Arwen and Tauriel

Me:  And I loved Tauriel and Kili.
David:  Of course you did.
Me:  I was expecting her to die with him, since she's not in Lord of the Rings.  I thought it would be a tragic Romeo & Juliet thing.  But she lived!  And it was so much worse and so much better!
David:  She has to live without him forever.
Me:  Yeah.
David:  Forever.
Me:  Oh my gosh.  You're right.  *keening*  This is so painful!!
David:  She's like the opposite of Arwen.
Me:  *gasp*  Someone should write an essay about that!
David:  I'll get right on that.

I don't think he's going to get right on that, so I will!  Tauriel, the immortal elf who loved a mortal dwarf, and Arwen, the immortal elf who loved a mortal man.  The first watched her love die and will have to live forever with that pain, while the second gave up her immortality and died with her love.  Although Arwen's decision was given much weight throughout the LotR series, I can't help but think that Tauriel's love is the more tragic.

Arwen's choice to give up her immortality and live a mortal life alongside Aragorn was undercut by the overarching tragedy of the elves.  They live forever, but in a broken world, this is not such a gift as it might seem.  Some elves respond to this tragedy by isolation (Thranduil and the Mirkwood elves), while others jump into the affairs of men and suffer the consequences (Haldir in the movies).  In between are those like Elrond and Galadriel who spend most of their time amongst their own people, but are willing to engage with the wars of men and dwarves if the need is great enough.  No matter their worldview, the elves are consistently portrayed as beautiful tragedies, a relic of a time long gone.  They are separate from everything around them, waiting for the end of their age when all elves journey on to Valinor.

With this backdrop, Arwen's decision feels almost smart.  Choosing to live and die a mortal means becoming relevant.  She can engage with the peoples around her and feel the increased joy and sorrow that accompanies experiences from a mortal vantage point.  Eternity for elves is known, but the fate of men after death is less established.  This is one of her risks, trusting in eternity even without the surety of elven faith.  Far greater, however, is her separation from her people.  As her father and friends leave Middle-earth, she alone lives on.  Until she dies.  But it seems to me that death is not so much the tragedy as is her goodbyes.

Then we have Tauriel, a new character added by Peter Jackson.  I adore her, both for the general inclusion of a female presence in the male-dominated Hobbit story, and for her specific combination of warrior-lover.  Kili the dwarf falls in love with her when she saves his life, and she falls in love with him when they discuss starlight and family traditions.  Although they know each other an impossibly short amount of time, Tauriel feels his death deeply.  So deeply that she finally comes to understand the coldness of Thranduil, who repressed his emotions so deeply in order to ignore the pain of losing his wife centuries ago.

And that's the thing.  Losing someone you love means centuries of grief if you are an elf.  As in Thranduil's case, this can still occur even between elf-elf reltionships.  But Tauriel's love for a dwarf exacerbates this problem.  Not only is she in love with a mortal, she is in love with a hot-headed dwarf who seeks the glory of battle and the honor of his homeland.  A short time together, she now has an eternity to mourn him.  No wonder she cries, "If this is love, I do not want it."  Opening your heart to love means opening your heart to pain.  For a human, but so much more for an elf.

So who has the greater tragedy?  Arwen, who gave up immortality, or Tauriel, who must live forever with grief? 

Clearly the answer is me, a obsessive fan who has chosen to carry both their burdens.

So Much Joy

I've been walking on clouds the last couple days.  So much of my "but I don't know details!" anxiety has disappeared, because, well, I know some details now!

I Skyped with Argyris on Monday, and I cannot overstate HOW IMPORTANT it is for me to see his (and Dina's) face.  It is utterly bizarre trying to plan this massive life transition alone, half a world away from my fellow planners.  He filled me in on some visa information, and most importantly, on my job!

I'm definitely going to be teaching classes for the women in the safe house, along with another teacher (as yet undecided).  Classes run from 10-4, which is my DREAM SCHEDULE.  I'll essentially be doing pscyhoeducation, and I am so excited.  When I first started at DTS, I remember being super interested in psychoeducation (basically, this means teaching psychological and healthful skills), but getting sidetracked by traditional counseling where you don't so much lead and teach as walk beside and encourage.

Anyway, there will be morning and afternoon classes based on topics like anger management, self-esteem, co-dependency, finances, employment, parenting, and an optional Bible study.  THIS IS SO AMAZING.  I love these topics!  I love how diverse the topics are!  I want to teach these topics SO BAD and learn while I teach and talk about them all the time and oh my gosh.  This is so completely perfect.

Plus, on Wednesday mornings I will lead the women in going through the 12 Steps.  This originated with alcoholism, but it has since been used by all sorts of groups based on the premise "I need help from something bigger than me to overcome this issue."  And the best part--on Wednesday afternoons, the leaders (including me!) will be participating in our own 12 Step program!!  I'm so excited!  I've wanted to find group counseling ever since my growth at DTS group, and here is one worked into my job!  Agh, I can't wait!

Having a concrete picture of what I'll be doing has been so encouraging.  On top of that, I have been supported by some really amazing men.  At work, Tyler has been a 100% cheerleader for pursuing my passion and helping me realize abused and neglected women really is my passion.  At Woodland, Joel has talked with me and worked with me in creating space for me to work with the church in raising support.  At TFC, Mike has started opening doors for me finding support here in Dallas.  And in Greece, Argyris is emailing me often, answering questions and just speaking such lovely prayers into my life (this last Skype he assured me he was praying that the awkward few months between graduation and moving would be meaningful for me).

Working with women who have been trafficked, it is easy for me to slip into "men are evil!" mentalities.  I am SO GRATEFUL to have such wonderful godly men who see a passion and a purpose in my life and are going out of their ways to help me accomplish it.  It really brightens my soul.

PLUS PLUS PLUS.  We had a staff meeting at my counseling center, and I sat by this guy Jeremy.  He is an intern as well, but he works a different day, so we've never talked before.  I told him about moving to Athens to work with women fleeing sex trafficking, and he said, "I think I know who you're working for."

"Dina and Argyris Petrou!?"

"Yeah.  At the Greek Bible College?"

"YES."

He went there with his wife TWICE in the last year.  He lived in the school's apartments where I will likely be living!  He met Dina and Argyris, and he heard them lecture on sex trafficking!!  I am so blown away by this tiny world we live in, and I'm feeling extra encouraged by Jeremy's extreme excitement and love for their work.

I'M IN THIS.  Sure, there will be more time for grieving the people and things I'm leaving.  But right now I am full to the brim of JOY.  I cannot wait!  This is such an exciting adventure, and I can't help feeling like it is designed especially for me.

Waiting in Advent

During Thanksgiving break, I played Dragon Age II for at least five hours every day.  Pretty quickly I realized I was escaping my anxiety by completing fictional quests, and I was grateful for the reprieve.  But now life has started back up, and I have to face the unbearable unknowability of the future.

It seems like I might not go to Greece until late 2015 or early 2016.  This throws my schedule off, as that means I will have to think through lease renewals and jobs.  It seems like fundraising is going to be extremely complicated and scary.  It seems like this whole adventure is overwhelming.

I tend to be a quitter.  If I don't think I can do something, I bow out and find something else.  So it was encouraging to realize that I don't want to quit Greece.  Although I am scared, there is no part of me that feels okay with saying, "well, screw this, back to the original plan."  I am 100% convinced that this is my best next step.  But still, I worry.

