the painful stuff

Today requires a discussion of some tough stuff. My thoughts and prayers remain with Norway, as they weather one of the world's deadliest shooting sprees and a bombing ("Scores Killed in Norway Attacks"). The evil behind the extreme right wing efforts that led to this shooting breaks my heart. God help the victims.

Unfortunately, Norway has not been the only country to be in the news for very depressing reasons this week. As many of you know, I am going to be living and working among the Shan, an ethnic group on the Thai-Burma border. I will be teaching English to displaced youth and adults on the border. According to the Voice of America, Maj Gen Aung Than Tut, the man responsible for all Burmese military operations in the Shan state has given the command to kill all men and rape all women while in conflict with the Shans. I encourage you strongly to read "Burma Army's War against Shan: License to Rape plus License to Commit Genocide?".

The organization with whom I will be serving has also published a report ("Report on Shan IDP Situation") regarding the situation and their response, which may be of interest.

Before I finish, I must admit that I hesitate to publish these links. For all of us, it is so easy to become paralyzed in the face of unimaginable evil. We see the news about Norway, and we read about what is happening to the Shan and many other ethnic groups in Burma. It's all too much. If my words cause this emotion in you, then I will have done wrong in publishing today's links. The reality remains that evil acts occur in the world, and I believe we should remain educated on them so that we can see opportunities to make a difference when they come. However, for the vast majority of the world, on an individual basis, there is a minimal amount that can be done in response to repeatedly negative news coverage, and that can cause a level of callousness to distant pain to develop. However, I believe when we approach the news this way, we miss the opportunities that are in front of us. Many of us confront in a minor way at least the racism and/or messed up thinking that becomes the roots for the kind of attacks that happened in Norway. Do not be silent. When religion becomes an excuse for racism and fascism, confront it lovingly. When it comes to Burma, it may be harder to see action around, but an educated populace about a situation like that of the displaced persons is a very powerful thing. Talk about it. If refugees are in your community, reach out to them. Be educated, though, because unexpected doors occasionally open. Just do not become frozen in despair.

My prayers are with the victims of terror and brutality today and also with every person looking on the terror and brutality and trying to figure out how to respond.

Betty

Many of you who know me know that I have always enjoyed spending time with those in the last quarter of their lives. I have even considered what a great summer job being a senior citizen bus tour guide would make. When it comes to my use of CouchSurfing.org, I make no excuses for the fact that most of my hosts belong to the 50+ crowd, and I thoroughly enjoy that fact. I think I am more likely to forgive a person's occasional rudeness if they happen to be over the age of 70 (probably due to some early training in respecting my elders), though certainly some individuals make it easier than others. I also get my own personal exhilaration from making the quiet elder chuckle. The excitement level triples if there exists a significant language barrier or the elderly person involved has a speech impediment. After all, communication challenges provide a strange sort of vibrancy to life... I never liked the easy problems in school.

However, this week I have met someone who reminds me of what aging can look like for all of us, and I pray that when I am 83 I have the spirit and sweetness of this woman. Partially, she's had a few lucky breaks, because she remains very healthy and alert, though she will also remind you that though good genes have played their role, she goes to the gym to exercise three times a week still. Yet it's not Betty's physical health that causes you to suspect that Betty is in fact only 50 or 60. She's got spirit and spunk. It's not the kind though that some people develop as they age that borders on rudeness and runs all over people because aging causes a loss of inhibitions. No, Betty is graceful, tactful, and not afraid to politely disagree at the right moments. If her son is discussing some expensive purchase, looking at Betty will reveal her rolled eyes--as if she were were 23, not 83. If someone tells her what to do, she will inform you that nobody has ever successfully told her what to do, so it's best not to start.

Betty also carries the ability to artfully tell stories of the past from decades we all wish we could remember. Of course, everybody has known the story tellers that forget the present and fall into distant monologues with unconnected details and little to no beginning or end. With those story tellers, we eventually excuse ourselves as we walk off trying to figure out what the story was all about. This is not Betty. She knows the present moment and knows which story or snippet applies, and she tells them the way a 30 year old would tell a story from 3 or 4 years ago. She can talk about living all over the world, as well as growing up in Oklahoma, or getting engaged in Wilmington, NC. When Betty jokes with the others in the crowd or lightly teases her son, it is not hard to still see in her the 20-something that has in no way disappeared from her countenance. I suspect the only frustration is that others do not expect this from her. They expect her to act old and decrepit, and these words are entirely wrong for Betty.

For those of us, who have a long ways to go and are still consciously and unconsciously making the choices that determine whether or not we age as gracefully, here is to reading challenging books that keep our minds alive and exercising rigorously to keep our limbs active. Here is to aging better than a fine red wine in an oak barrel. Here is to those that have already made their choices and made the right choices, clearly, to the delight of all of us.

hope

Right now I'm relishing the cool, warm sensation of resting indoors after hours of sun, wind, and waves at Oak Island. I've been reading good books and quietly enjoying the conversations of my mom's friends--frequently reminded of how young I am. My mind soars during times like these, and I think of all that could be. I suppose that's why we all need "vacation" time--to free our minds up from what is to open it to the winds of what might be one day.

