Made in China November 6, 2009

I’ve long been teased for appearing to be of Oriental descent. I fit the (often wrong) stereotype: tiny, dark hair, and eyes that disappear into slits when I laugh.

The other day we were talking about iPods and I got to thinking about Josh’s that Pat and Jan gave me…and how it refuses to function. It keeps showing me a picture on the iPod of an iPod with a frowning face.

So, what does my iPod have to do with China? It’s the fact that a broken iPod is disposable. The only thing separating me from another one is a scant 2 or 300 dollars; NOT the fact that there are no more iPods being produced. The fact that this generation can easily run out and replace whatever is broken is a departure from the generations before us. Back then there were limited quantities. Now we are in an over-saturated market with very little concern of exhausting our resources, and we are losing our ability to place value on things.

And that idea made me think about people. Since when did we start buying into the notion that the people in our lives are disposable? The idea that we can use them, manipulate them, change the original way they came to us to fit our likes and dislikes, and can toss them aside when we’re done with them (should we lose them, break them, or just flat wear them out)? I’m afraid that the notion that everything we want in a person can be found in an Oriental Trading catalog – to fit our mood, our season, in a plethora of colors and more of them than we could ever want – has seeped in.

Do we REALLY value the people in our lives? I’m pretty sure there are no other Tina’s like me. I didn’t have a twin (even if I did, we’d have different personalities), there’s not a robot-version of me (I’m not a craaaazy Stepford wife) and I’m pretty sure if you got rid of me, there’d be a Tina-shaped hole in your life that no one, no matter how much better or worse then me they are, will fill.

This idea goes both ways. For example. I will forever have an Aaron shaped hole in my life. Even if and when I move on and find another relationship, he came into my life and changed the landscape of it – and his departure will leave a mark.

I occasionally feel non-existent or replaceable in other people’s lives, and I feel like my friendship is of so little value to some people that it and I can be tossed aside whenever I’m not performing right or being right or fitting their ideal; but what really saddens me is that I did those same things to him.

PAUSE

& HEAR ME NOW: I do not want him back. We didn’t work and that’s ok. What’s not ok is that I had this unrealistic man in mind. I was broken and even though I said I didn’t, I expected him to be the ideal. He couldn’t. I wanted to take the man and change him, beyond the line of what is normal. I wanted to tailor him to the catalog specifications. However, I couldn’t, and there’s only one of him.

Now. This too goes both ways. He replaced me in his life. When he was done with me he would move on to the next thing (and trust me, that list was lengthy).  The little plastic toy that our relationship had become, the one that was picked up and put down with ease, is also the one that will leave a memory or two; hopefully some of them fond. I was remarkably dispensable but still left a hole because he allowed me into his life for relationship with him.

And so, I look at our broken relationship in which we each bear responsibility and at the other relationships in my life. How many more people am I doing the catalog search on, in which I order them as the product and then insist on changing them, instead of valuing their normalcy, their flaws, and their brokenness? How many people will I see as replaceable, and how many will leave a hole that I won’t even realize the size of until they are gone?

What in society has caused us to think this way? Why can’t we [all just get along] all just accept the people in our lives for who they are – even when they don’t know who they are? Why play games and try to change everyone and then toss them aside when they aren’t meeting our standards?

Why not do the following: give them room for their bad moods, their stress, their hurt and pain? Why not treat them like they are the only one (because they are) and cherish that while we have it? Why not cherish each relationship at whatever stage it’s at – because some will grow, but some will disappear? Why not stop looking at everyone as use for our selfish gain, our play-thing, our person to create and mold and instead simply commit to relationships, even when they SUCK?

If we are Christians, isn’t that what we’re taught to do anyways (in kinder, gentler words and with scripture notation)?

Why not embrace the real and the limited and value it like we know we should?

Maybe no one else in society thinks this way, and I’m just engaging in the classical game of transference. But, maybe not.

**Yeah – THIS mindset drives me CRAAAZY: The Onion’s New Device, Old Device

Jackals and Wilderness and Angels and Water August 18, 2009

I find it funny how God speaks by throwing books at me from any one of the various shelves in the house. I have re-shelved this paperback time and again; only to find myself daily tripping over it, daily thinking “I thought I put that back where it belongs…”, and daily needing it.