I talked to my friend Michal yesterday about our upcoming trip to Puerto Rico.  When she asked if I wanted to celebrate her birthday in the Caribbean, I immediately said yes.  Within 24 hours I had 1) booked flights, 2) reserved a hotel, and 3) scheduled a kayaking trip.  I threw it all back to her, and she stuttered an agreement, with the unspoken, "I just suggested this," very much evident.

That's what is frustrating about Greece.  When I decide something, I want to immediately work toward accomplishing it.  The fact that I cannot do so in this experience is driving me crazy.  There is so little I can control.

Which is why it's perfect that I am struggling with this during the Advent season.

Mallory and I have been texting each other Advent-themed prayers and book passages the last couple days.  I love the Christmas season because it's all about waiting, about expecting something good in the midst of a lack.  Easter is a lovely celebration of what has been accomplished and what will be accomplished, but Christmas is the time when we slog through the in between.  We are declared holy, but we are not yet holy.  We are saved, and we are being saved.  We are sinners and saints.  We are in the in between.

Advent says, "Wait!  This dark world will soon be bursting with light!  Just wait, just hold on and wait.  It feels impossible, it feels uncomfortable, it feels agonizing, but it will be worth it."  Advent is a reminder that we are not in control, that no matter how much I wish I could speed up the calendar, December 25th will come at its own pace, and not mine.

So even though I desperately want to book a flight, know all the details, and make accommodations, Advent is reminding me to wait.  To let God lead, to let God be in control, to trust God.

Lean into the longing.

Thinking About Michael Brown

When Michael Brown's death made nationally headlines, I thought, "Aw, that sucks."  Which.  Is maybe the most disgusting reaction to the knowledge of a human being's death?  My self-centered privilege could not be better summarized than my indifferent reaction to the end of a person's life.

I was going to write about how my opinion changed, a process that mostly revolves around the destruction of my naive belief that of course Darren Wilson would be charged with murder.  But I'm not good at talking about this.  Racial tensions, and a history of racial privilege and abuse that has been largely swept under the rug (because of embarrassment? a genuine hope to move past it?), oh my gosh, that is so out of my depth.  I very much believe racial equality is still something for which America must strive, but I'm not knowledgeable on all the details of how this plays out. 

So instead I'm just going to post some of the things I've been seeing online that have got me thinking.

I'm ashamed to admit that when this first was blowing up, I thought, "But I'm fighting for gender equality, not racial equality."  Again, ugh, the inside of my brain, ugh!  As if my concern for justice can only cover one group.  Thankfully I saw things like this that connected the dots for me.

This grossed me out...

One quote that especially made me sad...

“What age is a black boy when he learns he’s scary?”― Jonathan Lethem

And then there were a lot of comparisons made of how the law treats black and white people drastically differently.

"Just a reminder that James Holmes shot 82 people, walked out of a movie theater armed to the teeth and was arrested peacefully, while Mike Brown and a 12 year old boy with a toy gun were shot to death by cops because of 'self-defense.'"

This is not a place where I'm defending what "really" happened or how this specific situation ought to be played out, although I definitely have opinions.  What I care about is my growing concern for the racial divides that run deep in American veins.  In my veins.  I am appalled at how easy it was for me to not care about the death of a human being.  I am appalled at my preference in supporting one oppressed minority (aka the group I'm in!) while totally ignoring another oppressed minority.  I want to be on the side of the downtrodden, the abused, the hurting, the ignored, whether or not I can personally identify with them.  I'm done with not caring.

Grieving The Road Not Taken

Studying counseling is...so handy.  It's as if all of life involves emotions, and knowing how to navigate them is useful. 

One thing I've loved learning is that we grieve more than the loss of humans.  We also grieve the loss of opportunities.  And every time we choose something, we are necessarily choosing not to do every other thing.  Those other things deserve to be grieved.

This is different than the fear I feel thinking about Athens (at which point Kim's voice enters my head:  "Don't make a decision based on fear.").  This is me allowing myself to grieve losing Dallas.  I'm sad that I wont work with Nancy and Tyler.  It's so fun for Nancy to crash in my office while waiting for clients.  It's so fun to duck into Tyler's office to discuss being Scottish.

I'm sad to leave a group of friends who know me more intimately than any others, friends I made while we were all practicing our counseling skills in getting deeper faster.  I'll miss going out for coffee or--oh man, I'm going to miss the live music of Dallas so much.  I'm going to miss the kids I nanny, and getting to crash in a fancy house and eat their snacks.  I'll miss DTS even, although right now my senioritis finds that hard to believe.

Part of me wants to shove this sadness down.  Being sad means I can't move forward, being sad means I'm throwing a pity party.  I used to believe these lies, but not anymore.  "It hurts because it mattered," John Green wrote, and thinking of leaving Dallas hurts because being here mattered.  That's a wonderful thing!  It is so good to be sad and to grieve the loss of something meaningful and lovely.

Grieving doesn't mean I'll change my mind.  Grieving doesn't mean I'm not also crazy excited about going to Athens.  I'm an emotionally complex human being, capable of feeling multiple contradictory emotions simultaneously.  And I'll counsel myself via a blog if I want. 

Scared

Soon after I emailed Dina and Argyris, I was driving down Royal when I thought, "This is the dumbest thing I've ever done."  My mouth curled into a smile as I thought about leaving my internship, my awesome supervisor and coworkers.  I thought about turning down a solid job in order to depend on fundraising, and my smile turned into a loud crazy laugh.

"Thank you, God!" I laughed.  "Thank you for pushing me through the doubt and getting me to this place.  I love it!"

I love the risk, I love the insanity, I love having to trust God.  I suck at that in the small everyday things, but when it gets big enough to be life-changing, I love throwing it all away.

Of course, that intense joy hasn't lasted.  Fundraising intimidates the hell out of me.  Leaving the lovely people in Dallas who know me so intimately, who have been my counselors and allowed me to counsel them--that sucks.  Imagining starting over in a new country, making new friends and finding new streets and grocery stores is already exhausting.

I feel a little bit like I'm not allowed to be scared.  I fear that someone will say, "Well, this decision is wrong.  You were right when you decided to stay in Dallas."  So for awhile I didn't tell anyone about my fear except for Michal.

Me:  "Yeah, I'm really excited. Starting to also feel sick with "OH MY GOSH WHAT AM I DOING" but I think it wouldn't be an adventure if I weren't a little bit terrified."

Michal:  "Most people live their lives never being afraid of anything. Which means you never experience the thrill of doing something risky you know Jesus is beckoning you to do. Jesus is in Greece too.  Or, they are scared of everything and are petrified into doing nothing also. Either way, you can be scared. Scared, and stay, and regret, or be scared, get drinks with friends and cry and laugh and dream over things who will support you no matter where you go, cry on the plane if you need to and then go freaking do it and have awesome stories to tell your kids one day, meet equally brave people, help those who are hurting, and contribute to a story God is creating with other people. You will smile when you look at Jesus one day knowing you went with Him to Greece."

What a friend.  I love Michal.  She had better come visit me in Greece five million times. 

I Reserve the Right to Change My Mind

I have told so many people, "So you know how, like, five days ago I told you I was definitely going to stay in Dallas?  Well....I have completely changed my mind."  It's gotten a bit old, eating so much crow, but I probably need to do one big blanket explanation.  Plus when I'm old and writing my memoir, these blog posts are going to be invaluable information.

