Counter-Culture

{ May 31, 2012 @ 3:12 am } · { Christianity, Life }
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Do you ever feel counter-culture? I don’t mean in an activist sort of way, but deep down in your bones, at the heart of your being, counter-culture. I do, and I admit this to few people. As I live my American life I ask so many ‘why’s’. Why is our work-week a minimum of 40 hours? Why is it admirable to be busy? Why do we devalue relationships? Why is the American dream defined by material wealth? Why do we women fall for marketing campaigns that tell us what the ideal woman should look like? Especially when that ideal eats into our budgets? Why is our culture so superficial?

I don’t want to live the rat-race. I am confident that should I be on my death-bed, I will not say, “I wish I’d been busier” or “I wish I’d gotten a little more done at work.” Many of us say these kinds of platitudes but do we really mean it? I really don’t see a lot of people living this example; not in our culture. I hear a lot of excuses or a lot of “I wishes”, as though being busy were out of their control. They’re succumbing to culture, whether they admit it or not.

I had to great job opportunities laid out before me last fall. One was at a very prominent Christian organization and the other was at a secular international agency. I asked friends at both places about the work culture. Friends at the Christian agency said that the work/home life boundaries were blurred and that work often encroached on home life. In the secular agency, there was more of a European model with clearly defined work/home life boundaries. As much as I wanted to work at the prominent Christian agency, I chose the secular agency. I have to have a home life. I have to be available to my husband. My husband deserves me at my best, and that can’t happen when a job encroaches on my home life.

Why is it that even a Christian organization has blurred those boundaries? Has it succumbed to the American culture?

I remember being in Kenya and being on “Kenya time”. At first it was hard to get used to; waiting for a bus that was supposed to arrive at 8 and it finally showed up at 11. But since then I have really grown to value “Kenya time”. How wonderful to have the freedom to be late if it meant giving a loved one some time and attention that they desperately needed. What peace of mind that would give you. The bus driver would have peace knowing they gave their friend valuable time and attention, instead of a hurried, “I can’t talk to you know; I have this other more pressing engagement.” Gosh would I love that freedom.

And why do we admire busyness? I think I will go to my grave not understanding this value. The more activities someone is involved with the more we admire them. Aren’t they great? Look how much they can accomplish! But do we examine their relationships? Do we even care? How great they are for how busy they are! I firmly believe that when we don’t have time to give others our best, we’re sending a message about their worth. Although I feel as though I’m in the American minority with this attitude.

So needless to say, I feel very counter-culture living this “American Dream”. I don’t see joy around me. In Malawi there was a lack of material wealth but I saw joy. As women we are spending more and more on our outward appearance but I believe our insecurities are growing. This current “American Dream” doesn’t really seem to be working. But few will admit that.

So I find myself struggling to live a life true to my values in the system that I was born into. I recently had an Afghani friend give me quite a different perspective: we’re all a slave to something. In America, we are a slave to our system. Even though we are the land of the free, how much freedom do we really have? We highlight the benefits of our capitalist society: advances in technology and medicine, but at what cost? Our families? Our relationships? In terms of valuing people and relationships, I think we’re falling far behind.

I want Utopia, which I know will not be found on this earth, but I still want it anyway. I want a culture that values relationships, devalues materialism, creates things that last, values time and not busyness, values people over accomplishments, even better, accomplishment is measured by your relationships. I want a counter-culture.

Safety

{ May 30, 2012 @ 12:49 am } · { Christianity }
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Safe. What pictures does that word conjure up? Does it bring to mind any particular memories? In my adult life, I’ve happily embraced safe. I really never knew what it felt like. As a child, I didn’t feel safe at home and often hid in my room or the basement, hoping out of sight meant out of mind. For a period of time at school I didn’t feel safe, being the target of some junior high bullies. At that time in my life safe was probably defined at its most basic, elementary meaning.

As an adult, I began to feel a different kind of safe. I had a comforting husband at home whose shoulder I could always lean on and count on. Home was happy and comfortable and warm. I had no fears, no anxieties. I could shut the world out in my home. No matter what I encountered during the day, I knew I had a welcoming retreat waiting for me.

