Happy Holidays!!

Yes, a sweet, grey-haired shopper reminded me, that “holidays” really means holy days. I know she was boycotting the O’Reilly Merry Christmas drama.

It’s that time of year again. Instead of running around hating on drivers and imbecilic customer service representatives, I am busing working and reading! I barely know it is Christmas except for the masses that push through the turn style looking for a beginner guitar or a special deal on drumsticks. My meager paycheck does little to alleviate my urge to give. I debate the value of running up credit in order to bless my family and friends.

Besides monetary concerns, I love giving gifts. I like to give things that are both practical and slightly whimsical—the things that might not be given, but inspire creativity and risk-taking.

As I ponder the meaning of Christmas and determine how I can share that with a none-existent budget, I am disturbed by the messages of Christmas that permeate our culture. If I was a visiting foreigner, I might listen to the lyrics of a few songs to help me get accustomed to this new country.Perhaps one of the following:

How’d you like to spend Christmas on Christmas Island?
**Sounds kinda nice.

Bring me some figgy pudding, and bring it right here
**Selfish aren't we?

Backdoor Santa. “I’m better than Santa cuz I come more than once a year”
**Enough said.

Last Christmas I gave you my heart, the very next day you gave it away.
**Get over it.

God came down to the world and said Oi, Oi, Oi, Oi. **Thanks, Gwen.

I’m sorry, but I’d rather not believe that Christmas is about getting laid, revenge on an ex, and acquiring the most extravagant things. I also don’t think it is about a sweet, baby in a manger that doesn’t cry.

Sure, in Christian tradition Christmas is the celebration of the birth of Christ--the birth of a Messiah, a king, and a savior for the world. Images of innocence are nostalgic but the beauty of Christmas day comes with the recognition of the gift of life. We bless one another with presents because the Divine has blessed us. You may not have much to give, but it’s easy to smile at someone. It takes seconds to say hello, open a door, give an apple to the homeless veteran on the corner of 19th and Sprague, or jump in a puddle with an eight year old.

Instead of begrudgingly coughing up hard earned cash, flipping off a rude shopper, or grumbling about materialistic consumerism and how Christmas perpetuates capitalist greed, try to think about the good things in your life. Thank God for life and breath, and the chance to enjoy a creation or two. Give out of your abundance. Give out of your need. Love on people.

Merry Christmas and God bless us, everyone!

The Difficulty of Love

**Disclaimer: The following is written by a twenty-something who by no means claims to know what she is talking about. Also, the term “we” is used as a sweeping generalization of the American populace. Statements therein are not absolute truths nor are they indicative of everyone.

Even the most low-maintenance, self-aware person can be difficult to love. Perhaps it is a matter of time. Over time, all is revealed. This person is not as self-sustaining as once thought. And maybe that’s why it’s called “the honeymoon phase”. Things get rough. No one is entirely self-sufficient, nor can they meet our every need. Perhaps the issue lies within those of us who are asked to love. Despite our claims of process, our product is still weak because of our own need to be loved well.

I work at a renowned instrument store staffed predominately by musicians. This environment is conducive to philosophical conversations about the meaning of life and the role of music, not to mention load of stories about drunken orgy performances in dodgy venues across America. A recent conversation reminded me that a scattered few (in this case, men) are downcast because genuine romance is no longer written and sung about. I argued that this authenticity of emotion is due to a misunderstanding of true love.

I mean, sure it’s nice to know you miss me cuz my booty and $%#$^ ain’t available at your beck and call. It tears me up to hear that your friends can no longer be jealous of your arm candy or that your life is incomplete without me since you don’t have all three--money, sex, and power. In fact, your every beat and ungh stir burning passion deep in my soul. Just hold up a minute while I feed Kevin, bathe Danny, and send Shandra to school. Btw, you’ve missed three months of child support.

I would argue we do not love well, because we do not know how to love well. The divorce rate in America is ridiculous. What’s the point of getting married, except for taxation benefits? We all hear it’s not for the “lovin’ early in the morning” (ah, if we could all have partners like Ray Charles’ woman!). Living together is an option some choose, but I still it think skirts the heart of the issue.

My parents have been married for thirty-three years. That’s a crap-load of hard work, determination, and compromise. They still “discuss” to this day. Egalitarian dispersal of power is only possible through love--love that is characterized by selflessness, forgiveness, and grace.