Last Monday I was finally able to Facetime with Dina and Argyris.  It was so great to see their faces.  We spent the first five minutes gushing about how crazy it is that we first met each other ten years ago (when I was a baby 16-year-old!), how we've kept in touch this whole time and supported each other however possible.  I felt my heart melting for this amazing couple.

"We want you to come for six months," Argyris said.

"A year," Dina corrected him.

"I'm trying not to scare her!" Argyris said.  "But, yes.  The longer you can come, the better.  These women have been abandoned their entire lives.  I don't know what you feel God's calling for you is, but if you want to stay in Greece for the rest of your life, we would love that."

I laughed internally.  I WAS SO RIGHT.  In the two months of no contact, I'd worked myself into thinking I was over-reacting, reading dramatic requests where only minimal ones existed.  Not so!  They were just as passionate and friendly-demanding as I was.

"What if I just came to Athens for a couple weeks?" I asked.  I was trying very hard to hold on to my previous decision.  "I care a lot about supporting you guys, and I would love to help raise awareness about your work."

"We will take you in whatever way possible!" Argyris assured me.  This was the worst thing to say.  If he had downplayed the usefulness of a short trip, my rebellious stubborn nature would have done it to Prove How Useful I Am.  Instead, his genuine acceptance melted me further.  Two weeks wasn't enough.  I had to go for a year.

I began to freak out at this point, and it was with some relief that we ended our Facetime.  I walked around my house in circles.  It was suddenly clear that of course I had to go.  All of the reasons why I was so excited three months ago came rushing back.  This was perfect.  But what about the reasons I had decided to stay in Dallas.  What about my desire to experience long-term relationships?  What about my tendency to avoid intimacy?

The more I thought about it, the angrier I got.  I am a vulnerable person.  I over share, some people say.  Of course there are some things I don't share with just anyone, and of course I am learning to show anger and tears in real life.  But I'm not the emotionally closed off person I like to think I am.  As for leaving long-term relationships...I DON'T.  Moving to Jackson, to Senegal, to Texas...it twists my stomach to think of those decisions as mistakes.  Each time an opportunity presented itself.  I didn't seek it out.  It happened, the choice lay before me, and I decided to take it despite the fact that it meant leaving dear friends.  Dear friends that I carry in my heart and chat with on Facebook.  I'm not interested in leaving them.

And anyway, I LOVE people.  I think the key difference is that while I love the people I am with at the moment, whenever I see a new group of people in another state, another country, I think, "I want to know them!  I want to know how they learn and love and work!"  I want intimacy with everyone.  I want the whole world to be my friend.  That's not a deficit.  That's a gift.

All of these thoughts convinced me I ought to go to Athens, but....what if I was wrong!?  This had all happened way too fast. 

I Facebook messaged Kim, since I knew she would understand the conflict of "when is something big enough/worthy enough to choose moving over staying?"  She refused to make the decision for me, but said things like, "Not everyone has your spirit of adventure" and "Don't ever make a decision based in fear."  I countered each of her thoughtful comments with a "But...."  Finally she said, "Stop considering all sides of the argument and BE STILL AND WAIT."

So that's what I did on Tuesday.  Every time I felt myself arguing a pro or con, I told myself to shut up.  As I turned off my brain, I kept thinking about how God is a wild God, how "he is not safe, but he is good."  I realized staying in Dallas and building a private practice would be the logical and easy decision.  But how often does God do the logical and easy thing?  Not very often, as far as my Bible studying has gone.

I've always loved the story of Gideon, loser extraordinaire.  As my friend Ruth said, "I can't tell if he's a hero or a douche."  "He's a hero and a douche.  That's what makes him so great!"  I didn't even get to the part about him, though.  At the very beginning of his story, an angel appears and says, "God is with you."  Cowardly Gideon is threshing wheat in a winepress, and he grumbles, "How can God be with us if the Mideonites are attacking us?"

My heart stopped.  That is exactly the sentiment I imagine women who have been abused and trafficked would feel.  "How can God be with me when all these horrible things have happened to me?"  I wanted nothing more than to fly to their side to say, "I am God's ambassador, I am his arms and legs and eyes and mouth, and I came halfway around the world to be with you, to know you and care for you, so that someday you might believe that he loves you, he is with you!" 

My brain knows that the best thing to do is stay in Dallas.  But my heart is 100% convinced that I should go to Athens.  I'm going to follow my heart, especially since it felt, for a moment, like God's compassionate heart was beating in its place.

On Wednesday I emailed Dina and Argyris and committed to staying at least one year in Athens.  I did learn from my previous decision.  I do want to live more in the present without looking ahead to the next thing.  So I'm moving to Athens.  And I'll stay there until I know I ought to be somewhere else.  0_0

One Direction Manifesto

My blog has gotten decidedly too serious of late.  The best way I can think to remedy this is to fangirl about why I love One Direction, the English-Irish boy band who slowly invaded my psyche two years ago and has turned me into a 26-year-old tweenager.

 

A few things about the band as a whole before I detail the excruciating ways individual One Direction members have ruined my life:  Boy bands are pretty much designed to appeal to my ideal male aesthetic.  Cute guys forced into ridiculous outfits/situations/poses?  YES PLEASE.  The combination of attractive and silly is the Instant Highway to my heart.

I first heard about One Direction when some adult bloggers I follow started falling in love with them and writing wonderfully horrific posts about the hell that is being a 29-year-old who follows every move of a group you are nearly two decades too old for.  Haha, I thought, how embarrassing.  But the way they write about these idiots is pretty hilarious.  And then I started...unironically looking forward to the newest pictures/interviews/gifs.  That's so Louis, I would grin at my computer.  Wait, NO.  I don't know him.  I don't care about them....oh no.  I'M IN TOO DEEP.  Somewhere around a year ago I decided to stop pretending.  I love One Direction!  It's embarrassing and wonderful!

Of course, there's the fact that they are musicians and I almost don't care.  I heard singles from their first CD on the radio and cringed.  But you know that weird transformation where unattractive people with great talent start to become attractive to you?  Well, this was the opposite.  Not very talented people with great attractiveness started to become talented to me.  It's gotten so bad that at this point I legitimately don't know whether they are a good band or not.  Their fourth album leaked online, and I gagged and fake-sobbed in the car with intense pride at how much they have grown lyrically and musically.  Are they still manufactured pop?  YES.  Do I care anymore?  NO.

Okay, I think I'm ready to delve into the mind-numbing beauty and idiocy that is each member of life-ruining boy band One Direction.

Louis Tomlinson

Louis is my favorite.  This started because I felt very creepy loving a teenage boyband, and as the oldest member, Louis was only four years younger than me.  That was a suitably minimal amount of creepiness.  But what began as a crush of necessity has turned into an obsession.  Louis is everything I want to be!  Louis is loud and brash and obnoxious!

He loves pulling pranks and breaking rules!  He demands the spotlight and will force you to love him!!

He is horrible, but he's protective of those he loves.  His brash exterior cannot hide his TENDER LOVING HEART.

He is a preppy pretty boy turned trash monster, and I support all his forms of "fashion."

 

 

He will give you the most disdainful glance in the history of entitlement, and you will beg him to do it again.

   

Harry Styles

As the youngest member of the band, I did not allow myself to crush on Harry.  Plus, everyone in the whole world agreed that he was the best/cutest member, and I resented his star status.  If everyone loves one thing, I will purposefully love someone else (re: Louis).  But, I mean, whatever.  WHO AM I TO RESIST THIS MONSTER?