And I felt blessed. I thought surely God was blessing me in the second part of my life for having endured a turbulent childhood. I openly welcomed and embraced this newfound safety. I didn’t feel the need to upset that apple cart. I felt completely self-righteous in seeking to maintain this feeling of safety. After all, I rationalized, most of my friends had these great childhoods with happy memories and their home was their rock and safe place. I didn’t have that, so I felt fully justified in finally taking what I thought was mine to take. Safety.

But are we called to live safe lives? As I continue to read through this book about the Christian faith in today’s American society, I’m beginning to be challenged about the idea of this safe life as God’s will. Doesn’t the Bible almost guarantee our persecution as Christians? And I don’t think the Bible meant broad, sweeping persecution where we see the Christian faith mocked on TV, but real, personal persecution that carries with it a personal sacrifice. If I’m not feeling persecuted, am I displaying my faith enough? Am I basking in the warmth of my safe place too much? Have I sought safety and comfort at the expense of my faith?

In my quest for safety I’ve also highly desired peace. Granted, peace is very Biblical. But I think having so much conflict and anger during my formative years has really made me desire peace, which has turned into peace at all cost, it would seem. Whether I realized it or not, I am always sizing people up: are you safe to share my faith with? Will you challenge me with questions I can’t answer? Will you point out numerous ways I’m a hypocrite? What about if I just shared a little? Would that be safe?

If I’m seeking safety then surely I am not seeking to be one of God’s workers on the ground. By focusing on the temporal false sense of safety I overlook the safety that God has planned for me for eternity, and I’m overlooking the eternal safety God would like others to have as well.

I don’t think it will be easy to transition from a temporal safety focus to an eternal safety focus, but God is opening my eyes to many blind spots…

Arrows

{ May 29, 2012 @ 2:39 am } · { Christianity, Life Issues }
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Do you ever sometimes see the devil as this caricature? I do, especially now. I see him gleefully laughing as he fires arrow after arrow my way, and I hear the little caricature high-pitched arrow noises: peyew, peyew, peyew. I see myself as this little cartoon character, trying desperately to get up on the treadmill and stay on the treadmill, and just as I find my footing, the speed ramps up to an unsustainable level, eventually spinning me off. Peyew.

Prior to starting my job in December, I made sure to have all my ducks in a row. I wanted to feel refreshed and as well-rested as possible before my new job. All went according to plan, for two weeks, when my husband had shoulder surgery. Peyew. I was a little stressed about the extra responsibilities tasked to me while he was recovering, but I felt on top of it.

Finally about a month and a half into my job, I had my groove; I got up on that treadmill and was sustaining the steady pace. I can imagine the caricature devil mocking me, taunting me, as I felt comfortable. Peyew. My dad suffered a major heart attack not even two months after I started my new job. When we got the call he was not responsive, no pulse, nothing. My stepmom was hysterical. We stayed home long enough to finally get word that they’d revived him. We rushed out of town and spent the day traveling, having to call on our layover to make sure he was still alive. Sending out frantic prayer requests. We spent the whole day not knowing if he would survive. Thankfully, with so much praise to God, he did survive.

I spent the week up there with him. Those that know me know I HATE to miss work; hate it. So on top of the stress associated with his heart attack was the stress of already being gone a week. I was exhausted and frazzled, and therefore I imagine this little devil caricature was gleeful. Taunting and mocking, jumping up and down, daring me to feel comfortable again.

I have not felt “comfortable” since that awful day in February, but I had been able to get myself less frantic and more together. On the treadmill but certainly not anywhere close to running. Just a sustainable pace. Then the next arrow: my grandfather’s unexpected passing. More time off work. Worrying about dad since it was his father. Flipped off the treadmill once again. Not even sure the treadmill looked good any more.

And a month after that my husband fell off a stepladder, landing on his back without breaking his fall, rupturing a disc in his lower back. His leg has been numb, flopping like a dead tree stump when he tries to walk. The doctor is recommending surgery. More time off work. Month long recovery for my hubby. Peyew.

