I expected that having time with God after having taken considerable time off would have been different.
For a number of reasons, I fell out of the habit of having quiet times in the last few months. It was somewhat intentional at first, after getting over the hurts of having miscarried and then once my anxiety-inducing pregnancy was over, I didn't know where to start or where I was at with God. I was also afraid of "hearing" something from God again, and having to decide whether it was from Him or not.
And of course there are all the other liberal reasons I always get hung up on -- the suffering and inequality in the world, and what I feel is the failure of His people (the ones in the U.S. anyway) to get up and help those in need. I start feeling isolated in the church sometimes, because although my theology is conservative, my politics are not, and this is sometimes unpopular among believers.
What's funny is that I believe now, as I have always believed, that God is apolitical. And yet, because I disagree with many other believers in some aspects of politics, I feel like it is HE who is judging me, He who is isolating me, He who doesn't understand me.
But that's just an excuse. The truth is, I know what my relationship with God is like -- I know that He is not a Republican or Democrat, and I know that He knows my heart even if others don't. I know that there is no "fitting in" with God. He belongs to no clubs, no cliques, no classes. He is who He is, and He knows who I am better than I do.
So why, when approaching God for the first time in a long time, did I expect Him to say, "Sorry, your membership is no longer valid?" Why did I expect rejection, or to be issued some sort of probationary challenge? -- "If you want back in, you have to do XYZ."
Because, as always, I'm looking at God as though He is a human being, and perhaps even as though He is a man. Contrary to what some believe about feminists, I don't hate men. I have been happily in love with my husband for almost ten years now. But I don't relate to men either, at least not the way I relate to other women. Because I'm not a man. Our culture is different and so are our chromosomes, hormones, and a variety of other things. But God is not a man either. We refer to him as "He" because Hebrew does, and because "she" is gender-specific when "he" is sometimes gender-neutral. But He really doesn't belong to the "boys' club" either. Though when I miscarried, I wondered...
But today, I prayed. Really prayed. Pretty sure I got out everything that was on my heart, even some tough questions. And despite what I expected, it was relatively undramatic. I didn't cry. I wasn't angry. I was just...home. Like when you get home from a long vacation and the house smells a little funny, but it's nice to have the familiarity of kitchen drawers with things arranged the way you know how to find them, and the ability to throw your clothes on the bathroom floor without inconveniencing anyone else. It takes some getting used to, like reverse culture shock. But it's home. It's where you belong.
Fitting in is something I often long for, even though having labeled myself as a "nerd" growing up, I always said that I prided myself in not fitting in. But the truth is, it's lonely. I want to fit in with all the other Christians I know, since the very core of our hearts and intentions is the same, but my "crazy" ideas and political views sometimes get in the way. (I try not to cause dissension, so I often just don't talk politics, but when you care so much about something, it comes up from time to time.) On the other hand, I want to fit in with bleeding heart liberals because we really agree on so many social justice issues and I really am a feminist...but my pesky belief in only one true religion often gets in the way of membership in that club.
The desire to fit in is something I will just have to get over, if I want to actually change the world. God has not called us to conform to the expectations of this world, although it seems to be the nature of human culture to try make each other conform. He hasn't called us to isolate ourselves either -- culture can be difficult because it can be constraining, but it exists because it is unifying and makes the human experience meaningful. My identity, however, is not in this world, and if I am running around changing myself for this person or that person so that I can feel like I fit in, then that's wrong.
And this time, I'm ashamed to say that the desire to fit in is something I am really struggling with. Doesn't every (late!) twenty-something go through that when they finish their degree and find themselves in playgroups and church leadership and all other sorts of situations when the spotlight's on them, and their values, and who they are? But being respectable middle-class people is a far cry from what we are really called to be, and culture is trying to pull us in, make us conform, and tell us that we really just need to fit in.