There of course have also been conversations of justice. We've discussed human trafficking and the problem that exists in America and the rest of the world. We've discussed the criminal justice system and the death penalty. We've discussed Burma and refugees. Everyone wants to know every detail I can provide about where I am going and what I'll be doing (these are the adults that watched me grow up). They especially care about knowing why I am going into this particular situation. To answer their questions, I must paint a picture of the current moment--a frequently frustrating picture of injustice.

But still the waves beat another song of what might be someday...

That is the song that we all live to be a part of--maybe not all in Burma, but in the situations that surround us. We must go on believe that "what is" is not the final answer.

my Louisianan students

I did not appreciate my students enough the last two years. Oh, I suppose it's all quite cliche to make a statement after the fact, but what I'm trying to say is actually more important than the cliches. Sometimes I became so overwhelmed by the experience, by a very real experience that could also be terrifying at times, that I survived on only my time away from work. That was wrong.

I went into Teach for America and into my position specifically, because I believed every child deserved an excellent education, and I still believe that. Yet today, in reflection, I have become overwhelmed with the truth of my frequent attitude. I forgot to repeat to myself and to my students how much I loved them often enough. I let violent threats and assaults control my emotions and my attitude. I was wrong for that.

My students deserved better. My students were fantastic kids who have the real potential to not just do well, but also to impact the world for good. When I let a threat shake me up or when I became overwhelmed by the facts of my school, I did not make the best choice for my students. I, of all people, needed to be their best advocate. I loved my students, and I still love them with my whole heart. My students can succeed. My students have a chance at a good life. My students will be productive citizens.

Yet these mantras do not simply become true by saying them after the fact. I am not confident that I convinced my students of them always, because I escaped emotionally. I learned something about burnout this last year. Its risk is the greatest when you attempt to escape it the most. I did not face the emotions. I did not take time to meditate and pray. I ran. I watched TV. I surfed the internet. I tried not to think about school or the overwhelming grief I felt over what I watched my students experience and do to each other. In doing so, I prevented myself from appreciating them fully. I certainly developed thicker skin, but it was the wrong sort--the type that is cold and distant. I'm not saying that I was this person all the time, and I think most of my students did in fact know another version of me (a kinder, warmer version), but I regret how often I did distance myself from the pain of the situation. I regret that I did not appreciate their young lives and youthful expressions of the image of God everyday. I regret that I ever feared them even for one second. In my fear, I held back a bit of the love that they so desperately needed.

Rosenwald Elementary is getting a new principal this year, and the school will be receiving a significant shake up. I pray for the absolute best for Rosenwald. This is the year for turning things around and showing the community what an excellent education can mean. This is the year for determining that our students have the potential to reach for the highest positions in American society. Rosenwald, I wish you all the best, even as I will not be there for this part of the journey. Most importantly though, Rosenwald teachers and all teachers who find themselves in the particularly challenging schools in this country, I wish for you the deepest and most profound appreciation of your students, no matter what. Cultivate it, because your students so desperately need your appreciation.

As for myself, I am committed to growing in this area. Escape is not a mechanism I want to embrace.

church

I'm choosing to be bold today, despite a few inner qualms. I've decided, given that it's Sunday, to post today about what I did not do. I suppose I've thus far envisioned this blog as mostly a means of allowing people to follow along with the things that I see and think about as I move to the Thai-Burma border. However, since I've already entertained a few off-subject posts (and will likely continue to do so), this one may be permissible. You see, there's something I really want to say and get off my chest. It's something I'm generally afraid of saying, because I'm afraid of people's reactions, but I want to be honest about it this time.

Today I did not go to church. In fact, I was trying to remember the last time I went to a church service. Despite a very real, persistent, and honest faith, I'm afraid I cannot even claim to be a holiday church goer. Perhaps the last time I attended a "church" service (that is, a service that would have self-claimed such a distinction) would have been about a year ago when I visited my German family and that having been the first time again for several months. I rather imagine my readers, confused by my directness and openness, will likely miss the sadness in these words. Yet, to be clear, there is something I miss.

So here's the truth: I have not belonged to a church for five years. FIVE years. Half a decade. While for some readers who have never attended church, this seems a minor thing, to a person who grew up faithfully in the church (generally 2-3 times a week), half a decade is quite notable. And, honestly, I have made far less efforts to place myself back in one then I usually try to let on. When talking to others, I generally emphasize that I've been out of church for the last TWO years while living in rural Louisiana. And I mention how in college I attended a Christian college, where I was surrounded by Christian community. I also discuss all the many different churches and types of churches I visited during those college years. I seem so afraid of people knowing the truth about my absence in church. I almost never really use the number FIVE. It's like if I say five years, then I will have to relive in my mind all the events that unfurled five years ago that left me without a church. I'll have to remember why applications that asked for a pastor's reference reopened old wounds, because I simply did not know who to ask. Yet, that fear reduces the ongoing choice I've made to a single series of events, over which I had no control. This is not that. I've made my choices, and I've not chosen to wander into just any old church and commit to regular attendance.