I read a BuzzFeed article recently about Harry's disgusting descent into hair horror.  I could not disagree more vehemently.  While his baby curls are iconic, I think he peaked with the pirate headscarves, but I am more than happy to gaze on his messy man bun.

 

He's clumsy, awkward, and the dorkiest rock star I've ever seen.

My heart is stolen.

Zayn Malik

MORTALS, avert your gaze!  Zayn is an angel trapped on earth, he is a gift for our eyeballs, he is the prettiest man in the world.

That is my full opinion on Zayn.  I can't look on him very long without doubting his humanity, or maybe my humanity, or maybe the humanity of all these lesser men and women walking around on the street.

Just kidding.  Of course there's more.  I also love that he got pigeon-holed as the "dark, mysterious one" when really he is just a shy little baby who likes to sleep and be alone!!  My heart. 

Liam Payne

Liam Payne wins the Puberty Award, because HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?

 

From this to...THIS!?

He is a bit simple, a bit unremarkable, a bit just there.  Like a puppy.  Which is FINE, and people like that.  But I want more!  He truly shines when Louis gets his greedy claws into this good ol' boy and convinces him to bump up the mischievousness.

Niall Horan

In real life, Niall would be the one you'd want to hang out with.  He's funny, carefree, and is pretty attractive for a blond guy.

But he's TOO NORMAL.  I'm so sorry, Niall, but I cannot fully love you when you're just a regular dude.  I mean, I'll smile at your pictures and maybe even chuckle a few times, but you just don't get my heart racing.

Not to worry, though, you have plenty of other fans to keep your ego up.

 SO THAT'S IT.

That's the boy band that stole my heart.  Clearly Louis and Harry occupy the largest corners of my brain/soul/hormone control center.  BUT ONE DIRECTION IS NOT COMPLETE without any of these weirdos, and you could not pay me anything to kick one out.

What an embarrassing thing to love.  Boy bands!  But being embarrassed has never kept me from screaming about the things I love.

Playing Chicken

There are a great many reasons I was so attracted to the idea of moving to Greece, some more personal and some more idiotic.  One that lies in the middle is the way I play chicken with people's affection.

When I told Supervisor that I was staying in Dallas, he accidentally cracked his neutral counselor's face and smiled.  Then he asked that we eat lunch together, where I discovered he had already planned the next three phases of my working at The Vale and the unique ways I could contribute to the team.  Oh my word, I cannot describe the warm glow of feeling wanted.

I called Wendy to update her on my decision.  "I would be happy if you stayed or went, if you continue growing or sit on the floor eating chips, but I have to say I'm glad you aren't moving halfway around the world," she said.  "I don't want that to--"

"No," I said.  "I need to hear that people would miss me."

"Tricia," she said.  "Of course I miss you.  I wish you would move back to Peoria and blah blah blah."

I couldn't hear the rest of what she said because I had started crying.  "Thank you," I garbled when she finished.  When she heard the tears in my voice, she started crying, and I thought, Oh my God, I'm doing it.  I was vulnerable in telling her what I needed, and she gave it to me, and now I'm crying and it's okay.  We still laughingly hung up with the promise that not every conversation had to make us feel things, but it was significant.

The point is, I think I play this desperate card out of a fear that no one actually cares about me.  "I'm moving to Senegal/Texas/Greece!" I declare.  And then I wait and see if anyone says, "No, don't!  Stay here!"  My word, what a manipulative way to gain scraps of affection.  Sometimes it works, but it's never enough.  There are too many supportive people who want me to follow God's leading, who say they are so excited for my opportunities.  Inevitably their well-meaning voices win, and I swerve out of playing chicken and pack up my bags.

This is not the only reason I move.  Not even close.  I genuinely think Tennessee, Senegal, and Texas were wonderful and necessary places of growth for me.  But I do wonder if I might not have left somewhere if enough people had screamed at me to stay.  I don't know.  I can't control other people, so I'm learning to offer up my neediness in vulnerability rather than passive aggressive stunts.  And I'm a lot more likely to grab a friend by the shoulders when they consider moving and say, "DON'T DO IT.  I will miss you desperately, and I don't want you out of my life.  I mean, maybe it's the best thing for you to do, and I will grudgingly support you no matter what, but just know that in my heart I will be so sad to see you go."

Decision

I'm staying in Dallas.

For two reasons, the first of which I mentioned in the blog post about my group therapy experience.  The second reason was an unintentionally thought-provoking statement by my brother.  We joke sometimes, trying to convince each other to move to our own city so we can live in the same place again.  "I just think you're unreliable," Roy said.  "If I moved to Dallas, within a month you would have decided to move somewhere else."

He wasn't wrong.  I kept turning the phrase over and over.  It made me laugh.  It made me feel good that he knows me so well.  It made me flinch, knowing that people see me as unreliable, and worse, that they are right to do so. 

A couple days ago I decided I didn't want to be that person.  Ever since I started looking for colleges, I have always had my eye on The Next Thing.  I don't let anywhere become my home because what if something new comes up?  I'm not averse to moving, and I haven't had some crazy change-of-personality...the idea of staying in Dallas for the rest of my life curdles my stomach.  But I'm deciding not to look for somewhere to move.  I'm deciding to say Dallas is my home, I will be at home here, this city is my home base.

As soon as I made that decision, I realized I had blown the Greece option out of the water.  Dina never once asked me to move to Athens.  She never said she wanted me there next summer.  Suddenly everything fell into perspective.  I do think this opportunity is uniquely suited to my interests and passions.  But the things that excite me most--blogging about it to raise awareness of her work, providing support to the staff--are things that fit nicely into a two-week trip.  A month.  I can stay in Dallas and take a month-long trip to Athens.  I don't have to move there.

It all seems very obvious from this side.  Three months of worrying and stressing... *eyeroll* 

The Spiritual Gift of Mercy

In my Pauline epistles class, my professor said that instead of thinking of our spiritual things as something we enjoy doing, perhaps they are something which requires sacrifice on our part.  I don't see why they can't be both.  I've gotten to a place where I automatically reject any Christianese anti-joy stance, because I firmly believe God desires for us to enjoy life and the gifts He gives us.  But it makes a lot of sense that in our broken world, the things that ought to bring us joy will also bring us pain.

A couple years ago I asked some people from church to identify my spiritual gifts, and instead of continuing to listen to my professor (who I really do love, but well, I have a short attention span when I'm interested in something else), I searched my emails.  There it was, Joel saying he thought I had the spiritual gift of mercy, long before I considered studying counseling and making mercy a career.

I thought back several months, when I spent an agonizing evening with my friend Libby, opening up for the first time to a friend about how the weight of the world sometimes feels like it will break me, how my bouts of depression are more often global in scale than personal.  The ways people hurt each other, the inevitability of war and abuse and my helplessness to do anything about it--this can feel unbearable.  Libby said I take too much responsibility for other people's feelings, and she is absolutely right.  But I think there is something else to it.

If my spiritual gift is mercy, and if spiritual gifts require sacrifice, then this makes sense.  Mercy only exists where sin exists.  Being tapped into the richness of mercy necessarily means being tapped into the depths of sinfulness.  There some days I find this exchange more acceptable than others.