And that's why we need time alone with our God, who is acultural, apolitical, nonsexual, nongendered, unsocialized, nonhuman, and yet is everything -- He is the point at which time, space, and experience begin and end, the origin of everything yet the only One who has no origin. He is everything we want to be -- generous, kind, just, understanding, mature, and unconcerned about what others think of Him. He is everything good about being human without the hang-ups of sin and insecurity. And even though the world would not exist without Him, it had no place for Him except a cross. He didn't fit in when He came to the earth He created. But He is the only One who can give us the familiarity we long for, the only One who can place us where we fit, and the only friend who makes me feel right at home the second I get back from a very long absence.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
The Truth About Safety
Now that I have become accustomed to getting around by bike, it seems a lot less dangerous than it used to. Yet so many people feel the need to tell me to “be careful out there” when they see me unlocking my bike. I used to feel this was sexist -- would they say the same thing to a burly guy going out for a ride? They might, if they are like so many drivers out there who think that cyclists are suicidal maniacs out there just “cruisin’ for a bruisin’.” Most people have the perception that riding your bike in the street is so dangerous and that if you do it for a long time, you will get hit by a car. What’s funny is that when I answer with statistics about how low the rates of motor vehicle-bike accidents really are, even in a busy city like Long Beach or Los Angeles, they don’t believe me. I won’t quote all the numbers for you here, but let me just say this: You are just as likely to get into a crash with another bike as you are with a car when you are riding your bike. Most bicycle crashes are solo crashes -- cyclists lose control of their own bikes and crash, injuring only themselves and usually only minimally.
But numbers don’t impress people. And what’s even more interesting, is that terribly frightening statistics do exist about driving in cars, but that doesn’t deter people. So, what gives? Why are people so afraid?
“What gives” is that people are not emotionally affected by actual safety or actual danger. What matters for most is what feels safe or dangerous. That is, perception is more powerful than reality. I think that the reason people feel unsafe on a bike is that they feel exposed, and they hear the other cars whooshing by them and they feel how fast motor vehicles really are. But if one could feel all that in a car, the perception of safety may diminish greatly.
But this post is not entirely about cycling. Cycling (especially “vehicular cycling”) is something that cannot be understood until you get into it. But it is something I have to constantly defend myself for, especially when I have my children on a bike seat in or in the trailer behind me on the bike. We are a family who is committed to alternative modes of transportation, and to remaining active. We are considering going car-free when we make our next move. It’s important to us, and it’s something we’ve been called to.
But there are other things that make us feel unsafe: living in apartments rather than detached, single-family homes can come along with a lot of noise and anxiety. Hearing sirens frequently, or having helicopters fly over one’s head can be enough to make us feel like we need to move to a “safer” neighborhood. And imagining all the possibilities of what might possibly happen to our children -- this can cripple us with fear pretty easily.
Crippling fear is a major problem in our generation. Not just as women, but as parents. In America, people have the perception that “the times” are more dangerous than they used to be, and they keep their children inside instead of letting them go to the park with their friends (for fear of kidnapping, usually) and as a result, we have the fattest kids in the world. Do abductions happen? Rarely. Do they happen to 10-year-olds who are at the park with their friends in a group? Hardly ever. Do these “numbers” matter to people? No. They still would rather risk their kids’ health, ignoring the fact that diabetes and heart disease pose much more real and likely threats to their children, than let them out of their sight, or out of their house, ever.
But here is the truth about safety: No one is ever safe. Ever. Bad things can and do happen. Consider the publicist who was shot and killed (for no apparent reason) driving her Mercedes Benz in Beverly Hills, where the perception of safety carries a high price-tag. Consider the recent tragedy in Tucson. Surely no one is going to say that no one should ever go to meet politicians ever, as it is clearly too dangerous?
Consider my husband’s aunt who, as a child, wanted to ride her bike somewhere rather than riding in the car. Her mother, feeling it was dangerous to ride on a busy street, decided to follow her in the car and told her to cross as a pedestrian at stoplights. Well, she did so, and got hit by a car turning left as she was walking her bike across the crosswalk. Clearly, here the perception of safety (being a pedestrian is perceptually safer than cycling for most people) was clearly inaccurate compared to the real threat (a person not looking when turning left, which could be dangerous for anyone.)
Consider my former co-worker John, who survived the Vietnam War with no injuries but watched other soldiers fall, and then got shot by a robber when he was working from behind the counter at a convenience store many years later.
So what can we do to be safe? Honestly, the only thing we can do is the right thing from our own end. We can decide not to drive drunk, ever. That will make the world a slightly safer place. We can take vehicular cycling courses and learn the ways to best travel in traffic and be seen and as safe as possible. That will keep us from causing our own collisions. We can decide not to hurt people, not to rob people, not to rape people. And the government can play a part by actively prosecuting those who do.
But it doesn’t keep things from happening to us. Remember, when I miscarried I had done “everything right.” I had made good decisions in my life, and every pregnancy I’d had was planned. I was on prenatal vitamins. I was eating healthy. But it just happened to me.
So then, if we can only half prevent things, and the half that we can prevent is us doing harm to others, then what does that say about decisions we make based on perceptual safety?