Such love is nearly impossible to find. It is almost the unattainable goal. We get a glimpse of such love in a book or a moment captured on film, or even demonstrated by such couples as my parents. In the fleeting moment, we know both what love is and how love is manifested.

I’m not one of those cheesy romantic idealists, but I do have my lapse into philosophies declared by the likes of Shelley and Blake (yes, they are both dead white guys). At heart, I am this strange mix of idealist and realist. We ought to strive for this elusive ideal, yet realize that agape love is almost too perfect for flawed humanity. Idealistic romantic notions are sweet thoughts but have no value if they cannot be practically implemented. In other words, profess love that will move mountains but please demonstrate your love in action. I can say I have love for the poor and marginalized but if I stay locked in my tower of comfort and convenience, what kind of love is that? I can adamantly declare that I love my sister, but if I’m never around to listen to her stories, give her money when she needs it, and provide a shoulder to cry on, then do I truly love her?

If I don’t understand what love is and don’t know how to love, then I will never be able to love anyone properly. I will perpetuate the cycle of imperfection and selfishness. On the other hand, I can take my abstract understanding of this profound concept, and try to put it into practice.

Here’s a passage that describes what love is, and how it is employed.

If I speak with human eloquence and angelic ecstasy but don’t love, I’m nothing but the creaking of a rusty gate…If I have faith that says to a mountain, “jump,” and it jumps, but I don’t love, I’m nothing. If I give everything to the poor and even go to the stake to be burned as a martyr, but I don’t love, I’ve gotten nowhere. So, no matter what I say; what I believe, and what I do, I’m bankrupt without love.
Eugene Peterson paraphrase of I Corinthians 13.

Love suffers long and is kind; love does not envy; love does not parade itself, is not puffed up;
Does not behave rudely, does not seek its own, is not provoked, thinks no evil;
Does not rejoice in iniquity, but rejoices in the truth;
Bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.
Love never fails.
Apostle Paul, 1 Corinthians 13.

Unnamed poetry

I usually hate sharing my poetry with the public. I often write to process an emotional or psychological response to something. I wrote this after watching the film, Crash. I wish I could do justice to the themes presented by creating a forum. This will have to do for now. **On a side note, the I can't get the formatting on this thing to work for me. Therefore, my poem is not spaced correctly! argh!

Hatred, resentment, and bitterness,
Years of unresolve and unforgiveness,
All justifiable and
Irrational.

Who shall removes us from these earthly chains
Out of grasp, beyond the reach of kindness and love?

A weak foundation can never be made sturdy.
Complete demolishment, and then
Fresh plans, restructured ideas to establish new infrastructure.

Buried past, hidden wounds
--for now.
Brushed, opened again
As skeletons pound their way out of the closet.

Who shall removes us from these earthly chains
Out of grasp, beyond the reach of kindness and love?

We each have a chapter in the story, a character to play
And a purpose to fulfill
In effort to further the cause
Or offer balms of healing.

To begin the process, one step
Yet the hardest.
Claiming responsibility,
And accepting fault.

To seek the good of others and all,
Above your own,
With no guarantee of success or
Restoration

O God,
We cry out for the Divine
To sweep it all away
In a tide of forgiveness.

California Likes to Party

Yeah, I know it's been a while.

A majority of my faithful readers are well-aware that I am taking a much-needed vaca to lovely So Cal.

It's been good. It's brought healing--and it's only my second day.

I'm over-fed, loved-on and happy. I'm trying to push aside concerns about the future, insteading living in the moment.Hopefully, I will be refreshed and rejuvenated, ready to take on the challenges that await!

I shall be posting my contemplations and epiphanies later this week.

When the aliens come, they’ll eat the skinny blonds first

Thank you, obese white women of the greater Thurston County. When the sun comes out to play, the worst dressed in the city find license to expose themselves in bedroom appropriate attire. If booty shorts and halter camisoles are the “uniforms of hookers and ladies of ill repute the world over,” why is Susie Plumpinstein wearing them to Lakefair?

Does Susie “desire the attention that [she thinks] hookers find comfort in”? Perhaps.
*Interjected aside: we shall currently disregard the discussion of women dressing in competition with other women, and women as horrendous critics of each other*

It is the dilemma of attention seeking. Attention is nice, from almost any one. Differentiating between positive and negative attention is often impossible and perhaps undesirable. It’s easier to live with a false sense of security. Now, either this girl doesn’t know she’s big and therefore can wear a size 8 instead of an 18, or she knows she’s big, but thinks she looks darn sexy in that floral two-piece Paris Hilton was wearing in Hawaii.