I have another post stemming from the same book as an earlier posting – Gilead by Marilynne Robinson.

“The story of Hagar & Ishmael came to mind while I was praying this morning, and I found a great assurance in it. The story says that it is not only the father of a child who cares for its life, who protects its mother, and it says that even if the mother can’t find a way to provide for it, or herself, provision will be made. At that level it is a story full of comfort. That is how life goes – we send our children into the wilderness. Some of them on the day they are born, it seems, for all the help we can give them. Some of them seem to be a kind of wilderness unto themselves. But there must be angels there, too, and springs of water. Even that wilderness, the very habitation of jackals, is the Lord’s. I need to bear this in mind.”

I’m pretty sure that my wilderness (for now) is a failed marriage and looming divorce. While I am an immensely private person, a lot has happened in the past two years that has caused my private life to be put on display. Therefore, no more pretending. I have no interest in giving a negative impression of anyone I’m associated with, and I don’t feel the need to tell you the details; only to share what I have learned.

While the church excels at a lot, divorce is one giant black/white/gray area where everyone has a different opinion. I’ve heard interpretations of the Bible that both credit and discredit the act of divorce. From me you will get no definitive statement either way; I’m too busy trying to find that spring of water (or at least a cup) and avoid the jackal.

My family is from a stricter denomination than the one I work for. Divorce is of the devil, and divorcees are shunned (even though you “hate the sin, love the sinner”).

After 28 looooong but short years of divorce rhetoric being tossed around, I find myself at a place I somewhat saw coming but thought I could prevent: a failed marriage + strict theological upbringing = HELP!

Enter my professional (Christian) counselor, who I’ve been seeing for two years now. In my last session we wrestled with an ongoing topic: my family and the divorce. He surprised me by saying the following (and I’m paraphrasing):

“K-tina, you are 28. Your parents are no longer a spiritual authority over you. Your decision is one you must be at peace about. Scripture says to leave and cleave – you only fulfilled half of that on your wedding day. You left physically, but stayed mentally and emotionally. You must stand for yourself.”

OUCHY OUCH OUCH! That STILL stings and he most definitely won that round. It’s quite the head trip to come to that place in life where you separate from your parents in every aspect. And he’s right – that was meant to be done when I left their home at the tender (DUMB) age of 23. I didn’t realize that in not separating myself from their thought patterns, emotions, and their walk with Jesus as opposed to mine – I had essentially stayed home. I thought all those years that I was an adult – and in reality they still had full control over me.

Now – that piece goes both ways. They kept the control I allowed them to keep. And it’s here that there is a painful breaking away that is taking place. After an exhaustive conversation in which the 3 of us shared our ideas on divorce we are learning to walk that line of Parent & Adult Child.

I don’t have kids (my 3 fur-covered boys in no way count) so I won’t pretend for a second to know what they are going through. I know their hearts are broken from the pain that we’ve all experienced. I know they would do anything in the world to protect me. And it’s here – that place that is motivated from protection that I respect and love them immensely.

However.

We are painfully cutting the cord and I am sitting smack-dab in the middle of the wilderness. And in my wilderness I am learning how to separate myself from unhealthy mindsets, how to stand on my own, how to ask for advice and hear the wisdom amid the emotion. (HARD!) And it’s here that I’ve seen the provision, the angels, I’ve tasted the water and wrestled with God and it has taught me a lot. Every heart-breaking painful moment & every minute in this wasteland is slowly molding me into the woman I need to become.

While there is responsibility to be taken on both of our parts, I’d just like to say from the child perspective, the following passage is true:

“Abraham’s extreme old age is an important element in both stories, not only because he can hardly hope for more children, not only because the children of old age are unspeakably precious, but also, I think, because any father, particularly an old father, must finally give his child up to the wilderness and trust to the providence of God. It seems almost a cruelty for one generation to beget another when parents can secure so little for their children, so little safety, even in the best circumstances. Great faith is required to give the child up, trusting God to honor the parents’ love for him by assuring that there will indeed be angels in that wilderness.”