What we must do is whatever we feel strongly and passionately about. We must do what we know that we know that we know we are called to do, whether it seems safe or not. Because we can be in the midst of war and come out unscathed, or we can be driving luxury cars in Beverly Hills and get murdered. If we believe that God is sovereign, and that He can interfere in our lives but often chooses to let things happen to us anyway, then we have to accept that we are equally safe wherever we go, as long as we are being obedient. We may experience tragedy, we may lose our lives or our loved ones -- or we may not. We may live to see all of our grandchildren and die peaceful deaths. It’s not in our control. And if we start to really believe that, and stop blaming victims and making decisions based on perceptual safety (actual safety can never be determined until after the fact), then we will stop being crippled by fear and get up and get moving, and start actually changing the world.
Friday, December 17, 2010
Crippling Fear & Bad Theology: My Story
I still have a love-hate relationship with the Biblical story of Job.
While it can be comforting in difficult times, it can be terrifying in good times. Maybe you know the feeling. The feeling where with your mouth you praise God for His faithfulness, but in your heart you are waiting for the ball to drop. In those moments, I think of the lyrics of the Jars of Clay song, "Hand:" "I'm here waiting for something new to break my heart."
I felt like that for much of 2009, and most of 2010. And I'm not entirely over it yet.
I'm not entirely sure how this blog and the words that I'm writing right now came out of my experiences over the last year, but they have. It is not what I would have expected. But let me share my story.
On June 14th, 2009, I took three pregnancy tests, and all of them were positive. It had been our first month trying for Baby #2, and voila, two pink lines (or six, if you count them all!)
On June 15th, 2009, I found myself bleeding and too upset to concentrate, and by the time I went to the doctor, the levels of HCG (the pregnancy hormone) in my blood were far below what is considered positive for pregnancy. I was sad, to say the least. But the way I remember it now, it seems like I got over it quickly. I had had a feeling of "doom" about the pregnancy for the whole 1 day I had known I was pregnant, so I was not exactly surprised. I was definitely grieving, but everything had happened so quickly that the most confusing thing emotionally was trying to remember that I wasn't actually pregnant anymore, and trying to convince myself that I never had been.
But then, on July 17th, 2009, I had another (3 or 4) positive pregnancy tests. I was feeling optimistic, but terrified. This time, I prayed hard. I prayed every day for that baby to be OK -- it was all I knew to pray, that it would be "OK." I prayed that we would see a heartbeat, and I told only a close few that I was expecting and planned to tell more when I saw that heartbeat.
And I was waiting "for something new to break my heart" every day. Every time I went to the bathroom, I feared seeing that stream of blood. I really did live in fear, even though I tried very hard not to. I prayed for peace, and I thought I received it. In fact, I even thought that I heard God tell me that the baby was OK.
I prayed that God would, at the very least, give me a sign, help me to prepare mentally. I prayed that if this baby was "not OK," I would bleed and miscarry the baby naturally as I had previously. I could not think of any reason why such a request would not be honored, so on the morning of the first ultrasound, I assumed the baby was OK.
But the baby was not OK. On August 18th, 2009, I went in for my first ultrasound for my third pregnancy, and there was no heartbeat. In fact, there wasn't even anything identifiable as a baby. An embryonic sac with maybe "something" in it. I knew my conception date. I knew the date I had my positive pregnancy test. I had to have been at least 9 weeks along, at which point one should see not only a heartbeat, but possibly even arm and leg stubs. Some call what happened to me a "failed pregnancy," and others a "blighted ovum" -- but everyone calls it a miscarriage.
The second time, I was floored. I had been "speaking scripture over" my baby. I had believed I had heard God's small, still voice telling me the baby was OK. I had "received peace," and I had had absolutely no signs of impending miscarriage -- no bleeding, very few cramps, and plenty of morning sickness. God couldn't even "have the decency" the answer that part of my prayer. And for that, I was very angry.
In my own diary and in my prayers, I called it "The Great Fake-Out." I felt like God had tricked me. Or maybe I was insane, and maybe not only had that "word" not been from the Lord, but maybe everything I had ever thought I had heard from God was fictional. Maybe it was me, making everything up. And fear began to cripple me.
I don't know which of the numerous possibilities I had thought of was more frightening: 1) That God had said all the other things I had thought I'd heard from him, but not this one, and that God chose not to answer my prayer because...who knows? He was mad at me? 2) That God does not speak to us at all and does not interfere in our lives. 3) That God does speak to us and interfere in our lives, but I was not important enough, or faithful enough, or something enough. Or 4) That God does not exist, and everything I had thought I had ever heard from God was either insanity or a figment of my imagination.