In a way, I’m tempted to give props to the boldness of a self-confident woman. At the same time, I’m concerned by the misappropriated pursuit of recognition. Maybe the scantily clad, plus-sized woman is a product of socialization. The first problem is that women have been conditioned to seek attention and validation from men. The second problem is that one stroll down Main St. supports the belief that little is more. The 5’8”, 36-26-36, bleached-blond turns quite a few heads. So if I want a similar response from a thoroughly captivated audience, then I will follow her example in mannerisms and apparel. My result: masculine attention.

What’s the solution? We ought to give attention to, recognize, and audibly appreciate women for substantial manifestations of beauty—inner beauty demonstrated in attitude, demeanor, and character. Men need to step up and recognize their role in the perpetuation of the Plumpinstein phenomenon. Men can be powerful advocates for the transformation of this culture.

In the meantime, we continue to battle societal notions of beauty that are dictated by culturally encapsulated individuals. I recently witnessed an attack upon the notion of thin=beautiful with the new reality show Fabulous and Thick hosted by Comedian Mo'Nique. Granted, I couldn’t help laughing as I stuffed my face with ice cream, critiqued the contestants, and passed handfuls of peanut M & Ms to my sister and friend but the show had a point—the misconception of beauty as transcendent of culture. Hardly. Physical beauty is a social construct. I also want to add that while my previous paragraph listed elements of “inner beauty,” I’ll admit to the influence of my cultural values on what I consider important elements of beauty. Thus I continue to wrestle with myself, surrounding culture, and the shapely, buxom girls who float by on the Green River.

Hope in the Dark

O the beauty of an Evergreen summer contract!! How I love to construct my own knowledge and pursue academics my way. Stifle the laughter on your lips. Yes, I’m reading a book called Hope in the Dark. This is my first exposure to the writings of Rebecca Solnit and I am quite pleased. The official and notorious “Hope Teague book review” shall be posted “after a while” (as they say in the Philippines—which usually means an indefinite period of time).

So, what is hope? It is more than wishful thinking. It’s more than a passing comment of cheerful intent to lift one’s spirits. “To hope is to gamble. It’s to be on the future, on your desires, on the possibility that an open heart and uncertainty is better than gloom and safety. To hope is dangerous…to live is to risk” (p. 4). Borderline trite, but perfect for my current state of mind.

Thumbing through my Word files, I found a reflection that I failed to post. Hindsight is a powerful thing. So I think I’m going to offer it as an appropriate prologue to my current tangent. I wrote it in March, so it's in my archives. Enjoy.

A weak synopsis

I have been inexcusably silenced for nearly three months, due primarily to the conclusion of my first year at graduate school, an adjustments in priorities, and the surge of personal greed. Overtime dangled provocatively, a temptress that knew my weakness. Alas, mandatory twelves and volunteerary fifeteens take a toll on the emotional, physical, and spiritual sanity of even the strongest.

While I experienced American life on the corporate level, I was introduced to high school cliques on an adult level. I discovered my annoyance with office culture and the invisible walls that divide blue and white collar. Ugh.

A few weeks ago my pastor spoke about walls—sometimes they are a figment of imagination. Other times a reality that must be broken through or climbed over. As I reflect over the last few months, I don’t know if the walls in my life are self-constructed, mental or legitimate hurdles. Terrible at pull-ups and a scaling amateur at best, I awkwardly maneuver my way through the unknown towards goals that remain beyond my reach.

Nearly swallowed by exploitation (willingly I might add), I am recovering from a truly educational experience in the world of business. I’m washing out the bad taste in my mouth, praying that my month and a half as an office girl had value other than monetary. I did learn a lot about myself and the way I relate to others. I am thankful for new friendships and the strengthening of old.

And now I anxiously stumble into the summer, anticipating challenges and hoping for the best.

Undercover Teacher

I plunged into my second day of “teaching” in the middle of a Washingtonian farming community, eagerly facilitating a lesson on music as poetry. While I was excited to see nearly everyone engaged (despite the lack of preparedness on the part of 5 out of 6 guys), my primary “teacher moment” came during 2^nd period with a bunch of seniors. Yes, the seniors are working on their senior projects—which of course means that the entire period is spent dinging around, playing computer games, chatting, or sleeping on the floor (my cooperating teacher has pillows in her class!!).