So fact: churches are messy. Also fact: what we call churches are not the only expression of the Body of Christ. I'm trying to start something new by being open and honest about where I come from and how long I've been on this journey. And I am on a journey. God continues to woo me, and through the events that propelled me from the safe place I had grown up under, the image of God that I see is so much greater (and kinder) than ever before. I've come to experience the corporate silence of an unplanned Quaker meeting and the beauty of global unity in the scripted prayers of the liturgical churches. But, at the end of the day, I think this journey has truly been about dropping the religious baggage of my past and keeping my eyes open for other ways in which the Body of Christ lives and breathes. We exist in game nights in which we encourage the friend in despair, we exist in listening ears to the friend in love, and we exist in service to each other and others. This can happen in existing church institutions, but we are not limited to there, and, in fact, the institutions of church that we have imagined may even be fatally flawed. So, in hopes of spreading the desire to think outside of the box, I am choosing to be honest from this day forward: I haven't belonged to a church in five years.

I say this even as I intend to absolutely plug myself into church community in Chiang Mai next year, because I will need those individuals. But I'm going to do it differently this time. I will not ever worship the institution again (and I fear my former loyalty to my old church bordered on such at times), and I will recognize Church everywhere it occurs: in conversations, relationships, meals, and service. In fact, as this Sunday comes to an end, while I cannot say that I would wish for the events of the past to have occurred, I can say that I am grateful for the gap away from church, forcing me to face my own religious/evangelical upbringing, personal arrogance, and narrow vision of God. This is a road that I must continue down. Yet, I know I am not alone in this experience, and it is my prayer that each of us on this journey gains the courage to be more open and together to think through new (and old) ways of expressing the Body of Christ to each other and the rest of the world. On that note, have a happy Sunday!

I've just spent the last week hosting two dear friends from college: one my roommate my senior year and the other her sister. As they drove off a few minutes ago, I realized how different goodbyes are now than usual. Fact: I'm leaving the country. I am so grateful for how relatively easy visits have been for the last two years. It's so much harder knowing how very difficult and expensive any future visits will be. In reality, most of the people that I know and love I will not likely see for many years.

These are the moments when I have to steel myself for what I am choosing to do. These are the days when I imagine the other life I could make for myself: the comfortable one. I could teach or go to grad school somewhere near where so many of my other friends have settled, like DC. I could be in an urban setting, able to attend a place of worship that I really understand and get. I could have lots of young, like-minded individuals around me, as well as the ones who consistently challenge me. I could go hiking with others, without worrying about land mines. I could have the life of a young, single 20-something.

Sometimes, though, we have to act in a big way on the things we care most about. I don't want to spend the rest of my life wondering why I did nothing. I am willing to give that life up for the simple reason that I get to choose it. I suppose I believe there is a beauty to be found in joining someone else in the middle of their suffering and taking on challenges that are not our own. In the end, I do not believe I am missing out, but I am aware of the experiences that are part of most young people's collective memory that I will never fully understand. I am okay with that.

Here is are a few words I have spent a lot of time dwelling on lately:

⁶ “Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen:
to loose the chains of injustice
and untie the cords of the yoke,
to set the oppressed free
and break every yoke?
⁷ Is it not to share your food with the hungry
and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter—
when you see the naked, to clothe them,
and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?
⁸ Then your light will break forth like the dawn,
and your healing will quickly appear;
then your righteousness^[a] will go before you,
and the glory of the LORD will be your rear guard.
⁹ Then you will call, and the LORD will answer;
you will cry for help, and he will say: Here am I.

“If you do away with the yoke of oppression,
with the pointing finger and malicious talk,
¹⁰ and if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry
and satisfy the needs of the oppressed,
then your light will rise in the darkness,
and your night will become like the noonday.
¹¹ The LORD will guide you always;
he will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land
and will strengthen your frame.
You will be like a well-watered garden,
like a spring whose waters never fail.
¹² Your people will rebuild the ancient ruins
and will raise up the age-old foundations;
you will be called Repairer of Broken Walls,
Restorer of Streets with Dwellings.

-Isaiah 58

After spending some time in Asheville last weekend, the inner rebel in me was inspired to change my clothing styles, if temporarily. I want to shock, cause people to question my sanity just by looking at my clothing, and get everyone's respect for looking unique and eccentric. Hipster will not do it. Outdoors/rustic will not do it. Not even the long flowy skirts of the hippies will produce these sentiments in towns like Asheville (I believe the idea could be generalized to Flagstaff, NM and Krabi, Thailand, I should add). No, it has been decided: next time I go to Asheville, it will have to be in a SUIT. Only then can I stand out and collect the stares.

While making a pit stop on the way home from the mountains yesterday, I had an epiphany. I decided I'd like an electric brander in the shape of a Z. Then I could spend hours sitting in bathrooms with my purse or jacket just barely hanging over the edge of the stall door, waiting for some little hand to creep over, ready to nab. Then BAM. Mark of Zorro. Imagine the urban legends.

I very rarely have violent fantasies... does this make me a bad person? or undermine my pseudo-pacifist tendencies? But, seriously, who wouldn't want to start a Mark of Zorro urban legend?