None of those options seemed good to me, and I didn't know who I was, or who God was.
And then I thought of Job. And it did not comfort me. The truth is, the more I thought about Job, the more I was afraid. My initial reaction to the miscarriages had been, "But I've done everything right my whole life!" And I was serious. I don't mean to say that I believed that I was sinless or perfect -- but I believed that all of my major decisions in life had been "the right thing to do." And they had. I had been faithful, I had been a "good girl." I had been, at times, a little overly careful not to break the rules. But Job had been good too. And His troubles just kept on coming -- not in spite of his own faithfulness, but because of his own faithfulness. The whole thing had been a wager! The kind of God that would make wagers about Job's faithfulness with part of the stakes being the lives of Job's children was not the kind of God I wanted to worship.
But I had bad theology. Despite my knowledge of the story of Job, I had thought that being faithful, being "obedient," being "good," would keep me safe. I had thought that God owed me something, and that if He ever made a promise to anyone in the Bible, then I could take that promise and hold it over His head and say, "But, hey, you promised!" That I could play back His own words for Him and show Him how He owed me retribution for my suffering. But He owed me nothing, and my theology changed.
I had come of age as a Christian in a "name it and claim it" kind of environment. And even though I said that I didn't believe you could just name it and claim it all the time, apparently when it came down to it, I did. Not all the promises in the Bible are for me. And I know that I am stepping on some people's toes when I say that, but consider this:
"Worship the LORD your God, and his blessing will be on your food and water. I will take away sickness from among you, and none will miscarry or be barren in your land. I will give you a full life span." -- Exodus 24:25-26 (NIV)
This promise is straightforward and simple: All you have to do to get rid of food poisoning, sickness, and infertility or miscarriages, is worship the Lord. But it was given to the Israelites during a specific period of time. I cannot claim this unless God specifically tells me I can. It must be true that I don't get to claim this promise as part of my personal covenant with God -- because if I do, He owes me a lot of back-pay in good health, and He has some explaining to do for the early deaths of some dear friends.
If anyone reading this has ever used the above scripture to help them get through a tough time, and taken it as their own, then I am not saying they are incorrect in having done so. That is between them and God. Any promise that He makes and fulfills once He can make and fulfill again. But that's His call, and I am not entitled to anything.
But what about Job? What on earth is up with that story? The one, you know, where God makes a bet with Satan that Job will always remain faithful, and as a result allows all of his children to be killed?
Honestly, I don't know. Some say that it was so that Job could have a face-to-face encounter with God. Others claim that either Job's children were faithful and ended up in heaven anyway so no harm done. Others claim the opposite -- that God was carrying out His vengeance on Job's sons. But I don't know.
But I do know this: the truth about safety is that no one is safe, ever. No matter how good we are, or how careful, or even how much we pray, bad things will happen to us. We will experience grief. We will be disappointed. So if bad things are going to happen to us whether we are living our lives in crippling fear or whether we are being bold and doing the things we love and have passion for even if they are not as "safe" as not doing them would be, then why not change the world?
You may be wondering what conclusion I came to about what I thought I heard God say. I don't believe that I'm insane, but I do believe that I am still recovering from bad theology. I believe that God speaks to humans, I really do. But I also believe that we have been taught to believe things about God that are not biblical, and I that I was misinformed about what God's role in my life was -- namely, that He is not a fortune-teller, even though He knows the future.
You may also be wondering if my heart was broken again. Well, I am 27 years old and certain that I will go through more times of sadness and loss in the future, as that seems to be the course of every human life. But I have not had another miscarriage, and now have a healthy 4-month-old baby girl (named Faith, after everything I'd been through) whom I conceived two months after my second loss. Nothing in my behavior changed between my miscarriages and my pregnancy with her -- in other words, the miscarriages were clearly not punishment from God. And I was the most fearful I've ever been during that pregnancy. Still, sometimes I'm afraid that it's all another Great Fake-Out and she will suddenly die, or something will happen to my son now that I have a daughter. And I have no proof or promise to hang onto that nothing will happen to either one of them. But I choose not to live in fear, understanding that no one is ever safe ever, but that statistics are overall in my favor and tragedy will come when it comes regardless of whether I worry about it or not.
Does the fear ever come back? Frequently, but I am doing my best not to let it cripple me.
My next post will be more on The Truth About Safety.
While it can be comforting in difficult times, it can be terrifying in good times. Maybe you know the feeling. The feeling where with your mouth you praise God for His faithfulness, but in your heart you are waiting for the ball to drop. In those moments, I think of the lyrics of the Jars of Clay song, "Hand:" "I'm here waiting for something new to break my heart."