The sub busied herself on the computer while I joined the circle of four girls browsing through Cosmo. Oh, I shant forget to mention the four boys that were on the fringe of our little circle--also listening in and commenting on Avril Lavigne’s new glam look. Motivated by the riveting conversations about gender, sexuality, and sex ed in my teacher-prep program, I started asking questions about the sex-ed program or lack thereof at Random High.

Rolling eyes, whispered asides, and awkward chair adjustments signaled that the sub was mortified that I was 1) allowing the discussion to occur, and 2) actually participating in it with comments and questions.
The pinnacle of the experience was when the sub mentioned how inappropriate certain kinds of sex ed were for an immature audience. All eyes turned to listen to her argument, then seconds after she’d finished her shpeel they jumped on it.

“Schools only allow facts, not discussion on personal feelings and choices”

“I’d make your mom jokes too”

“If they don’t hear about it, how will they make educated decisions?”

It was a beautiful sight. I wanted to to hug every single on of those kids. Amidst articles of sex faux paus, booty-call guidelines, and inappropriate doctor-patient relationships, I discovered that these seniors were critically thinking about the messages communicated through superficial magazines. Guys and gals alike criticized the advice of Cosmo editors and readers. In fact, these kids were very in tune with their own sexuality and all encompassing needs than I’m sure most adults would give them credit for.

I'm too sexy for this shirt....

Who would have suspected that a week in Gender, Sexuality, and Schooling, a video about the feminist movement, and segregated/coed discussions about gender stereotypes would send me down this meandering trail of contemplation.

I am struck by the conscious and unconscious influences that have contributed to the creation of the current April 10, 2005 version of Hope Evangeline Teague. I hate to admit that I am a product of multiple voices (including my own), my global culture, and my personal choices. Whether you want to blame media or your parents, each one of us has to reconcile the enticing and sometimes contradicting voices of our environment.

I live in America: land of the free, home of the brave. I can choose my own adventure, my own reality, my own identity—rejecting or embracing the image of perfection mainstream media knows so well. I am autonomous, independent. It’s all about me. Liberty. Rights. Freedom to fulfill my wildest, most selfish desires in the pursuit of happiness.

Thanks to my sisters, who machete-ed the path of freedom, I have the right to vote, the right to have sex-- the right to embrace my sexuality in all its glory!! Freedom. Girls gone wild! I am no longer dictated by the desire of man. No longer in a state of penis envy. On no, I am throwing off the chains of gender bondage and reclaiming my sexuality. Let’s burn these constraining symbols of subjagation!! Oh wait; I just spent $50 on them. Never mind…

A sex-o-matic, venus freak. The sexual revolution of the 60’s and 70’s did well to put the power of sexuality back into the hands women across this nation. Or did it? Seems like a win-win situation for most men. In the past, they dominated the bedroom and demanded their needs met with little regard for the object of desire. Today, men may not have to do so much demanding because women are liberated to explore their sexual selves. Some argue, that the power of sexuality has always belonged to the woman…regretfully, another topic for another time.

Freedom in sexuality? Free to be “safely” engage in pleasure. Free to make the choice to sleep around…or remain abstinent. Is the girl who chooses the latter perpetuating the oppression of female sexuality? Is the category of slut just a social construct that resulted from jealous women? I’m not buying it. Maybe there’s a boundaries to enjoying your sexuality to its fullest without being known as the town whore. And what shall be said for the role boundaries to strengthen that freedom? We live in a society with rules and regulations—as much as I hate restrictions, I’m appreciative of guidelines that aid the function of community. I suppose Paine would mock me to some extent.

And in the midst of every diatribe, the pendulum must eventually quite swinging. Is there a point of equilibrium, a place of balance in discussions on gender and sexuality? If I have the right, then should I exercise it? Should we fight for the right, and then do whatever we want? Can we really change the expectations of culture? Are we really changing anything especially t he mentality, culture, and social “norm” defined by upper middle class white males? As a living entity, culture evolves. Do we want it to? And how so? We fight culture. Culture changes. Then fight that culture. It changes again. But did it ever really change? Or are we disillusioned to believe that it did? Perhaps the changes are just another form of the same thing. Men may still end up on top.