Mom and dad – (even though you don’t read my blog) thanks for not wanting me to stray near the wasteland or even see the wilderness. You love me and you protected me – but you can let go now. Yes I’m in the wilderness that I originally never knew existed – but never fear –  Me and big Jesus? We’re OK.

Vacation August 12, 2009

If you know much of anything about me and Luc, you know we’ve been friends for the past 10 years. What looks like an odd couple is actually a good fit – we are alike and different in a million crazy ways; which adds up to deep conversation, lots of laughs, a few hugs, and the occasional tear.

In the course of a decade I’ve heard a lot about Galax, which is the town where she was raised. We’ve often talked about visiting, to put places to all the stories. The Fiddler’s Convention has been at the top of our To Do List, and we finally marked it off– I attended my first Fiddler’s Convention this past weekend.

BOY. I forgot what small town life was like. It has its own time line; its own rhythm in which it ebbs and flows, which is vastly different from big-small towns and big cities. The dialect, culture, and people are markedly different.

While there are a million comparisons that can be drawn, and while the blue grass (and old time) that I was exposed to was incredible, that has absolutely nothing to do with what’s on my heart.

It is Luc’s family.

Firstly, I met almost all of them. Secondly, they are crack pot crazy. And when I say crazy, I mean crazy and a whole lot of fun.  Thirdly, they were “family” when I needed that the most.

In our little corner of the world, this job is one of exposure. My work is seen by a lot of people, and for a girl who is not a fan of the spot light, I am in it constantly. We just came through a month of Youth Camp, which is the culmination of 6 months of hard work. It’s also a month in which I’m exposed to what feels like a million different people. In reality, it’s only a thousand and some (950 campers, 400 staff – you do the math!).

I love my job and I LOVE LOVE LOVE the people that I get to work for and with. However.

In the past year I’ve been going through a separation from a lot of things, and have had to do it on a public scale. There are days where if one more personal or professional thing gets added to my plate, I’m going to collapse under the weight of it all. I’m at one of those points in life right now; buried under a mountain of decisions, expectations, trials, tests, hopes, dreams, hurts, and wants.

I’m not gonna lie: I was prepared to go down there and fake it.

Luc and I are best friends – we hurt with one another, and right now her family is going through an immense amount of poopy. Them dealing with their stuff + me dealing with mine = a lot of baggage and that smile that says “I AM FINE, honest – how are YOU doing?”.

Instead, they took one look at me and loved me – with or without the smile. They accepted me simply for who I am.

I wasn’t Kristina: CAMP LADY who is a State Office employee, city slicker, separated/divorced/failure at marriage, who is or is not making the correct choices she needs to, fill in the blank as you will.

I was Kristina: broken, hurting, rough around the edges, “Georgia cracker”, laughing through the pain, failing but still doing my best day by day, exhausted, and still willing to have a good time and try anything once (including fried oreos, twinkies, and alligator).

My acceptance wasn’t based on performance, on what I could get right or how I had to behave. They didn’t try to solve all my problems, ask me to solve theirs, or analyze everything I did.

They simply allowed me to be myself, and accepted that imperfect self as one of their own.

After months of being under a very strong microscope, I was thrilled to disappear into a hole in the wall town and a family who didn’t pick and probe at every crack in my smile. I was thrilled to be in a place and with people where I could just be.

Careful, or Else You’ll Step in that Mass of Failure Trailing Behind Me August 5, 2009

Slightly dramatic title, yes, I’m aware. I guess that’s just the mood I’m in.

Several years ago, 4 or 5 now, we started a Book Club at work. It started as a time to read the same book then discuss – and quickly morphed into group-therapy time. We read, eat, laugh, cry, and love one another, as best we can.