I have always been an emotional sucker for underdogs.  I cried for Gollum more than any other character in The Lord of the Rings, because he just needed unconditional love, oh my God.  My absolute favorite part of counseling is when a client tentatively admits to some secret, and by not reacting in horror, I get to watch their faces open up just a tiny bit in trust before the rest comes out.  All the shame, all the horrible things they have thought or felt or done.  I love being the person to hear their worst and to say, "I'm so sorry you went through that.  I understand why you would have done that.  I'm so grateful you shared that with me."  I hadn't really thought of it as mercy before, but of course it is.  I love seeing someone at their worst and saying, "I'm not going to punish you for that."

My overabundance of mercy is counterbalanced by an incredibly diminished capacity for justice.  I hate war, I hate revenge, I hate the death penalty, I hate giving up on someone.  My church is going through Joshua right now, and I very much appreciate how nearly every week whoever is preaching addresses the complexity of what it means to serve an occasionally genocidal God.  I struggle with that a lot, and the concept of God's justice in general.  There are exceptions, though.  I think of the men and women who kidnap children and naive young women, who sell other people's bodies for sex and abuse, who buy homes paid for by someone else's nightmare.  I think of those people, and my capacity for mercy shrivels up until I understand God's justice.  I understand His disgust with our sin, His desire to see it--to see us--utterly destroyed.

That's unusual, though.  And honestly, if I met someone who worked in the sex trafficking industry and managed to talk to them, I'm sure I would discover their own background of abuse and neglect and pain.  I'd like to think that I could learn to empathize with even these disgusting people, that I could learn to show mercy to them.

That doesn't negate justice.  I understand that justice is an attribute of God, despite my usual inability to fathom it or especially to appreciate it.  But I just read G. K. Chesterson's Orthodoxy in which he states the inherent paradoxes of Christianity.  Ours is a religion, not of balance, but of passion.  Christianity has inspired the gruesomest wars in history as well as an enduring community of people committed to non-violence.  Our God is entirely just and entirely merciful, and I think His people, being finite where He is infinite, are able to inhabit and display just one or two of His attributes. Someone else has justice covered.  I've got mercy, for worse and for better.

Ambushed by the Bible

For the past two weeks, I've been leaning more towards the "stay in Dallas" side of the future.  I had a breakthrough in group therapy that involved me crying in front of people, feeling horribly embarrassed at displaying vulnerability, and then being invited by a friend to talk about it more afterwards.  It was a lovely departure from my core belief that people won't like me if I open up.  Combined with the fact that I just read Vital Friends, a book about the benefits of working with friends, I was feeling like it would be super dumb to leave my Dallas support group.

As a result, I have taken no steps to contacting Dina and continuing the conversation of moving to Greece.

But.

My church is going through a series on Joshua, which is this consistently annoying reminder that God calls His people to do crazy things outside of their comfort zone, often with very little clear guidance beyond "Do this step.  Okay, now this one."  On top of that, my friend who took me out for further conversation accidentally compared me to the person I am annoyed with who only reacts to things, but rarely acts.  "Oh," my friend said.  "So like how you don't like to do anything unless someone else decides for you."  :|  On top of THAT, I started thinking about all the ways this opportunity came up, how so much of it seemed, well, supernatural.

It reminded me of the parable of the talents.  God gives people passions and opportunities, and if you use them and grow them and try, then He rewards you with further passions and opportunities.  But if you freeze up and do nothing, well...you may never get an opportunity again.

I was telling all of this to my friend today, and then she had to do homework, so I pulled out my Bible.  My small group at church has a challenge to read all four gospels in a month, and I am doing very poorly at it.  I opened up to my current location, which was....the parable of the talents.  Since it is the Message translation, I read, "That's a terrible way to live!  It's criminal to live cautiously like that! ...And get rid of this 'play-it-safe' who won't go out on a limb.  Throw him out into utter darkness."

Well.  Well, okay then.

So I emailed Dina.  It's not a decision, but it's a step away from being paralyzed with fear.

But Then I Think

I've been napping more often, which is only unusual because I've been sleeping a normal amount.  This didn't strike me as odd until something deep inside told me, "This is what you do when you're stressed," and intuitively I knew that was true.  It isn't really that I'm more tired than usual.  I just...sleep.  Oh, a bit of extra time? I subconsciously think.  Might as well be unconscious, then I don't have to worry about anything.

I'm in a weird state of limbo where Greece plans are concerned.  I have no new information, since I am letting the Petrous have some family time in the midst of their son's surgery and recovery.  However, this means my attempts to plan my future are happening without the most important part--the side beckoning me forward.  Without that lifeline, I feel like I'm stumbling forward for no reason at all.

I found out that accepting a job at my internship will, best case scenario, mean living off the same amount of money as I've been making these past two years.  Possibly even less.  While it has mostly been fine to live on $1,000 a month, I was kind of hoping that was a grad student lifestyle.  My supervisor assured me that, as with any new business, I shouldn't plan on actually making real money for the first three years of working in private practice.  This means that if I stay at my internship, I will need a second job.  A job...like nannying.  Although it feels a bit humiliating, I'm not above telling my bosses that I was mistaken--counselors don't actually make good money for awhile, and could I please continue to work for them?  I'm sure they would say yes.

What worries me is Greece.  If Greece is temporary, say three or six months, and I return to Dallas...what will I return to?  I could work at my internship well enough, but my bosses will have to find someone to replace me.  That means looking for a new second job.

It feels so much like life in Dallas would be easy.  Well, not easy.  This whole continuing-to-live-on-the-poverty-line is not great.  But if that's what it means to work in private practice, where better to do it than somewhere I have an understanding, supportive second job family?  Am I an idiot for giving that up to move somewhere new?  Does there come a point in maturity where pragmatism outweighs passion?

But then I think--God uses the foolish things of this world to shame the wise.  It's feeling incredibly foolish to walk away from a career laid out for me with minimal obstacles.  If it's foolish to go to Greece, does that mean I should?

But then I think--there are plenty of foolish things that I don't think God is necessarily leading people to do, like when I ate a bag of Twix candy bars.  God might love using ridiculous situations to show his glory, but that does not mean all ridiculous situations are his specific plan.  What if this is my pattern of leaving a good place, of being scared of the intimacy and commitment of settling down?

But then I think--what "pattern"?  Why am I determined to view all my personal revelations as necessarily bad?  So what if I moved from Peoria to Jackson to Fatick to Peoria to Dallas?  Each time I moved, I felt peace that it was within God's plans, and in every place I found a new family--people who cared for me and encouraged me to grow, people I could serve and love and miss.  I don't think any of my moves were wrong.  I think, for whatever reason, God gave me a passion for seeing new places and experiencing new things, and he has given me many opportunities to live this passion.  Why think of that as a bad thing?

But then I think--well, isn't it?  Aren't community and commitment good things?

But then I think--of course they are, but why can't both life paths be good?  Staying is good, and going is good.  They both offer separate rewards and separate challenges, but one is not necessarily better than the other, nor is a decision to follow one necessarily what the rest of my life will be characterized by.

But then I think--

But then I think--

But then I fall asleep.

Greece

I'm only quiet when I'm processing, and a two month absence from blogging accurately indicates that I have been processing something rather massive.