Question all—how do I know the next bandwagon is good or actually a waste? How do my actions, words, etc. reflect an alternative viewpoint? How about an alternative of the alternative’s alternative? Am I a walking perpetuator of status quo Americana and mediocre tradition? Or do I represent a voice of reason and perspective?

Warning: rants to come

Yes, I've been neglecting my lovely little blog. But alas, the spring quarter of my sadistic graduate program is in full-swing. We are entering the sexuality and education discussion. You can expect to see some reflections and reactions to this topic. I will try to post things in sections, as not to be overwhelming.

Oh yeah, I've been thinking alot about boxes and labels. And the pope.

Now back to my reading.

A word to the foolish

Amazing how a week can pass you by, even though you complain of how slowly time moves when you’re in it the midst of it. I have a lingering migraine, a conglomeration of green apple, bagel, and over-salted pretzels settling in my stomach. With its ups and downs, this trip has given me an abundance of time to think and reflect. I attempt to solidify a few of the thought streams. One epiphany: I hope my life produces stories that will impart a bit of wisdom to the foolish. Gosh, foolishness haunts me like Peter’s shadow. Get away, get away!!!

Moving on…

Wisdom and foolishness are by-products of risk. Risk. The unknown. Invigorating, intimidating, and intoxicating. I’m an adventurous gal, easily tired by repetition (recently accused that it was actually consistency, and I was afraid of it. Bah!). In order to get my fix, I like to try new things. Oh the intoxication of piercings and tattoos. Anymore, neither of those items is considered exploratory. Alas, I stick to the mundane hair dye, the pig brain, and the less audacious.

I suppose each time I endeavor something new (be it relationally, academically, or professionally) I ought to do a little CBA. How will this service me in the future? While I’m definitely a proponent of assessing my decisions, time investments and mistakes, not to mention that I value intentionality, somehow I end up in situations that cause me to wonder, what am I doing? Will I screw up my own life or someone else’s? I’m also a strong believer in the interdisciplinary nature of life. Everything affects everything else. It may not happen now, but I know that my future will live to tell the story of my past choices.

Maybe you can relate to what I’m saying. I do not believe I’m alone in my observations. Quick poll: how many of you want to run when faced with risks and challenges? Ok, so I know there are a few out there that scream, “bring it!” (please add your own accent for emphasis). But let’s be honest with ourselves. We run for many reasons. Fear. Frustration. Can’t be bothered. Lack of commitment and integrity.

My father raised me to believe in independence, self-sufficiency, and perseverance. Don’t let the man keep you down. So I’ve held on dearly to his philosophy, adapting it to fit my personality and belief system. Somehow, in the past two years, I’ve loosened my grip on this fortune cookie adage. As I embrace the mortality of life and the twenty-something period of my life, I find myself frantically calling the travel agent for the soonest flight to Zimbabwe or Kyrgastan. It’s much simpler to run. Don’t have to face anyone. Don’t have to face myself, my inabilities, my insufficiencies, and insecurities. That’s a lot of ins.

I’m proud to say I haven’t run…yet. Usually after a time of introspective meditation, I reach for my air boot-straps, take in a deep breath, and say…ok, I’m not going to say that here. But essentially, I refuse to be dictated by others. I refuse to allow myself the satisfaction of knowing I was right…wrong—depends on the situation. I suck it up, apply for a new job, and move on with my life.

I suppose my name, Hope, has prophetically shaped my outlook on life. The slightest ray of possibility is often enough to get me going again. At this stage of my life, I’m trying hard to grip that last thread. To ignore that flat tire as I careen 80 mph down I-5.

Oh but these things are momentary! I press on, praying for the wisdom of those who’ve gone before, and hoping to share a bit to those who come behind.

What I like about Kansas

My trip to Kansas is slowly drawing to a close. The sun makes me happy and is therefore at the top of my list.

• I like that people drive the speed limit (55mph) on a road in the middle of nowhere when cops are not around.
• I like that most people are friendly, will wave hello, and seem to care about one another.
• I like that a college town (Lawrence, practically the only other town I’ve been to all week!) is a college town. A movie theatre packed with students on a Wednesday night.
• I like that you can wear a turtleneck under a crewneck sweatshirt, sweats, and tennis shoes and feel right at home.
• I like that so many lawns have stone birdbaths.
• I like that every town has a little “cool” spot where all the kids hang out (Shout out to Dairy Queen).
• I like that I can ask a hs kid what he/she does for fun and a discussion on tractors and hay ensues.
• Wow, I just noticed the plethora of “support your troop” stickers on every car. Very supportive. Hmm….
• Most of all I like that I’ve been exposed to another part of the world!!