I don’t mean to trivialize the evil of Satan. I think his evil nature is the very reason I see him as this mean, mocking, taunting cartoon of a devil, laughing an obnoxious laugh that we might hear from Gilbert Godfrey or Jon Lovitz. I see myself as trying to climb back on, sometimes it’s a treadmill, sometimes it’s back to safety from the other side of a cliff, and each time my energy is a little more depleted than the previous time. And each time he gleefully shoots an arrow my way, daring me to keep going, daring me to feel comfortable.

But isn’t the joke ultimately always on the devil himself? Sure, I’ve been knocked around these last few months, battered and bruised, but rather than succumbing, I turn to God. I let Him know I trust Him, and that I assume that all of these trials are to strengthen me for work I will do in the future. If just one of these incidents made me crumple and hide from life, I certainly would not have the divine strength necessary to do the work we Christians are called to do. Many Christians around the world experience trials greater than these on a daily or weekly basis. So I give it to God and ask Him to make me stronger, trusting that He will use all of these trials to build my character, my resilience, my strength. And in that, I fire that arrow right back. Peyew.

Re-thinking Christian Faith

{ May 26, 2012 @ 5:30 am } · { Christianity }
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I’m reading a really convicting book about the Christian faith. I have so many thoughts so I know I will be rambling. In the book we are reminded of the rich man that did not want to give his possessions away to follow Christ. It’s easy for me to get comfortable and a false assurance in this area; it’s always in the back of my mind to get rid of everything and be full time missionaries. So I felt like breathing a sigh of relief. Until…

Until God whispered, “What don’t you want to give up for me? What would hurt to give up? What are you clinging to?” Immediately the answer came: my job. My road to this job has been a very long and winding road, and I viewed this job as God’s blessing for the road that I’d traveled and the challenges I’d faced along the way. My DNA hasn’t allowed me to be able to make money doing just anything and being content; I’d always had very specific desires in a job. And I finally got what I wanted.

Part of that clinging is cultural; our culture defines us so much by what we do. Not being a mother nor a full time career woman for so many years put me in an unusual category and it was easy to feel adrift. Who was I? Where was my place in the world? Whenever I met new people that question would always come up: what do you do? As if I could only be defined by an occupation. I wanted to tell them that there was so much more to me, that there’s so much more to everyone, that we’re all more than what we do for money. But, it doesn’t fit with our culture. So now when I get asked that question I can give an answer, and shamefully, I feel an identity associated to it, when my identity is in Christ.

So while the rich man in the Bible had his identity through his wealth and possessions, I’ve let my identity be defined by what I do. That’s been eye-opening.

The other thought I’ve had while reading the book has actually just been reinforcements of thoughts I’ve had after my trips to Africa. One of my thoughts was actually a longing: a longing to have church in the grass under a tree instead of some big fancy building with a splashy worship service. I longed for something less programmed and more authentic. And after dancing with the women and children in Malawi, not in an expensive flashy building but under the sun and sometimes under the stars, I longed for that. Stripped down. I think the idea of meeting under a shade tree represents that return to nature and simplicity in our praise and worship.

The other thought I’ve had after my trips to Africa that has reemerged during this book is how we as churches spend our money. The church we originally attended in California had a very expensive fundraiser to buy $70,000 worth of playground equipment. I understand the rationale behind wanting a nice playground for the children, or toss in nice “_________” (worship service, building, programs), but it seems so egocentric. How can we hear about the starvation and disease worldwide and justify how we as churches spend our money? We changed churches to one that used it resources for outreach and was very outwardly focused.

Our old church in Gilbert has a weekly budget of $105,000. That’s weekly. $105,000. That number just smacked me in the face. Granted, they are doing good things, partnering with local and international organizations to provide aid and relief. But still. What amount of nutrition, medicine and water could $420,000 provide? And how could that money be used to expand God’s kingdom? I can’t help but think that with that kind of a budget, it’s become about us and our desires, and not about God’s will and command.