We each take a month and pick the book that the group must read. Some I’ve hated. Some I’ve loved. Some have changed my outlook on life, like this one…

Jan picked Gilead, by Marilynne Robinson some time ago. (In a notebook somewhere I have the month and year, I just don’t feel like looking for it right this second.) A passage from that book has stayed with me, since my very first read:

This is an important thing, which I have told many people, and which my father told me, and which his father told him. When you encounter another person, when you have dealings with anyone at all, it is as if a question is being put to you. So you must think, What is the Lord asking of me in this moment, in this situation?  If you confront insult or antagonism, your first impulse will be to respond in kind. But if you think, as it were, This is an emissary sent from the Lord, and some benefit is intended for me, first of all the occasion to demonstrate my faithfulness, the chance to show that I do in some small degree participate in the grace that saved me, you are free to act otherwise than as circumstances would seem to dictate. You are free to act by your own lights. You are freed at the same time of the impulse to hate or resent that person. He would probably laugh at the thought that the Lord sent him to you for your benefit (and his) but that is the perfection of the disguise, his own ignorance of it.

And here is where I feel like I fail, daily.

Just the same as everyone else on planet Earth, I’m in the middle of a couple of situations which are testing my ability to remain calm and Christ-like.

I can freely admit – before these past 2 years, I was a horrible listener. I heard what I wanted to hear, whenever I decided to actually listen. I was usually forming rebuttals in my head, or defending my pride which was usually falling down around me. And, since “hurt people hurt people” – the hurt I was receiving usually went in one ear and came out of my mouth in the form of a sword that cut my opponent to the core. I can cut you with my words and I know it.

The old me used to scream and cry and fight to be heard. Usually, when imploring those methods the very thing I was fighting for I chased away.

Neither of those are communication. They are a hot mess of a girl who was so hurt she couldn’t articulate it, and failed miserably when she tried.

This passage though was a seed that was sown. I began (even then) to see the argument and the opponent differently.

And now, when disagreements come (daily in my world) I do my best to not respond until a few things have been accomplished: 1. I hear their side, clear to the end 2. I put myself in their shoes and try to see what is causing their hurt which is causing their anger 3. I pray before I open my mouth. Now. That typically looks like me just sitting silently – which let me tell you is an act of God to begin with. In my silence I’m not shutting down or checking out – I’m praying. Praying that I hear the criticisms that I need to, that I can start to change whatever needs to be changed, and praying that I won’t use my tongue to cut you from the tip of your head to the bottoms of your toes.

There is one person in particular who is challenging every bit of Jesus in me for the moment. I don’t want to hurt them – and now I look at them and see their selfishness and anger as symptoms of a larger issue. And that doesn’t make me angry – it instead makes me ache for them. But in their pain and selfishness I still have trouble talking to them. So, when it gets to that point where I can’t be trusted to keep my mouth shut, I just don’t talk to them anymore. End the conversation. It’s not safe for either of us if I don’t. In time though, I’m hoping to get to that place where I can live out that paragraph – where when they think back on this discussion they will see Jesus – not me – no matter how riled they get me.

For now, I’m failing. Miserably. I leave tiny little failure footprints all over the various discussions we have.

But, I’m trying my absolute hardest; and hopefully all that trying will one day add up to an ability.

PS: I have the sweetest kitten (Shem) sitting on my lap, who is now laying across the keyboard. Berkley and I say ‘thank you and good night’. sssssdddfffg (that was from him!)

On Call June 4, 2009

“I’m on call, to be there. One and all, to be there. And When I fall, to pieces. Lord you know, I’ll be there waiting.”

If you know anything about me, you know I carry a book with me everywhere I go. Not only do I carry one like a security blanket but I have them tucked and hidden in the following places: Charlotte’s Web is in the car, Their Eyes Were Watching God is on the sofa, 2 Collections (1 is an assortment of CS Lewis works, the other an assortment of the historical feminist writings) are sleeping on the pillow beside me.

As of late the book that’s been to Boys Bash, Rocky Mount, Target, Girl’s Jamboree, sitting in traffic…you get the idea – has been Ruthless Trust by Brennan Manning. Since this post has been about books, you should be forewarned that what’s about to follow in the next day or two will read more like a 4th grader’s book report, rather than general musings on life.

What should have been an easy read has taken me four weeks to get through. Looking at the book you’ll see every other page corner folded down, and the inside of each page has slightly more pencil than typed text on it. Each chapter deals with various ideas on trust – which has been something that I’d convinced myself was an impossibility for me in my lifetime.