This week has crawled by but now abruptly finishes. I’ve had some time to think, ponder, and reflect. Most of all, I’ve strengthened a sisterly bond.

I got it on ebay

Many of you know that I am constantly on the look-out for legal and relatively safe ways to increase my income. While I have yet to sell my plasma, and I maintain a few concerns about being a surrogate mother, I do not believe in street-walking, donating my eggs, or the like.

Tuesday, as I glanced through The Ottawa Herald, I noticed a mid-Western young man’s genius. Ebay. This brilliant youth auctioned himself off as a prom-date. He recounts, “I was inspired as I thought about prom and stuff”. Amazing. If you think about it, ebay is an excellent substitute for Walmart. Everything you’ve ever wanted, at your price. Need a 16^th century Japanese Samurai sword? Get it on ebay. Coveting an authentic replica of Dorothy's ruby red slippers? Ebay. Looking for OJ’s glove? I’m sure it’s on ebay.

Now, the article did not include a picture of this boy, but I’d like to think I would make a riveting date for more than $29.99. I wonder if I actually have to go on the date, or if I could fabricate a hologram or set up a web-cam as a proxy?

Slacker that I am

Yes, I've failed to write some witty entry for today. I will assert that I've written a number of things but they are not finished.
I must say my Kansas trip is riveting. I went with a kid, who might be considered a distant relative if you think of things in the Filipino family sense, to watch Million Dollar Baby in the booming college town of Lawrence.
That movie left me a mess! And in light of the situation in Florida--wow. I will definately blog about that later. Yes, I did ask him dumb questions about Kansas. Like does he go cow-tipping. I know, I know. You'd think I'd be more culturally sensitive but alas, I didn't care.

But so far have been attempting to do homework in the only coffeeshop in town.
Mind you, it does have wireless. PTL (who actually uses that--hail my hs years)!
When I asked for loose-leaf tea, both the baristas looked at me like I was on crack. Then the young man remembered this large bag of darjeeling tea that was sitting under the counter. But of course, neither of them knew what the heck I was talking about when I tried to explain the little tea-spoon, thingy. Oh well. I learned to sip around the leaves.

Tonite I shall proceed to a midWestern cultural venue--Walmart. I shall try not to purchase a single thing because I don't want to support such an awful corporate giant. Um...yes, I'm still trying to balance the ideals of my Northwestern roots and my newly acquired viewpoints from small-town, USA.

The religious nature of the nominal Christian.

Why attest to holding certain values if they don’t change the way you live, move, and breath? This woman (let’s call her Nurse) confessed to me today that she was ashamed that her daughter 1) worked as a part-time stripper to put herself through college, and 2) performed a lap dance for her husband’s friend.

Somehow in the midst of her explanation for shame, shock, and inability to accept her daughter’s life choices (not that I think acceptance is necessary…), Nurse confided in me that their relationship has been furthered stressed because this she had gotten drunk one day and embarrassed her daughter. Details aside—supposedly this Nurse didn’t even remember what she’d done and her daughter was not telling—she ended up asking me whether or not she should help her daughter if said daughter rang for help. A side remark referencing “what Jesus would do” ended the Real-World confession. I stood in the kitchen of my distant relatives; Ottawa, Kansas—my first day and relatively unexciting day in the midWest –-and wondered if this woman was asking me a rhetorical question. While she looked at me with expectation, my mind searched for something to say. The counselor in me kicked in as I encouraged her to assess why her daughter was asking for help. If it was already a humbling experience for said daughter to ask mom for help, then it was probably not a good idea to bring up the poor treatment as of late.

A few hours later, I was again in conversation with Nurse. This time she mentioned how some woman was discipling her. Through this discipleship she’d learned that it was unnecessary to respond to her husband’s outbursts of emotion. In the back of my mind, I was wondering what kind of discipleship this was. We all have our own definitions of what essentially is a mentor relationship. Accountability may or may not be involved. And that really is another topic for another time.