I'm working toward moving to Greece after I graduate.  So much of this possibility is unclear--when I would go, how long I would stay, if it is even possible.  The short story is that the Petrous, a dear family I visited twice on mission trips to Athens, invited me to join Dina in working with women leaving sexual slavery.  Everyone I have talked with about this opportunity has been overwhelmingly supportive, whether in affirming the reality that this is my chance to invest a long chunk of time in travel before settling into a professional life, or in reminding me that I never actually wanted to be in private practice anyway; my dreams have always skewed toward the international and missional. 

Everything is still very much in the information stages, but that hasn't kept me from leaping ahead and preemptively deciding that I will definitely go.  It took me about a week, back in July, to work up to a fever pitch of excitement.  Here at last was what I had been waiting for.  I remembered sitting on a Seattle beach with Roy, telling him how so many of the greatest events of my life have occurred because of random connections so perfectly timed that it felt like God.  This could be it again.

The first month of thinking and planning was almost entirely done in delirious excitement.  This second month, well, I'm becoming more realistic.  Working with women coming out of sex trafficking?  While I love the idea of putting my feminism into practice and tangibly helping women who have suffered the worst forms of oppression, I am completely overwhelmed by the magnitude of the job.

One friend told me that my singleness is a gift, not only in my freedom to travel as I will, but in my emotional freedom.  I can work in an emotionally draining job, go home, and take care of myself.  Were I married or had kids, I would go home to more people who needed me to be emotionally available to them.  This is a very nice thought, one which I clung to as evidence of this opportunity's perfection.  But...a job that is that draining?

My supervisor has been having me read articles about secondary traumatization, an effect of counselors working with a large caseload of trauma victims for a long period of time in which you inherit their triggers, memories, and nightmares.  I'm already terrified of rapists, clutching car keys between my knuckles in dark grocery parking lots and checking my backseat for potential kidnappers.  This fear is driven from email chains twelve years ago--how much more scared will I be when sitting before me is evidence of the worst humanity can inflict upon each other?  Stories of rape, violence, humiliation.  How will I be able to listen to them, empathize with them, be with them in their pain and come away whole?

I don't know if it is worth it.  Why should I tear myself apart to put someone else together?  Of course, if this happens, I intend to be proactive about self-care.  I will try to create a support system on which I can unload.  I will create safe spaces for myself, and give myself as much time and quiet as necessary to restore myself.  But still.  There are some things you cannot unhear, some realities you cannot ignore.

Last week Mike preached on Joshua 3 and 4 when the Israelites are going to cross the Jordan River at its deepest, during flood season.  Mike said it would have been nice if God had parted the waters in advance, had given his people ample time to see his power so they could trust in his provision.  Instead, it took the faith of twelve men to step into the water, to begin walking into a deep river that showed no hint of a miracle.  "Yet as soon as the priests who carried the ark reached the Jordan and their feet touched the water's edge, the water from upstream stopped flowing.  It piled up in a heap a great distance away."

I've been excited, and I've been terrified.  Now I hope to bring the two emotions together.  I will continue walking toward this deep river that threatens to swallow me in sorrow and fear.  I will continue walking, only because I have the assurance that if God is leading me, He will also make a way for me through the valley of the shadow of death.

Courage, dear heart.

Reframe

Whenever I'm with a group of single women, there is an 80% chance that the conversation will meander towards a discussion of the fears we have surrounding marriage--giving up freedom, trusting that intimacy will stay despite personal growth and/or change, etc.  And twice this has happened.

Me:  Marriage is scary!  I just haven't found a guy who I like and respect enough to let go of the fear and start trusting.
Friend: That's not true.  You've loved guys that deeply before.  They just didn't love you back.
Me:  ...

I'll be real, I can only barely tolerate that level of honesty.  I have been pissed about this conversation for months, and I'm only starting to process what that means.

Why does that reminder--they just didn't love you back--make me so angry?  Well, obviously because it touches on rejection and unworthiness and all those horrible feelings.  It feels like it is a break of the friendship code, where you don't, you know, shove your friend's face in all their insecurities.  But on a deeper level, that statement angered me because it took away my control.  When I narrate my singleness, I give myself the power, telling people I haven't found the right guy, I'm not willing to give up freedom.  I am the person keeping me single.  It's my choice.  But when my friend called me on this, I was suddenly stripped of even that.  Not only do I not have a person who has committed to loving and supporting me through life, I'm not even responsible for this lack.  My last shred of dignity, taken away.

The introspection doesn't end there!  Again, months after this conversation, I am only beginning to shift the way I frame my singleness.  If it's not my choice, then what?  I mean, it would be easy to sink into all the things I'm avoiding (rejection, unworthiness, etc), but there's another side.  If I'm not choosing to be single, then that means--I'm open to love.  I do give my heart away.  I practice vulnerability.  I risk my affections, and I'm willing to gamble on romance. 

I have to give up the illusion that I'm in control of my singleness, and that hurts.  But I get to give up the illusion that I'm a cold-hearted bastard.  Giving that up is a bit scary, of course, since a cold heart isn't broken so easily.  But it also means all that therapy nonsense where I worried I couldn't feel and that I lived in hopelessness was, well, nonsense.  I do nothing but feel and hope. 

That's my new narrative.  I'm ready to love and be loved.  So far those halves of the sentence are not synchronized, since I'm not interested in being loved by those who confess it, and the guys I love similarly dismiss me.  But I'm not broken, I'm not shut down, I'm not hard.  I'm ready for marriage, and when the day comes that the guy I love says, "hey, me too," I don't think it will be difficult to take the next step.

Unless he's allergic to cats.  Then there's gonna be a problem.

St. Maarten Stories: Snorkeling

My biggest concern about going to the Caribbean was getting bored.  On a list of things I value about vacations, probably two of the last are relaxing and water.  As near as I can tell, those are exactly what people go to St. Maarten to enjoy.  After a day of lounging by the pool to move to lounging by the beach and back, I was ready to spend some cash in order to get out of the resort and go on an adventure.

We could rent a Mini Cooper and drive around St. Barths!  Whoa, for...way too much money.  In the end, the tour desk in the resort lobby offered only one affordable package, which is how Lindsay and I found ourselves in Phillipsburg with twenty other people waiting for a boat that would take us snorkeling at three different islands.

As we walked along the dock, our hostess directed us to two different boats.  "Oh my word," I murmured when I caught sight of the second boat's captain.  "Lindsay," I hissed.  "Look."

"That is the most attractive man I've ever seen," she breathed.  Behind us, a woman on her honeymoon leaned in to us and added, "I hope we're on his boat, huh?"

A group of five party girls strode eagerly toward him, but our hostess directed them to the other boat.  At their sounds of dismay, she assured them, "You'll see Sander again, don't worry.  Family of five, you're with the girls.  Everyone else, you're with Sander."

Lindsay and I exchanged grins.  Sander, a tan tall man with blond hair falling to his chin, smiled at our approaching group.  "Climb on in," he said.

"His accent," I whispered.

"Where are you from?" Lindsay asked.

"I'm Dutch," Sander answered.

"Oh, I.  That's great."  His face and his voice combined were too much for anyone to react to in anything resembling calm.

Sander got us settled into seats and fetched drinks for everyone.  He explained what bays we were in and what houses overlooking the water were owned by which celebrities.  He grinned as he drove faster over the waves, bouncing us through the green and blue waters.  I spent 80% of my mental faculties trying to look at him without looking like I was looking at him.

"He took off his sunglasses!" I groaned at Lindsay.

"Oh my--he has Zac Efron eyes!" she answered after sneaking a glance.

"I can't handle this."