I felt like that for much of 2009, and most of 2010. And I'm not entirely over it yet.
I'm not entirely sure how this blog and the words that I'm writing right now came out of my experiences over the last year, but they have. It is not what I would have expected. But let me share my story.
On June 14th, 2009, I took three pregnancy tests, and all of them were positive. It had been our first month trying for Baby #2, and voila, two pink lines (or six, if you count them all!)
On June 15th, 2009, I found myself bleeding and too upset to concentrate, and by the time I went to the doctor, the levels of HCG (the pregnancy hormone) in my blood were far below what is considered positive for pregnancy. I was sad, to say the least. But the way I remember it now, it seems like I got over it quickly. I had had a feeling of "doom" about the pregnancy for the whole 1 day I had known I was pregnant, so I was not exactly surprised. I was definitely grieving, but everything had happened so quickly that the most confusing thing emotionally was trying to remember that I wasn't actually pregnant anymore, and trying to convince myself that I never had been.
But then, on July 17th, 2009, I had another (3 or 4) positive pregnancy tests. I was feeling optimistic, but terrified. This time, I prayed hard. I prayed every day for that baby to be OK -- it was all I knew to pray, that it would be "OK." I prayed that we would see a heartbeat, and I told only a close few that I was expecting and planned to tell more when I saw that heartbeat.
And I was waiting "for something new to break my heart" every day. Every time I went to the bathroom, I feared seeing that stream of blood. I really did live in fear, even though I tried very hard not to. I prayed for peace, and I thought I received it. In fact, I even thought that I heard God tell me that the baby was OK.
I prayed that God would, at the very least, give me a sign, help me to prepare mentally. I prayed that if this baby was "not OK," I would bleed and miscarry the baby naturally as I had previously. I could not think of any reason why such a request would not be honored, so on the morning of the first ultrasound, I assumed the baby was OK.
But the baby was not OK. On August 18th, 2009, I went in for my first ultrasound for my third pregnancy, and there was no heartbeat. In fact, there wasn't even anything identifiable as a baby. An embryonic sac with maybe "something" in it. I knew my conception date. I knew the date I had my positive pregnancy test. I had to have been at least 9 weeks along, at which point one should see not only a heartbeat, but possibly even arm and leg stubs. Some call what happened to me a "failed pregnancy," and others a "blighted ovum" -- but everyone calls it a miscarriage.
The second time, I was floored. I had been "speaking scripture over" my baby. I had believed I had heard God's small, still voice telling me the baby was OK. I had "received peace," and I had had absolutely no signs of impending miscarriage -- no bleeding, very few cramps, and plenty of morning sickness. God couldn't even "have the decency" the answer that part of my prayer. And for that, I was very angry.
In my own diary and in my prayers, I called it "The Great Fake-Out." I felt like God had tricked me. Or maybe I was insane, and maybe not only had that "word" not been from the Lord, but maybe everything I had ever thought I had heard from God was fictional. Maybe it was me, making everything up. And fear began to cripple me.
I don't know which of the numerous possibilities I had thought of was more frightening: 1) That God had said all the other things I had thought I'd heard from him, but not this one, and that God chose not to answer my prayer because...who knows? He was mad at me? 2) That God does not speak to us at all and does not interfere in our lives. 3) That God does speak to us and interfere in our lives, but I was not important enough, or faithful enough, or something enough. Or 4) That God does not exist, and everything I had thought I had ever heard from God was either insanity or a figment of my imagination.
None of those options seemed good to me, and I didn't know who I was, or who God was.
And then I thought of Job. And it did not comfort me. The truth is, the more I thought about Job, the more I was afraid. My initial reaction to the miscarriages had been, "But I've done everything right my whole life!" And I was serious. I don't mean to say that I believed that I was sinless or perfect -- but I believed that all of my major decisions in life had been "the right thing to do." And they had. I had been faithful, I had been a "good girl." I had been, at times, a little overly careful not to break the rules. But Job had been good too. And His troubles just kept on coming -- not in spite of his own faithfulness, but because of his own faithfulness. The whole thing had been a wager! The kind of God that would make wagers about Job's faithfulness with part of the stakes being the lives of Job's children was not the kind of God I wanted to worship.
But I had bad theology. Despite my knowledge of the story of Job, I had thought that being faithful, being "obedient," being "good," would keep me safe. I had thought that God owed me something, and that if He ever made a promise to anyone in the Bible, then I could take that promise and hold it over His head and say, "But, hey, you promised!" That I could play back His own words for Him and show Him how He owed me retribution for my suffering. But He owed me nothing, and my theology changed.
