaneously. Until I got face-to-face and realized he had no idea who I was. It was weird.
THOSE ARE MY THOUGHTS and everyone now knows them. What an age we live in.
(If you want to restore balance to our relationships, talk to me! Comment on my posts or statuses, or even just consistently like them. I pay attention. Heh heh, that sounded a bit ominous. Or it should have. Go back and read it again if you missed that intonation.)
It's an art form, I think. To be entertaining in a sentence or two. Clearly, this is not usually how I write, since I've always operated under the guidelines, "if one sentence is good, one hundred would be better!" So I'm branching out.
Which makes it so rewarding when people tell me they enjoy my Facebook statuses! When I went home to Peoria last weekend, a few people mentioned that I was so funny, ha ha, and it made my little heart light up. But there is a hidden side to Internet sharing!
Other people feel closer to me than I feel to them. Especially those people who never comment, and I have no idea they are even reading my thoughts. So for people to tell me I'm funny, or they love reading my stuff, or mention something I wrote weeks ago--it's strange! I am very aware that they know more about me than I know about them. Mostly I'm okay with that, because most of the stuff I share is either 1) carefully thought out for public consumption or 2) ridiculous funniness that doesn't really matter. The thing is, I need other people to understand this lopsided relationship. And I think people do, or at least no one acted as though I ought to know their thoughts like they knew mine.
It reminds me of when I met Donald Miller. Having read four of his books, I felt like we were BFFs. I knew his opinions, fears, and desires. My heart and his heart beat simultaneously. Until I got face-to-face and realized he had no idea who I was. It was weird.
THOSE ARE MY THOUGHTS and everyone now knows them. What an age we live in.
(If you want to restore balance to our relationships, talk to me! Comment on my posts or statuses, or even just consistently like them. I pay attention. Heh heh, that sounded a bit ominous. Or it should have. Go back and read it again if you missed that intonation.)
Monday, June 10, 2013
Prezzies!
Ketan: I got you a present.
Me: What, a present? An actual present?
Ketan: Yes, it's at the house.
Me: I LOVE PRESENTS.
Ketan: Do you want to know what it is?
Me: NO. No, I like to be surprised.
Anju: I know what it is.
Me: Don't you dare tell me. I want to open it.
Ketan: You have to play it at your house.
Me: Hm. Okay. Don't tell me anything more.
At the house, he handed me a wrapped rectangle on which was written "To: Ms. Trish Fr: Ketan Happy Random Present Day!" I ripped it open, and there was a PS2 game (we've talked a lot about how lame it is that I only have a PS2 and how few games there are for me to play), a HARRY POTTER game.
Me: I LOVE IT!
Ketan: Yeah?
Me: Yes, it's perfect! Where did you get it.
Ketan: Toys R Us. They had a bunch of games on sale for $10, and I thought you would like this one.
Me: I do! Thank you!
He was so pleased. It was adorable.
Me: What, a present? An actual present?
Ketan: Yes, it's at the house.
Me: I LOVE PRESENTS.
Ketan: Do you want to know what it is?
Me: NO. No, I like to be surprised.
Anju: I know what it is.
Me: Don't you dare tell me. I want to open it.
Ketan: You have to play it at your house.
Me: Hm. Okay. Don't tell me anything more.
At the house, he handed me a wrapped rectangle on which was written "To: Ms. Trish Fr: Ketan Happy Random Present Day!" I ripped it open, and there was a PS2 game (we've talked a lot about how lame it is that I only have a PS2 and how few games there are for me to play), a HARRY POTTER game.
Me: I LOVE IT!
Ketan: Yeah?
Me: Yes, it's perfect! Where did you get it.
Ketan: Toys R Us. They had a bunch of games on sale for $10, and I thought you would like this one.
Me: I do! Thank you!
He was so pleased. It was adorable.
Sunday, June 9, 2013
Stars
Yikes, I missed two days. So much for blog-every-day-in-June. In my defense I was in Peoria visiting the people I love, and also blogging on my iPad is annoying.
When I flew out of Dallas, the sun was setting and lights were popping on 35,000 feet below me. I thought a little about light pollution, and how in college my friends and I got up at 3 a.m. to drive into the country to watch a meteor shower. I wondered how many more stars we might see if we didn't have so many lights burning all the time everywhere.