Rather than unload my trust issues, there’s a totally different direction I want to go.

The one overwhelming thing these past two years has been the unlikely support system that I have had. When my world fell apart in the course of a few hours (years) and I didn’t have the strength to stand on my own, a very eclectic group of people stepped in. At times, especially in the beginning, they carried the burden for me and guided me to a foundation to gather my footing. Over the course of the past year they have given me back what was mine to carry and given me the strength through their encouragement and incredible wisdom to slowly stand and begin to walk.  It’s this one issue that has caused me to spend many hours in prayer and in tears – all in gratitude.

One excerpt from the book literally made me weep tears of absolute joy, because I so strongly identify with his sentiments:

In my efforts to overcome my lifelong struggle with self-hatred, the despair of ever being worthy of love, I have been aided immeasurably by trusted and trusting friends who, with no ulterior motive, see something in me that I cannot see in myself. They do not merely tell me; they relate to me in a way which shows that they find me loveable. Learning to trust my friends has been a slow but valuable process.

After one full year (both 04/24/08-04/24/09 and 05/15/08-05/15/09) I now stand straight before them; a testament to the enormous amount of Jesus-love that each one of them possesses and shared with me.

And it’s to: my family, my office family, Pat & Jan, Theresa, Joseph & Sarah, Luc & Eric, Tony, Dave & Jenn, Holly & Chad, Amber & Jason, Ryan & Heather, Jay & Andrea, Veronica, John & Rebecca, Travis & Kelly,  Jeremy, Jason, the girls at Book Club and the boys on the Youth Board that I say:

Thank  you, for saving me when I didn’t care to be saved, pouring into me when I wasn’t convinced there was anything worth investing in, and loving me when I was at my best unlovable. You all will never know the deep amount of gratitude and love I hold in my heart for you. Should you ever need ANYTHING, CALL.

“I’m on call, to be there. One and all, to be there. And When you fall, to pieces. Lord you know, I’ll be there waiting.” (KoL)

Because of the Times May 18, 2009

In the family of Pentecostalism, the Church of God was originally one denomination. As typically tends to happen, ego, legalism, and stubbornness led to a parting of ways; resulting in the birth of the Church of God of Prophecy.

Luc and I grew up in church; she in one, I in the other. I tend to see the two denominations as twin sisters; fundamentally alike and fundamentally different.

They are alike in the sense that each instilled in us profound ideologies, traditions, faith in something other than ourselves, and a belief system of sorts. They are different in the sense that the Church of God is like the sister that we OP’ers would say “rebelled” and got jewelry, gold lame and big hair. The OP on the other hand is the stubborn-play-by-the rules (EVERY rule)-penny-marching-too-tightly-wound-sister.

Luc and I often discuss the church. It’s the thing that brought us together and has formed some of the best friendships I’ve had in my entire life.

As we’ve stated on here quite a lot recently, we attended the Kings of Leon concert in Fairfax. In case we didn’t love those boys and their man-vests before, we are now what you could call big time fans. These days it’s a big deal to go to a concert and hear someone sound better than the cd. In my opinion, the music industry (along with photography/art and Photoshop – don’t get me started!) has changed dramatically. So much of what we hear isn’t real – it’s synthetically created in a studio with a technician mixing each and every element to a precise level of perfection that isn’t able to be reproduced in real life.

It’s this central issue of reality that has bombarded my life these past two years, and is now finding itself in some boys playing rock-n-roll and my spiritual life. Eric brought me a copy of the Rolling Stones article regarding the Kings (Thanks Eric!!) and I jotted down the quotes that jumped out in the 8 page spread:

“You’re under the microscope,” Nathan says.  “It was like TMZ before TMZ. God forbid you get caught going to a theater, or watching TV. Then you’re screwed*.” P. 42  (*He didn’t say screwed, he used a word that I don’t think I can post on here.)