I had come of age as a Christian in a "name it and claim it" kind of environment. And even though I said that I didn't believe you could just name it and claim it all the time, apparently when it came down to it, I did. Not all the promises in the Bible are for me. And I know that I am stepping on some people's toes when I say that, but consider this:
"Worship the LORD your God, and his blessing will be on your food and water. I will take away sickness from among you, and none will miscarry or be barren in your land. I will give you a full life span." -- Exodus 24:25-26 (NIV)
This promise is straightforward and simple: All you have to do to get rid of food poisoning, sickness, and infertility or miscarriages, is worship the Lord. But it was given to the Israelites during a specific period of time. I cannot claim this unless God specifically tells me I can. It must be true that I don't get to claim this promise as part of my personal covenant with God -- because if I do, He owes me a lot of back-pay in good health, and He has some explaining to do for the early deaths of some dear friends.
If anyone reading this has ever used the above scripture to help them get through a tough time, and taken it as their own, then I am not saying they are incorrect in having done so. That is between them and God. Any promise that He makes and fulfills once He can make and fulfill again. But that's His call, and I am not entitled to anything.
But what about Job? What on earth is up with that story? The one, you know, where God makes a bet with Satan that Job will always remain faithful, and as a result allows all of his children to be killed?
Honestly, I don't know. Some say that it was so that Job could have a face-to-face encounter with God. Others claim that either Job's children were faithful and ended up in heaven anyway so no harm done. Others claim the opposite -- that God was carrying out His vengeance on Job's sons. But I don't know.
But I do know this: the truth about safety is that no one is safe, ever. No matter how good we are, or how careful, or even how much we pray, bad things will happen to us. We will experience grief. We will be disappointed. So if bad things are going to happen to us whether we are living our lives in crippling fear or whether we are being bold and doing the things we love and have passion for even if they are not as "safe" as not doing them would be, then why not change the world?
You may be wondering what conclusion I came to about what I thought I heard God say. I don't believe that I'm insane, but I do believe that I am still recovering from bad theology. I believe that God speaks to humans, I really do. But I also believe that we have been taught to believe things about God that are not biblical, and I that I was misinformed about what God's role in my life was -- namely, that He is not a fortune-teller, even though He knows the future.
You may also be wondering if my heart was broken again. Well, I am 27 years old and certain that I will go through more times of sadness and loss in the future, as that seems to be the course of every human life. But I have not had another miscarriage, and now have a healthy 4-month-old baby girl (named Faith, after everything I'd been through) whom I conceived two months after my second loss. Nothing in my behavior changed between my miscarriages and my pregnancy with her -- in other words, the miscarriages were clearly not punishment from God. And I was the most fearful I've ever been during that pregnancy. Still, sometimes I'm afraid that it's all another Great Fake-Out and she will suddenly die, or something will happen to my son now that I have a daughter. And I have no proof or promise to hang onto that nothing will happen to either one of them. But I choose not to live in fear, understanding that no one is ever safe ever, but that statistics are overall in my favor and tragedy will come when it comes regardless of whether I worry about it or not.
Does the fear ever come back? Frequently, but I am doing my best not to let it cripple me.
My next post will be more on The Truth About Safety.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Why Fear is a Feminist Issue
I said this blog was about women. Because I am a woman, and I am a feminist. So let's talk about one of the most important issues in feminism, and how it relates to the topic of Christian women and crippling fear.
As a mom who is nursing a 4-month-old while trying to finish her graduate degree, I spend a lot of time in my campus's Women's Resource Center expressing breast milk for my daughter. As a Christian woman using the pumping room to pump for my son when I first started graduate school, I was initially a little afraid to spend much time in there, thinking I wouldn't fit in with the pro-choicers or that the wonderful women who run the center (who are also lesbians) would be hostile toward me if they found out I was a Christian. I had these concerns even though I already considered myself a feminist! But two-and-a-half years later, there is no place on campus that I find more refreshing.
Why? Because women are awesome, and because feminism touches on so many important topics, besides abortion. In fact, one of the most important things the Women's Resource Center (WRC) does on my campus, is something that heavily influences my decision to write about fear as a Feminist issue. The WRC on my campus spends a lot of time educating both men and women about date rape, sexual assault, and domestic violence. They also have support groups and offer counseling referrals for women who have been victims of domestic or sexual violence. When feminists say that a woman has a right to her own body, many people assume they are only talking about abortion, but usually they are just as much talking about issues of sexual assault.