But then I thought, this is beautiful. The scattered dots of white and yellow, like Christmas or hope or salvation. And I thought, maybe the stars look down on us and say, "Used to be there were only a few lights visible, but now look! There are so many! Isn't it wonderful?"
And from the star's perspective, I thought humanity was doing a pretty good job.
When I flew out of Dallas, the sun was setting and lights were popping on 35,000 feet below me. I thought a little about light pollution, and how in college my friends and I got up at 3 a.m. to drive into the country to watch a meteor shower. I wondered how many more stars we might see if we didn't have so many lights burning all the time everywhere.
But then I thought, this is beautiful. The scattered dots of white and yellow, like Christmas or hope or salvation. And I thought, maybe the stars look down on us and say, "Used to be there were only a few lights visible, but now look! There are so many! Isn't it wonderful?"
And from the star's perspective, I thought humanity was doing a pretty good job.
Thursday, June 6, 2013
Race in Sci-Fi
I read a lot of social justice media blogs, because, relevant to my interests. And whenever something sci-fi comes out, inevitably people rush to point out the sheer whiteness of the cast. Especially when it's an adaptation of a book or something, and character of color in the book are cast as white actors. Anyway, I've read complaints about white-washing so often that when I watched After Earth, I was SHOCKED by how right they did it. I mean, first of all, the two main characters were black. But the supporting cast, and the crew and the soldiers and everyone--was very well represented. Black, brown, white, every shade in between. It was actually as if the human population, with its minority of white people and majority of people of color, had moved to space and gotten jumbled up.
It was so lovely. I hope people are talking about it! I hope it is a thing that continues!
Other than that, though, the movie wasn't much to write home about. Interesting father/son dynamics, but I scoffed at the idea of being devoid of fear while facing terrifying creatures. I stand firmly in the "courage means doing something even though you are a afraid" camp, and I don't want no fearlessness advocates messing with my jam.
But race? They win gold stars.
It was so lovely. I hope people are talking about it! I hope it is a thing that continues!
Other than that, though, the movie wasn't much to write home about. Interesting father/son dynamics, but I scoffed at the idea of being devoid of fear while facing terrifying creatures. I stand firmly in the "courage means doing something even though you are a afraid" camp, and I don't want no fearlessness advocates messing with my jam.
But race? They win gold stars.
Wednesday, June 5, 2013
Words of Wisdom
The key to looking like an awesome dancer is to dance with your elbows.
Romance stories are rubbish unless the will-be partners act like idiots together.
Animals are necessary accessories for the fashionable introvert.
Ordering contact lenses is harder than getting into graduate school.
It's impossible to avoid being a douchebag when you say, "Because I'm an adult."
Three cups of coffee in the morning is too much, but if it's free, you should drink them.
A book's betrayal is the hardest to get over.
Running on a store's display ellipticals is a financially responsible way to exercise.
Don't listen to the advice of someone who begins their list describing the best way to dance.
Romance stories are rubbish unless the will-be partners act like idiots together.
Animals are necessary accessories for the fashionable introvert.
Ordering contact lenses is harder than getting into graduate school.
It's impossible to avoid being a douchebag when you say, "Because I'm an adult."
Three cups of coffee in the morning is too much, but if it's free, you should drink them.
A book's betrayal is the hardest to get over.
Running on a store's display ellipticals is a financially responsible way to exercise.
Don't listen to the advice of someone who begins their list describing the best way to dance.
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
Learning How to be a Teacher
A couple weeks ago, I returned 21 Jump Street to the library (which was HILARIOUS, turns out I love guy-humor), and Anju and Ketan asked about it. I told them it was great but too inappropriate for them. There was a lot of cussing, I said. That's okay, Ketan told me. Well, I said, adults can watch that stuff because they have learned when it is appropriate to use those words and when not to. Kids tend to get very excited about those words and use them at the wrongs times or in the wrong ways. Ketan looked at me and said, How are we supposed to learn?
Today Ketan read to me the origin story of the Joker from one of his comics. During a particularly dramatic moment, the characters said, Oh God! Jesus, what are you doing? etc. I turned off the sink and paused him. Hey, I said, personal preference here: I only like to hear God or Jesus when someone is actually talking about God or Jesus. Could you please change those words to something else? He looked up at me for a moment, then shrugged. Sure, he said, and he did.