"Well, then you definitely won't handle this.  He just took off his shirt."

We docked in a cove with no beaches.  Sander explained that this was our first snorkeling destination.  He talked about different kinds of fish we might see, and purple eggs, and probably something else, but I was fixated on the fact that we were in fifteen feet deep water.  I'd assumed we would always be wading in from shore, not dropping off the side of a boat.

"Lindsay," I whispered.  "I can't swim."

"What!?"

"I mean, not well.  I don't know if I can do this."

The rest of the people on our boat were passing around scuba masks and flippers.  I took a set and swallowed bile.  Some of our fellow passengers jumped off the side, and some eased themselves into the water from the ladder in the back.  I saw two women grab pool noodles for floatation devices, but they weren't snorkeling.

Sander looked at Lindsay and I.  "Are you ready?" he asked, smiling with his stupid Dutch teeth.

"Yes," I said, and took his hand.  I let him walk me over the back seats until I was by the water.  I climbed in and mimicked Lindsay's actions as she put on the mask and flippers.  She pushed away, and I glanced at Sander.  I was not going to stay on the boat like an idiot and make his tan friendly face fall in disappointment.  I took in a breath, and meant to push away from the boat.  Instead I blurted, "Could I have a noodle!?"  Sander tossed me a pink one.  Face burning in shame, I took my noodle and slowly followed Lindsay toward the cove.

She showed me how to breath through the mask as I clung to my safety noodle.  "Let's go!" she said.  I breathed in my fear and then let it out, putting my face below the water as though it wouldn't kill me.  And then it didn't.  I let myself dead man float and found that the mask actually kept water out of my eyes and lungs.  I wasn't dying--I was snorkeling!  I kicked my flippers and found myself swimming, noodle to the side and almost unnecessary.

Once I was confident I wasn't going to immediately drown, I actually noticed that I was looking underwater.  There were fish there, darting into the rocks, shining purple and yellow around the edges.  "This is so cool!" I yelled, and inhaled salty water.  I came crashing to the surface, clinging once more to the only thing keeping me from drowning, spitting out the breathing tube in horror.  Lindsay surfaced beside me.  "Um, don't talk when you're underwater," she said.  "Here, pour out your tube like this.  Got it?  Okay, let's go!"

I did eventually get the hang of things.  I gleefully swam through a school of tiny fish and tried to touch them unsuccessfully.  We saw a big needlefish swimming near the ocean floor, and urchins dotted the sand and rocks around us.  I found myself comfortably twisting in the water, reveling in the grace and confidence that floating enables.  We made our way back to the boat when we noticed people packing up.  I handed Sander my noodle and pulled off my mask and flippers.

"Let me help you," he said.  "The ladder moves."

It was rather wiggly, and his strong Dutch arm was reaching out in front of me, so I clasped his hand and pulled myself onto the boat.  It was slippery, so naturally I had to hold on to him a little longer than necessary, just to be totally safe.

"How was it?" he asked.

"It was beautiful," I said, meaning the water, the sealife, and his face.

"Great!" he said, and piloted our boat to our next destination as I grinned into the ocean spray.

St. Maarten Stories: Concessions

While we were walking along the St. Maarten beach, Lindsay asked me if anyone had ever kissed me.  I coughed out a laugh and admitted, no, no one had.  She sighed and said I was lucky, which elicited another painful laugh from me.  After silence stretched too long, I said, "I would ask when your first kiss was, but honestly, I don't want to know.  I'm feeling bitter, and I wouldn't appreciate it."

So it was fortuitous that Jordan flirted with me at the resort's chocolate buffet immediately after we returned.

Lindsay had pointed him out as the cutest guy at the resort that afternoon.  She called out to him and carried on a conversation that I mostly observed, wondering when she would finish so we could go to the room.  Unwilling to look totally anti-social, I made a few comments, but I internally rolled my eyes when she invited him to meet us later.

I might have been pissed at her extroversion, but I wasn't going to risk hanging out with a hot guy unarmed.  I dressed up and painted my eyes darker than usual.  It was nothing, nothing, but you know.  Just in case.

He did find us, practically running up, begging for our help in escaping a girl who had been following him around during his weekend at the resort.  The three of us talked until his friends appeared.  Lindsay had already met them, and Jordan moved to sit at the edge of the group next to me.  I should mention he was an absolutely delightful asshole.  He made horrifically racist and sizeist comments with a grin, and I couldn't help laughing.  He was a good ol' boy from Georgia, and I found it easy to fall into the role of being shocked and appalled at the things falling from his lips.  "You say the most horrible things," I told him.  "I know," he grinned, leaning into my shoulder.

Confident assholes.  My weakness.

Everyone else had left the chocolate buffet, and the workers had turned off the spotlights.  "Let's go inside to the bar," his friends suggested.  Lindsay said she was tired, but I convinced her to go in for just half an hour.  Jordan pulled up a semi-circle of chairs and made sure we sat beside each other.  He put his knee on my chair so I could press my hand against it if I wanted.  I did.

Half an hour came and went, and his friends glanced between us and said they were going upstairs.  Lindsay again said she was tired, but I convinced her to stay.  I felt dangerous.  I wanted--I wanted to give up.  Here I was in another country with a cute boy who I was pretty sure wouldn't say no to anything I suggested or allowed.  For so long I've loved boys who said no, who said, "oh, but I like her," who put up walls that I couldn't get past.  Jordan was wide open, and I desperately wanted to take advantage of that opportunity.

"What's your favorite band?" he asked.

"Mumford and Sons, probably."

"Ugh!  You're a hipster!"

"Haha, yeah, I guess I am.  I like my men in skinny ties and suspenders."

Jordan grabbed my arm and smiled close.  "That's horrible.  I would never be caught dead in a skinny tie."

"That's your loss," I grinned.

"I'm going to bed," Lindsay said.

I could already picture what would happen if she left us alone.  A new story, one I would probably regret.  But at least I would finally have an answer to the question, "Has anyone ever kissed you?"  I would look back on whatever happened with sadness and guilt and a deep satisfaction.

"I'll go up with you," I told Lindsay.

Jordan leaned in again and said, "I'd really like for you to stay here with me a little longer.  I'm leaving in the morning."

Well.  I smiled and said as meaningfully as I could, "I would really like that, too."  I turned to Lindsay.  "Alright, I'm ready."

We went upstairs.  I washed the makeup off my face and pulled on a t-shirt and shorts.  I said goodnight, slid under the covers, and turned off the light.  I stayed awake for over an hour regretting my decision.  I could still go back down.  I could find him again.  I could have my secret, and I would hate myself for a while, but I would feel desired and complete in a way I am increasingly desperate to experience.

It's hell, sometimes, fighting to hold onto hope.

Invisible at Church

I've been skipping church a lot, and finally a friend called me out on it.  I'd been waiting for someone to do so, which is exactly the sort of loser-move I side-eyed when I used to be an insider.  "Well, if they'd just come up to us," I would say, "We would totally invite them in and be nice."  True!  And it is undoubtedly unfair to ask people to be responsible for the emotional well-being of others.  But sometimes people are desperately unsure of themselves and need the validation that someone noticed they were gone and wish it hadn't been so.

That was a long preamble to the fact that:  I went to church today.  And I wish I hadn't.