In these education sessions about sexual assault and in recovery groups, one of the most important messages the WRC sends to women who have been victims of any kind of assault is this: Even if you were drunk, even if you never explicitly said "no," even if your skirt was a little short, it is not your fault this happened to you. This is often a liberating message, because, believe or not, one thing that comes out of our culture of fear, is a culture of victim-blaming. And it is prevalent in America today.
Don't believe me? Think America is progressive and no longer sexist just because so many women enjoy careers? What about the recent story of Ines Sainz, the reporter who was sexually harrassed by the New York Jets simply for being present in and around their locker room? There was a lot of victim-blaming going on in her case, even though she was never the one to press charges. In her case, perhaps people didn't see it as a big deal, because she wasn't actually assaulted. But the fact that there was so much discussion about whether it was her fault that she received rude comments from men shows that we have far to go on this front.
So, what does this have to do with the culture of fear? Everything. The culture of fear and the culture of victim-blaming are inextricably linked. For example, imagine that a woman who works late is walking home from work and is mugged or sexually or otherwise assaulted. What is the first thing people are likely to say? "Well, what was she thinking? Being out late at night by herself, that's just crazy!" Really? Was it her fault that she wasn't "safe" to walk the streets anytime she pleased? No, it's her assailant's fault. Always. Plain and simple.
I could go on and on. So many things that we are told we should not do because of the culture of fear are simple freedoms that women should be able to enjoy along with everyone else. Including taking a walk by ourselves whenever and wherever, riding our bikes in the street, and wearing attractive -- even "sexy" -- clothing. Now, are these things actually safe for us to do in reality, without being assaulted? That is a topic for another post, and you might be surprised at how safe some of these things actually are.
BUT even if a woman were not safe doing these things, she should be. And the culture will never change if we all just stay at home and let fear cripple us.
As it is, many of us are afraid to do some of these things, not just because our culture (or the local news) is telling us to be afraid, but because we know, deep down inside, that on the off-chance that something does happen to us or our children, we will be blamed, and we will blame ourselves. As a feminist, I refuse to tolerate victim-blaming any longer. In my opinion, it is worse than mansplaining, because it is perhaps done more by women (when it comes to "safety" issues) than men, and we need to support each other, not tear each other down. I will be bold and courageous, and do what I feel is right.
Is it wrong for you to be afraid to walk home alone at night? No. As women, we know we are particularly vulnerable, especially to sexual assault, and our culture teaches us to be afraid. But is it wrong for a woman to walk home alone at night, because she might get assaulted and then it would be her fault? Absolutely not!
If and when we find ourselves as the victims of assault or tragedy, we often ask ourselves 101 "what-ifs," wanting to feel better knowing that there was "nothing we could have done" to prevent it. But that's not the right way to think. We need to place blame where blame is due. If you, or anyone you know, has ever been a victim, please know this: Crime is never anyone's fault but the criminal's. You are not to blame if you were assaulted, attacked, or raped. In fact, even if your child was assaulted, and you feel you should have done something to prevent it, it is still not your fault unless you assisted in it. It is always the fault of the one doing the assaulting.
Let us reject this culture of fear and victim-blaming and start asserting our rights to function as normal human-beings, following our dreams and callings, and not going around pointing fingers at each other that would much better be pointed at those who set out to do our fellow women harm. If we stop condemning victims and start condemning those who made them victims, then we are on the right track to actually changing the world.
As a mom who is nursing a 4-month-old while trying to finish her graduate degree, I spend a lot of time in my campus's Women's Resource Center expressing breast milk for my daughter. As a Christian woman using the pumping room to pump for my son when I first started graduate school, I was initially a little afraid to spend much time in there, thinking I wouldn't fit in with the pro-choicers or that the wonderful women who run the center (who are also lesbians) would be hostile toward me if they found out I was a Christian. I had these concerns even though I already considered myself a feminist! But two-and-a-half years later, there is no place on campus that I find more refreshing.
Why? Because women are awesome, and because feminism touches on so many important topics, besides abortion. In fact, one of the most important things the Women's Resource Center (WRC) does on my campus, is something that heavily influences my decision to write about fear as a Feminist issue. The WRC on my campus spends a lot of time educating both men and women about date rape, sexual assault, and domestic violence. They also have support groups and offer counseling referrals for women who have been victims of domestic or sexual violence. When feminists say that a woman has a right to her own body, many people assume they are only talking about abortion, but usually they are just as much talking about issues of sexual assault.