Today Ketan read to me the origin story of the Joker from one of his comics. During a particularly dramatic moment, the characters said, Oh God! Jesus, what are you doing? etc. I turned off the sink and paused him. Hey, I said, personal preference here: I only like to hear God or Jesus when someone is actually talking about God or Jesus. Could you please change those words to something else? He looked up at me for a moment, then shrugged. Sure, he said, and he did.
Monday, June 3, 2013
Words of Wisdom
Yikes, I almost forgot that I'm blogging every day this month.
Hmmm. What to talk about?
So I have this tendency when, after giving some piece of advice and then feeling weirdly heavy-handed, I cock my head, finger-gun my conversational partner, and say, "Words of wisdom from me to you!" I don't do this with adults very often, because they don't care about my advice. But apparently I do this frequently with Anju and Ketan.
Last Wednesday I must have said that, because Anju observed, "You have a lot of words of wisdom."
When I agreed, she said, "Maybe every Wednesday you could give us some more of your words of wisdom!"
On Thursday, something else happened that required me to say, "Words of wisdom from me to you," and Anju protested, "It's not Wednesday yet!!"
Hmmm. What to talk about?
So I have this tendency when, after giving some piece of advice and then feeling weirdly heavy-handed, I cock my head, finger-gun my conversational partner, and say, "Words of wisdom from me to you!" I don't do this with adults very often, because they don't care about my advice. But apparently I do this frequently with Anju and Ketan.
Last Wednesday I must have said that, because Anju observed, "You have a lot of words of wisdom."
When I agreed, she said, "Maybe every Wednesday you could give us some more of your words of wisdom!"
On Thursday, something else happened that required me to say, "Words of wisdom from me to you," and Anju protested, "It's not Wednesday yet!!"
Sunday, June 2, 2013
The Twelfth Doctor
Should I talk about how I skipped church again today or how Matt Smith is resigning as the Doctor? I was feeling serious earlier, but I don't feel like being introspective anymore, so Doctor Who discussions ahead!
The thing is, I don't care. I'd read several months ago that Matt Smith was probably on his way out, so the news that this year's Christmas Special will be his last episode wasn't a surprise. Also, I just...never connected with Eleven the way I did with Nine and especially Ten. I never got a hold of whatever he was.
Nine was angry, and during his season, he got less angry by loving a human and re-learning how fun and exciting it is to travel around and have adventures.
Ten was a happy puppy dog who had everything he wanted, until he lost Rose. And then Martha. And then Donna. He became progressively angsty and every-once-in-a-while-terrifying until he remembered his love for humanity and died in place of a "nobody."
Eleven was...a manchild. He flailed and twirled and acted surprised that his married friends liked to kiss each other, but then he frequently got sexy with people and occasionally threatened genocide. I could rarely trace what was actually happening with his character development, maybe because his three seasons stretched over 200 years of the Doctor's life and one of the most important people in his narrative popped in and out, sometimes from his future, sometimes from his past. Eleven seemed to change depending on what plot he was in the middle of, and the fact that I've taken a full paragraph to explain his character when Nine and Ten took only a few lines says a lot, I think.
So goodbye Eleven.
Who will be Twelve? I'm hoping for someone who isn't a young handsome white guy. I mean, I'll be honest, I like young handsome white guys. But we've done that several times now, and it just leads to more of the same--namely, romantic subplots. I want someone older, like Ian McKellan. Or, be still my heart, Dame Judi Dench. She has just the right amount of sass to be the Doctor. I'm very intrigued by the idea of the Doctor regenerating as a woman (we know it's possible because of the Master, I think?), but I don't want a young hot woman, because I don't trust Moffat to write a young hot woman without turning her into another Amy/River/Clara.
I would also be down with a person of color, because that could be interesting (we know it's possible from when River was Melanie). I've heard Idris Elba thrown around, but I want him to be the next Bond, and I think he's too ripped to be the Doctor.
I guess really I just want someone old. Please, Sir Ian McKellan or Dame Judi Dench! YOU WOULD BE SO GREAT.
The thing is, I don't care. I'd read several months ago that Matt Smith was probably on his way out, so the news that this year's Christmas Special will be his last episode wasn't a surprise. Also, I just...never connected with Eleven the way I did with Nine and especially Ten. I never got a hold of whatever he was.
Nine was angry, and during his season, he got less angry by loving a human and re-learning how fun and exciting it is to travel around and have adventures.