Which brings me to one other radical idea. Why do we meet in these huge, expensive church buildings that require so much of our resources? Can we church in our private homes? Can we redefine church to be smaller, more intimate, and save on the expenses of our big, flashy churches?

With Facebook allowing even people in 3rd world countries to take a peek inside how American Christians worship, will we be embarrassed by what they see? When our time comes, can we feel good about how our churches budgeted our precious resources?

Memories

{ May 24, 2012 @ 1:24 am } · { Uncategorized }
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As a big birthday approaches, I find myself looking back over my life to this point. Do you ever feel like memories exist somewhere outside your mind? Like they’re a place that you can go visit. Sometimes memories to me feel like store displays, with each display being a separate memory of a specific moment in my life, and if I choose, I can walk in that store and revisit that time. But if I choose not to go visit that store, that moment still lives there, available for me whenever I want to return for a visit.

By a Thread

{ May 16, 2012 @ 4:08 am } · { Uncategorized }
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I hate what exhaustion does to me. I have a great job working with a population that I’ve dreamt of working with, but I feel like I’m hanging on by a thread. As shamed as I feel for these thoughts, part of me is hoping the grant is not renewed so I can get a break.

I have not slept well in months. I’ve tried different sleep remedies but nothing has worked so far. I’m so exhausted that it’s all I can think about. And I feel weak for not being able to meet the demands of normal life.

My wonderful sister-in-law tries to normalize it for me. I started a new job with literally no training and no one in the office that knew what my role was, my husband had surgery 2 weeks after I started my new job, my dad had a massive heart attack less than 2 months after I started my new job and we spent most of that day not knowing if he would survive, my grandfather passed 2 months after that, and this week my dad was told his heart is weak and needs a device implanted to help shock his heart should he develop an arrhythmia. My SIL thinks all of that is enough to send any person reeling. She then threw in there that I don’t have the normal support and security and stability that helps most people: the security of mom. It has been in the back of my mind that my dad is who I count on, and the prospect of him not being here does weigh heavily on me in part because I do feel that I’ll be somewhat alone. So there’s a lot going. My SIL thinks that stress piles upon stress and my mind cannot shut off.

She could be right; it does make sense. But I feel incredibly weak. So many other people have so much more on their plates and they meet the demands of life. I have all of this go on and I really want to be home, where I feel safe and can rest. And I hate myself for taking my job for granted for so many reasons. So many people want my specific job, and I have it. And at my first rough patch I’m so willing to toss it aside. Not to mention times are tough these days and I’m lucky to have a job, period.

But I want to feel alive again; right now I just feel like I’m existing. I want to have enough energy to do my job well, exercise, and engage in hobbies: writing, photography, hiking, card-making. Not to mention we haven’t been involved in a small group since I started my job; I’m just too tired. And I want to sleep. Boy do I want to sleep!

This Lonely Life

{ April 18, 2012 @ 12:13 am } · { Uncategorized }
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Nothing like family time to send you into a tailspin. I just returned from a trip to my grandfather’s funeral. Somehow family trips leave me unsettled. I used to be entrenched, enmeshed, in the family. There was a strange comfort in the chaos and drama; I knew what I could count on. I was still lonely in my family, but I knew what to count on. I was an accepted part of the chaos.

But then I got tired of being a punching bag, having my self worth challenged over and over again, and I started to stand up for myself. But this change is not without punishment. I’m the black sheep of the family, outside of everything. I don’t even feel like I belong. I don’t follow the unwritten rules, and that’s not okay. I can no longer accept the elephants in the room, but everyone is content to live in an alternate reality.

I so badly want to connect with family members, but I’ve tried both sides of wall and neither side has worked. I used to be open and fairly trusting, but that didn’t stop me from being the punching bag. As I began to protect myself and my self worth, my heart started closing, the walls of protection went up, and I’ve protected myself. Both open and closed, life has still been lonely with my family. The consequence of closing off is that the wall is up everywhere, making it more difficult to connect on a deeper level with others. I have wonderful people in my life that can’t break through the walls; everything stays superficial.