It was Father's Day, which is never my favorite holiday.  Same for Mother's Day when there is blanket celebration with no acknowledgement of potential pain (either from one's own parents or from not being a parent oneself).  So there was the requisite adorable video and honoring of fathers.  There was a quote from Martin Luther about how we ought to be grateful for our parents because they fed us instead of letting us die.  All true, I suppose, but a single throw-away line about, "If you need to work through your family's dysfunction, go see a counselor," did little to honor the pain that I imagine at least 40% of the congregation felt.  Fathers, man.  They do a number on people.  Sometimes it's "simply" lack of time or affection, and that's enough to screw someone up.  But I've been a counselor for all of five months, and already I'm realizing how terrifyingly common it is for fathers to verbally, emotionally, physically, and emotionally abuse their children.  Handwaving that fact away with a "thank God for your parents" felt very irresponsible.

But I expected that.  What I didn't expect was a sermon based on the fact that humans bear God's image most fully in the family.  There were, like, maybe a few sentences about how the Church is a family, but mostly even that was in the context of using the Church to bolster your own family unit. 

As soon as it was said, my face shut down, my body turned in on itself, and I felt emotions crawling up my throat.  Honestly, I don't even care that I disagree with that interpretation of Genesis 1:26-28.  I personally believe that we bear God's image as individuals in relationships, but that there is no premium on marriage or parenthood as the relationship par excellence.  And I believe that multiplying to fill and subdue the earth includes, but is not limited to, physical reproduction.  But whatever.  That was not the message being taught today.  I could maybe have handled hearing that the family is the best way to represent God if even once the message had been directed to singles.  "What about us?" I thought.  "We're stuck with being sub-par image bearers.  What do we do with that?"  Hearing a callous "You just have to wait until you're married," would have pissed me off, but it would have been better than what actually happened, which is that myself and other singles (and the divorced and widowed and childless) were simply erased. 

It got worse, of course.  Because eventually we were addressed, in the form of a survey the entire congregation filled out after the sermon so that the church could better serve us.  Nice thought, and there was even one-fourth of the page devoted to singles.  There were sliding scales that asked if we thought God was using our singleness to sanctify and mature us, and I heavily circled the highest number in an attempt to prove my marital status doesn't affect my relationship with God.  Then there were a couple yes/no questions.  Two of the three were, "Are you saving sex for marriage?" and "Are you doing what you can to hold high the idea of marriage?"  Wonderful, wonderful.  My existence is summarily described by what I cannot do and by aspiring to that which I am not.  My singleness is the absence of.

To drive home the point, today was the Sunday when people with birthdays or anniversaries in the current month go forward to be acknowledged and prayed over.  I normally love this, because I really do have a high view of marriage.  But after forty minutes of being told over and over that this is ideal (and implicitly, you, Tricia, are not ideal), it hurt to hear one last time, "Congratulations to these couples who are exhibiting the truth that marriage is the place where people best bear God's image!"  I wanted to scream, "What about Jesus?  What about Paul?  What about that pesky verse that says it is better to be single than to be married?  Why is this not a nuanced conversation!?  Why do I feel like I don't exist?"

Instead, I practically ran to my car, throwing sunglasses on to cover the tears in my eyes.  As the car door slammed shut behind me, I instantly began sobbing and didn't stop until I got home.  Part of me sank into the desperate desire to be married and have kids--to be normal, to be the focus of the sermon, to be heard and valued in conservative evangelical culture.  I just wanted to fit in.  Another righteously angry part of me wanted to stay single forever, because I'm scared that if I ever do get married and have kids, I will be awash in relief at having arrived, and I'll blissfully forget the other singles who will still be ignored and undervalued.  I hope I will not be that way, but I've seen how the glow of being an insider can make me oblivious to those on the outside.

I don't mean to bash on my church family or my pastor.  I love my church to pieces, and I think this hit me so hard because I have such high standards.  They've been very nuanced and balanced and thoughtful in the past, and I'm sure they will be again in the future.  But today hurt.

Maleficent Movie Review

SO MANY SPOILERS AHEAD.  Don't read if you don't want to know literally every major plot point.

I was interested in seeing Maleficent, but I hadn't actually thought to see it in theaters until a friend asked to see a movie and I thought, "Why not?"  I was so ignorant.  Maleficent blew me away with all the usually awesome movie stuff--excellent acting (Angelina Jolie is magnificent) and breath-taking fantasy landscapes and creatures.  But what solidified my love for the film was its beautiful feminist messages.

For starters, it is an undeniably female-driven movie.  Maleficent and Aurora are the center of everything.  The three fairies provide comic relief and a significant amount of screen time.  There are three male characters to round things out--men to round things out!  One as the sidekick to a female!  Oh my gosh, what a wonderful thing to see women as the stars of a fantasy epic, living adventurous stories and making terrible and wonderful decisions.

Second, Maleficent continues what Frozen began:  the assertion that love comes in many forms, and that female love relationships are just as strong as male-female romantic ones.  (It also continues a hesitancy to rely on the rape-like "true love's kiss" while a person is unconscious.  I adored Prince Philip saying, "I don't feel right about this!  I barely know her!" when the fairies urge him to kiss the sleeping Aurora.)  But he does kiss her, and nothing happens.  She's still asleep.  And man, oh man, then Maleficent steps out, apologizes and cries and repents; she kisses the princess whom she loves and cares for, AND SLEEPING BEAUTY AWAKES.  True love's kiss is one woman caring for another.

And most importantly, I was completely surprised by the entire plot.  Maleficent is essentially a rape allegory.  The young carefree fairy befriends a human boy.  She thinks she loves him and she trusts that he loves her back.  Years later, out of greed and ambition, he drugs her so that she falls asleep, physically violates her, taking something of hers without her permission, and when she wakes alone, she howls in physical and emotional agony.  Dear God, that scene was crazy painful.

Seeing the action as rape makes the movie so incredibly powerful.  Her vengeance is understandable.  I rooted for her to make the guy crawl.  Her turn to darkness is a bandage for her pain.  I was behind her 100%, even though I was uncomfortably aware that she was acting the villain.

But it doesn't stop there!  Maleficent learns to love again, albeit by loving the child she cursed.  She saves the princess, risking her life in the process.  And then love saves her, quite literally.  The child she loves frees the wings that had been ripped from her, and in a burst of bright light, they reattach and Maleficent is whole again. 

There is still, however, that pesky king rapist.  He attacks her in exactly the way he knows will hurt her, and clings to her as she tries to fly away.  I'm entirely sure that the fight scene at the end was probably nothing overwhelming or particularly epic.  But seeing it as an abuser and a rapist attacking his victim made me so uncomfortable.  I was cringing at the screen the whole time.  I honestly didn't know what would happen, what I even wanted to happen.  Should she kill him?  YES, I WANT JUSTICE.  But that would turn her into the villain we assumed she was.  In the end, she breathes deeply and says, "It is over," releasing him and turning away.  She chose FORGIVENESS.  Not in like, the way where everything is okay.  But in the real forgiveness way, where she chooses not to let him have a hold on her anymore, where the victim says, "I will not let you make me less than I am."  It is SO AWESOME.  Of course, because justice is still demanded, he throws them both off the castle walls.  He, being a terrible rapist, falls to his death.  She, being a redeemed survivor with returned wings, flies away.  And it is soul-wrenchingly beautiful.

I loved this movie.  I loved it so hard, and I want to make everyone in the world see it.  I want people to empathize with the victims of assault, to despise those who violate others, to learn the painful lessons of forgiveness and loving again.  This movie was my everything!