Ten was a happy puppy dog who had everything he wanted, until he lost Rose. And then Martha. And then Donna. He became progressively angsty and every-once-in-a-while-terrifying until he remembered his love for humanity and died in place of a "nobody."
Eleven was...a manchild. He flailed and twirled and acted surprised that his married friends liked to kiss each other, but then he frequently got sexy with people and occasionally threatened genocide. I could rarely trace what was actually happening with his character development, maybe because his three seasons stretched over 200 years of the Doctor's life and one of the most important people in his narrative popped in and out, sometimes from his future, sometimes from his past. Eleven seemed to change depending on what plot he was in the middle of, and the fact that I've taken a full paragraph to explain his character when Nine and Ten took only a few lines says a lot, I think.
So goodbye Eleven.
Who will be Twelve? I'm hoping for someone who isn't a young handsome white guy. I mean, I'll be honest, I like young handsome white guys. But we've done that several times now, and it just leads to more of the same--namely, romantic subplots. I want someone older, like Ian McKellan. Or, be still my heart, Dame Judi Dench. She has just the right amount of sass to be the Doctor. I'm very intrigued by the idea of the Doctor regenerating as a woman (we know it's possible because of the Master, I think?), but I don't want a young hot woman, because I don't trust Moffat to write a young hot woman without turning her into another Amy/River/Clara.
I would also be down with a person of color, because that could be interesting (we know it's possible from when River was Melanie). I've heard Idris Elba thrown around, but I want him to be the next Bond, and I think he's too ripped to be the Doctor.
I guess really I just want someone old. Please, Sir Ian McKellan or Dame Judi Dench! YOU WOULD BE SO GREAT.
Saturday, June 1, 2013
Travel Therapy
Two of my favorite things in life have to do with escaping life: books and travel. If I think about that too much it is worrying. Good thing I'm not going to!
Instead, I'm focusing on how excited I am to be looking directly at several months of funtimestraveljamsessions! Next week I'm headed to Peoria for the weekend. Later in June I'm going to Tennessee for a Senegal reunion. In July I'm flying to Seattle to see my brother. In August I'm back to Peoria for another wedding. Nothing in September, but then in October, I'm going to Maryland to visit Elizabeth!
Small tip, if we are friends and you say, "You should come visit me sometime!" I will take that crap seriously. Elizabeth did that after a couple days of analyzing The Great Gatsby, and within 24 hours I had bought a plane ticket. Apparently she lives very near F. Scott Fitzgerald's grave, and I'm so excited!! That's weird, right? I don't know. I just love me some Fitzgerald.
Four states in five months. If I throw in Texas, because I live here, that's five states in five months, which sounds much more impressive. I've just decided to give into wanderlust all the time and not try to grow past or deny this need I have to GO and SEE and EXPERIENCE. Those are human desires, I think, and not entirely bad. So long as I also appreciate what I have while I have it.
"Hold me fast, hold me fast, cause I'm a hopeless wanderer...
I will learn, I will learn to love these skies I'm under."
Oh, Mumford & Sons. I love you (AND I'M GOING TO SEE YOU IN ELEVEN DAYS OH MY WORD MY LIFE).
Instead, I'm focusing on how excited I am to be looking directly at several months of funtimestraveljamsessions! Next week I'm headed to Peoria for the weekend. Later in June I'm going to Tennessee for a Senegal reunion. In July I'm flying to Seattle to see my brother. In August I'm back to Peoria for another wedding. Nothing in September, but then in October, I'm going to Maryland to visit Elizabeth!
Small tip, if we are friends and you say, "You should come visit me sometime!" I will take that crap seriously. Elizabeth did that after a couple days of analyzing The Great Gatsby, and within 24 hours I had bought a plane ticket. Apparently she lives very near F. Scott Fitzgerald's grave, and I'm so excited!! That's weird, right? I don't know. I just love me some Fitzgerald.
Four states in five months. If I throw in Texas, because I live here, that's five states in five months, which sounds much more impressive. I've just decided to give into wanderlust all the time and not try to grow past or deny this need I have to GO and SEE and EXPERIENCE. Those are human desires, I think, and not entirely bad. So long as I also appreciate what I have while I have it.
"Hold me fast, hold me fast, cause I'm a hopeless wanderer...
I will learn, I will learn to love these skies I'm under."
Oh, Mumford & Sons. I love you (AND I'M GOING TO SEE YOU IN ELEVEN DAYS OH MY WORD MY LIFE).
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