“By the end of their relationship she had seen this powerful man of God becoming more human every day,” says Caleb. “He had a lot of character flaws.” P. 43

“When Ivan left the pulpit, Caleb became disillusioned. “I was going to be a preacher – it was everything I knew,” he says. “My heart got broken, seeing that it was impossible to be perfect. So I said to myself, ‘I have to go the opposite way’.” P. 45

Maybe it is because perception becomes reality, but the one thing I see in these quotes is the fact that the church doesn’t handle reality well; nor do they allow anyone else to choose it. The rules are so strict there is no room for failure (and let me tell you, with a ‘failed’ marriage at the age of 28 I’m knocking that one out of the ball park), and we have somehow instilled this idea that perfection is attainable for every member and every leader.

Because of the times I am living in, reality has become something I yearn for. I am choosing to keep people in my life who embrace reality – and life with all of its imperfections. If they can’t accept me with my faults and failures, I have no desire for relationship. This idea seems to be at odds with the church.

And I wonder, is this something the next generation can help to change – or will the church that gave me my history and heritage continue to exist in a bubble, alienating them from the very people that they are commissioned to reach, when they have trouble admitting that they are one in the same?

Holy Roller Novocaine May 14, 2009

yes, this is where i grew up

A friend (Hi Tony!) sent this pic to me this morning.  Oddly, it fell on the heels of a oft-repeated, never-resolved conversation my husband & I had last night regarding our Pentecostal background.  This is the marquee from the church I grew up in.  Honestly, I am pretty much a lapsed Pentecostal at this point.  Though I spent twenty-odd years attending a Church of God, and even worked for the church itself, it’s mostly been an uneasy fit.  But to paraphrase Tim O’Brien, it’s one of the things I carry-a huge chunk of my personal DNA.

To be Pentecostal is to be fluent in a language that is something of a mystery to the outer world.  Last month, Rolling Stone profiled Kings of Leon, and I couldn’t help but laugh to see the music industry bible attempt to explain the culture of the band’s childhood:  mixed bathing, traveling evangelists, youth camp, camp meeting, prayer lines, hymns, no shorts, no secular anything.  Strange to your average Rolling Stone reader I’m sure, but  par for the course to any Pentecostal.  Personally, my parents were not very strict.  I think they just liked certain things too much to let them go, so I cut my teeth on the movies and music of their youth-namely the Vietnam era.  Every year my aunt had to sew culottes for my cousins and myself so we could be properly kitted up for youth camp.  Our usual summer uniform of shorts & tanks was not allowed, so for one week out of the year we looked the part of modest Church of God girls.  The culottes were then relegated to the back of the drawer never to be looked at again.

My husband is the son of a Church of God preacher.  We met at the fore-mentioned camp.  I don’t think Eric saw a movie until he was a teenager.  When he & I stopped attending a Church of God, he was informed that he was breaking a family tradition of generations.  And while Pentecostalism can make for an exuberant and warm environment,  it can also leave you with the sense that you can never ever measure up.  It’s part of our shared DNA-one that’s oddly made for a pretty strong alliance between the two of us.

I guess that’s one reason I do adore Kings Of Leon.  In the midst of the sex and the drugs and the absolutely lethal rock-n-roll, you can hear the echoes and vibrations of countless Sunday nights spent squirming in a church pew absorbing things that are mysterious and wonderful and terrifying.  You can’t really amputate any part of your childhood, can you?  It stays with you in one form or another.  The things we carry…

Reasons Why the Past Year Hasn’t Sucked (not entirely) May 6, 2009

Sunday was a particularly bad day for me, for reasons that really don’t need to be discussed. Just one of those days where nothing went right.

When I get that insanely overwhelmed feeling, like on Sunday, I tend to shut down; although I had the energy to throw myself the biggest pity party ever. Party of One.

I clean a church in my spare time, and while fussing to myself over life and somewhat just wanting to give up, I turned on my Christmas music (it’s usually the only thing that centers me) and decided to make a list the opposite of what I was feeling: Reasons Why the Past Year Hasn’t Sucked.

1. Through the counsel of friends, family, life itself and a good counselor, I’ve experienced more personal growth in a 2 year time span than in my entire life. I repeatedly hear “you’re not the same person you used to be.” In the beginning, when change was the hardest, I mourned the person I was. Now I’m content to never return.