But I wonder, in this area that I think can be considered Bible Belt, what kind of religion do we have represented here. Based on my own personal interests, I’m intrigued by the manifestation of what is considered “Christian”. I guess I’m not satisfied with the idea that religion is just another thing on my list of interests. I’m not just buying into certain beliefs because I think they sound good, give me earthly and eternal security, or ensure a particular quality of life. In fact, the Christianity I’ve experienced and have read in the Bible claim quite the opposite. Ok, my soul is secure but there are no guarantees that life now won’t be hell. No money-back policy if—after conversion--the fast car, new house, and flourishing business escape me. Somehow, relinquishing control of my life to a physically absent person doesn’t instill a great sense of safety. And yet…I ought to completely trust the One who knows me inside and out—my Maker. Embracing what He considers authentic, fulfilled, purpose-driven life I rest assured knowing that it’s not up to me to perform in order to bend the Mighty hand of God. Nor am I the determiner of human decisions. By no means is this an excuse to take a backseat in the story of my life. Oh no. I’m inspired to press into the natural goals and plans I have for my life, believing that my destiny will come to pass in a timing greater than my own.

Kansas: As bigoted as you think

Yes, this is a slogan I witnessed draped across the veranda of a local homestead.
Folks, I'm in Kansas and boy is this a trip.
I've decided to post a few of my meandering thoughts while I'm here--fortunately I discovered the only coffeeshop in town and it happens to have wireless.

Politics, politics, teenage politics

Hmm… The title of that old MxPx song has always stuck with me. Recently, I’ve been challenged to face the opinions, thoughts, and excuses that make up my “political views”. Growing up abroad cultivated somewhat of an apathetic attitude towards American politics. Not that I didn’t care what was going on in my government, but I didn’t see a need to form an opinion or really understand the system. Oh wait—I have a memory of arguing with my politically liberal and opinionated Uncle in the living room of his home when I was about ten years old. I adamantly argued that Bush Sr. would be a better president than Clinton. My uncle laughed at my childish ignorance, sure I’d formed my opinion based on my father’s conservative viewpoint. Father always prefaced his political discussions by noting the triviality of government and how the natural world was secondary to the spiritual realm. I think his role as a cleric and his belief in the separation of church and state contributed to this attitude (I will insert a disclaimer that this is my perception of my father, not a true representation of his beliefs. In the last eight years, I’ve seen a more political side of my father as he’s taken an active role in the community).

High school government/econ class was extremely boring. US history was trite and uninteresting—especially compared to the Asian and European history I studied and lived.

I’m sure attending a Christian university (recently deemed “Bush country”) perpetuated my chosen ignorance towards the American political scene. Whenever I heard folks complain about this country (whether about politics, culture, economics or whatever) I immediately piped up “got a complaint, get out”. We are blessed to live in such a prospering nation that has endured merely an iota of the political unrest most nations in the world have experienced. Granted, I usually kept a measured voice as not to stir up unnecessary trouble.

Moving back to the Pacific Northwest opened my eyes to the prevalence of political perspectives held by the average Joe or Juanita. I found myself reading the newspaper more often and researching controversial issues on the web. Alas, I maintained distance in vocalizing my thoughts. This year, I endeavored a Master’s program at The Evergreen State College and realized how little I truly knew of the political climate in this nation and the world. I’ve been inspired to listen to both sides of arguments (my Church side, which tends to be conservative, and my school or public side, which leans towards liberalism). I fall somewhere in the middle of the spectrum but strongly hold to the philosophy that I ought to wisely pick my battles. I try to at least be aware of the “facts” of the debate, but I prefer not to develop an ultimatum because the hot topics change almost daily and I can’t keep up!

It finally dawned on me in oh…the last two weeks why I’ve kept my distance on these issues. I feel so far behind in my knowledge that it would take a lifetime to catch up and form an educated opinion on a plethora of topics that are equally important. What can I do?

If I remain ignorant, then I’ve chosen this ignorance (yes, I know I chose it in the past, so it would be simple to maintain). In choosing ignorance, I am silently agreeing with the system—resulting in the perpetuation of the status quo. I profess to believe in justice, equality, upholding “truth,” and a number of other noble ideals. How then, do I find myself taking a passive role? Am I choosing to shut up and sing? To jump through the hoops of a “mightier” force? If I’ve chosen to this point, then why can’t I choose to change? Or…maybe I just can’t be bothered. And here I sit, unsure of my next move.

Thoughts

Everyone and their mama has a blog, I thought I'd start one too.
Interesting how we like to procrastinate by reading random websites...perhaps I shall find someone I can live vicariously through.