And no matter how many years go by, I can’t temper my expectations. I expect families to be there for each other, to be the soft place to fall, the safe harbor in storms, but that’s never happened for me. Yet I continue to expect, and be disappointed. And to feel lonely with family.

Gaps

{ April 8, 2012 @ 6:08 pm } · { Uncategorized }
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Do you ever feel like sometimes there’s a gap between what you admire and accepting the reality of who you are? I was just reading my novel and one of the characters grabbed his mother to help out an exhausted and depressed new mom. The older mother was portrayed as this very competent, nurturing, all-knowing, beloved mother. Her son brought her to the situation with the confidence that she would know exactly how to handle that. I’ve always admired these types of moms.

I’ve also always admired the parents whose home is a hub of activity for their children; friends over, loud laughter, just a happy and safe place. Sometimes I wish I were a different person, the kind of person that knew how to make all of that happen. But the reality is, most days I feel good to keep my own life together, to put forth effort in making some kind of routine and traditions in our house. I’ve always been a realist, knowing my strengths and weaknesses, my capabilities, and therefore I know what is just to be admired. And I admire those moms and parents that are confident in their roles and create a happy and safe environment. How important, yet how devalued, this is.

Luxurious Problems

{ April 4, 2012 @ 4:46 am } · { Uncategorized }
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What makes me think I deserve to have it all? In my down times, I’ll complain to my husband about what I feel isn’t going well in my life, that one thing that, were it solved, would make my life problem-free. When I have moments of clarity, I’m horrified at my arrogance and sense of entitlement.

What a luxury to have some of my “problems”. Usually they’re consequences of the gypsy lifestyle we’ve led, but still, they’re luxurious problems. Everyday I talk with torture survivors, people that are plagued night and day by the atrocities that happened to them. They spent years in fear, then years fleeing, and years in refugee camps. When have they had the luxury of relaxing, a good night’s sleep, stability? They live with pain, deformities, nightmares and flashbacks. Their wish list looks vastly different than mine.

Also my “problems” are very self-actualizing in nature, and that should be the problem I’m most concerned about. Am I showing Christ’s love each day, with each person I encounter? Because in the big scheme of things, my luxurious problems really do not matter.

Not My Best

{ March 30, 2012 @ 8:27 pm } · { Uncategorized }
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I’m feeling at a crossroads, and somewhat confused. I’ve been blessed to a get job that I feel was tailor-made for me. I get to work with people from many different cultures while still keeping involved in traumatic stress. I have great autonomy and can hopefully help oversee program expansion if our funding is granted.

The chink in the armor is that I’m exhausted; I haven’t slept well since I started. As a result, I just always feel behind. I’m forgetful and not nearly as mentally sharp as I should be. Usually I’m voraciously reading up on things that interest me, but I’m unable to concentrate. I want to be doing a better job but mentally I’m not with it. I can’t remember my clients’ stories, I can’t remember what I’ve read about traumatic stress and the neuropsychological consequences of complex trauma on the brain. These are all things I was wildly interested in and couldn’t get enough of. Right now, though, I’m just trying to get through every day.

I keep thinking it will get better whenever I start sleeping well. But, right now, I don’t like who I am. I haven’t kept in touch with people the way I want, I’m not nearly as available as I used to be or as I want to be. And I feel very self-centered right now, and I hate it. I’m consumed with my exhaustion and quest to feel rested that I don’t feel available.

And right now there doesn’t seem to be room in my life for much besides work and exercise. We’ve been trying to get involved in a small group but it would be a scramble to get home, eat, and run out to group, and I just don’t have the energy for it. I miss my free writing; I feel like there’s thoughts to put to paper but I don’t have the time or energy. I don’t feel at my best.

Which puts me in a pickle. I was never a very good housewife; I didn’t have our house running like a tight ship. And I missed being with people. So I feel like I’m hanging in this precipice, not at my best but unsure what to do to feel at my best again.

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