2. My priorities in life have changed drastically. I had a calendar and self-made (impossible to reach) time line and goal list for my life. Some of the goals are still the same; however they’ve all changed places.  That time line pushed me at a frenzied pace, but now the time line is gone. (Well, almost). I work to accomplish what I can minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day. It’s amazing what that mindset will do if you worry – it virtually erases it.

3. I used to be an ‘island’. I did my best to toughen up and not let anyone else in; nor to depend on them. Now, honesty and vulnerability have come into my life. I didn’t realize that by not being those things to myself, I didn’t and couldn’t extend them to anyone else. Now those are the hallmarks of what  I want out of relationships in my life.

4. Independence is a great thing. It gets a little scary (financially, loud unaccounted for noises, uncertainty for the future) but I’ve also seen that when it’s just me I can pull myself up and make it: mentally, emotionally, spiritually and physically. Being independent has also made me braver. When it comes down to sink or swim, you better learn to swim. Even if you didn’t know how before. One of my new life outlooks has become what mom used to tell me about vegetables: You don’t know until you TRY.

(Even though it seems like it contradicts #3, it doesn’t. Independence from one person frees you but we were made to exist in community.)

5. By allowing myself to accept life as it was with it’s immense amount of pain, I’ve come to see the flip side of that. Sinking to the lowest low makes the highest high that much more enjoyable. Before life was very one dimensional. Now I’m Tina in 3-D.

6. This one makes me cry every time I think about it: Every single thing that got taken away has been returned in some form or fashion. It doesn’t look like what I think I should, I can’t explain it, and I’m ok with both.

This is the way the world ends April 21, 2009

“The Hollow Men”

This is the way the world ends

This is the way the world ends

This is the way the world ends

Not with a bang but a whimper.

T.S. Eliot

Thanks to a renewed Netflix subscription we have been playing a frantic game of movie catch-up at our house this past month.

Now, I am going to divulge a tiny bit of personal info-something I’m not particularly good at.  Eric, my husband, served in Iraq from July 2005-July 2006.  War is an ugly brutal business, and that fleeting 365 days has left an indelible mark. One of the oddest effects (and certainly a minor one)  is that his stint in Iraq greatly altered what we watch.  For three years, we’ve avoided heavy movies and especially violent movies.  For separate reasons, neither of us have had the capacity to process them so it’s been much lighter fare in our house than usual.

Last night, we watched Children of Men, an horrifying morally complex glimpse of a dystopian future in which humanity has been rendered infertile and is waiting for extinction.  So armed with the knowledge that the end is inevitable, how do we act?  Not very well, I’m afraid.  This movie tore my heart into a thousand pieces & I feel just a bit shell-shocked today.  The violence is real and grim, so much so that towards the end I noticed a tightness in my husband’s face.  “Too much?”  I asked, “Is it bothering you?”  He nodded, but continued to watch.

If there’s a thematic common thread that runs through the works that resonate with me,  I guess it’s the indefatigable presence of hope in terrible circumstances.  The thought that we can stare down the worst the devil has to offer, and still retain our humanity.  I call myself a reluctant idealist because  no matter how royally humankind manages to screw things up I cannot let go of the notion that we can and will do better.  We have to.  It’s a moral imperative that I cling to more stubbornly than anything that I was formally taught in church.  I don’t want to do good things because it will get me into heaven.  I want to do good things because it is the right thing to do, regardless of the presence of an reward.  I guess this makes me something of a humanist.  Humanist is kind’ve a dirty word where I come from.  I really don’t see all the bother, and frankly I don’t care.  God is everpresent when we choose to act unselfishly, when we help the helpless.

Of the many thoughts swirling in my head today, one I keep returning to is the fact that the main character, played remarkably well by Clive Owen, did not carry a weapon for the duration of the movie.  Escorting the last hope for the future of humanity to safety and you don’t feel a gun is necessary?  I’m not sure what that says exactly, but I kind’ve like it anyway.

Luc

I can have oodles of charm when I want to.  Kurt Vonnegut