In these education sessions about sexual assault and in recovery groups, one of the most important messages the WRC sends to women who have been victims of any kind of assault is this: Even if you were drunk, even if you never explicitly said "no," even if your skirt was a little short, it is not your fault this happened to you. This is often a liberating message, because, believe or not, one thing that comes out of our culture of fear, is a culture of victim-blaming. And it is prevalent in America today.
Don't believe me? Think America is progressive and no longer sexist just because so many women enjoy careers? What about the recent story of Ines Sainz, the reporter who was sexually harrassed by the New York Jets simply for being present in and around their locker room? There was a lot of victim-blaming going on in her case, even though she was never the one to press charges. In her case, perhaps people didn't see it as a big deal, because she wasn't actually assaulted. But the fact that there was so much discussion about whether it was her fault that she received rude comments from men shows that we have far to go on this front.
So, what does this have to do with the culture of fear? Everything. The culture of fear and the culture of victim-blaming are inextricably linked. For example, imagine that a woman who works late is walking home from work and is mugged or sexually or otherwise assaulted. What is the first thing people are likely to say? "Well, what was she thinking? Being out late at night by herself, that's just crazy!" Really? Was it her fault that she wasn't "safe" to walk the streets anytime she pleased? No, it's her assailant's fault. Always. Plain and simple.
I could go on and on. So many things that we are told we should not do because of the culture of fear are simple freedoms that women should be able to enjoy along with everyone else. Including taking a walk by ourselves whenever and wherever, riding our bikes in the street, and wearing attractive -- even "sexy" -- clothing. Now, are these things actually safe for us to do in reality, without being assaulted? That is a topic for another post, and you might be surprised at how safe some of these things actually are.
BUT even if a woman were not safe doing these things, she should be. And the culture will never change if we all just stay at home and let fear cripple us.
As it is, many of us are afraid to do some of these things, not just because our culture (or the local news) is telling us to be afraid, but because we know, deep down inside, that on the off-chance that something does happen to us or our children, we will be blamed, and we will blame ourselves. As a feminist, I refuse to tolerate victim-blaming any longer. In my opinion, it is worse than mansplaining, because it is perhaps done more by women (when it comes to "safety" issues) than men, and we need to support each other, not tear each other down. I will be bold and courageous, and do what I feel is right.
Is it wrong for you to be afraid to walk home alone at night? No. As women, we know we are particularly vulnerable, especially to sexual assault, and our culture teaches us to be afraid. But is it wrong for a woman to walk home alone at night, because she might get assaulted and then it would be her fault? Absolutely not!
If and when we find ourselves as the victims of assault or tragedy, we often ask ourselves 101 "what-ifs," wanting to feel better knowing that there was "nothing we could have done" to prevent it. But that's not the right way to think. We need to place blame where blame is due. If you, or anyone you know, has ever been a victim, please know this: Crime is never anyone's fault but the criminal's. You are not to blame if you were assaulted, attacked, or raped. In fact, even if your child was assaulted, and you feel you should have done something to prevent it, it is still not your fault unless you assisted in it. It is always the fault of the one doing the assaulting.
Let us reject this culture of fear and victim-blaming and start asserting our rights to function as normal human-beings, following our dreams and callings, and not going around pointing fingers at each other that would much better be pointed at those who set out to do our fellow women harm. If we stop condemning victims and start condemning those who made them victims, then we are on the right track to actually changing the world.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Crippling Fear
"Courage is not simply one of the virtues, but the form of every virtue at the testing point." -- C.S. Lewis
What I am about to write about is the most important thing I have learned this year: what is keeping me, and every woman, down is this culture of fear, and the thing we are threatened with the most is becoming so fearful that we never actually change the world.
As Christians, we like to tell each other that "God has not given us a spirit of fear" or that "the most frequent command in the Bible is 'Do not be afraid'" (I have not run a statistical test on that, but it seems plausible to me.) We like to do that so that we don't have to deal with each other's anxieties, so that we can quote a scripture to our friend and then move on, not helping her to actually deal with whatever fear is threatening to cripple her. And because we ourselves are afraid and don't know what else to do but try to quote that scripture in order to make ourselves magically un-afraid.
As women, we are the primary victims and progenitors of the culture of fear in America. In some ways, it makes sense. We are usually the ones who are responsible for taking care of children, and keeping them safe is instinctually important -- it is a basic human desire that our children live to be adults. But as Christians, we are called to be different from the rest of the world, to surpass our natural "instincts" and to change the world, which means changing the culture.
Does this mean that we willfully and knowingly put our children in harm's way in order to change the world? It depends on what we consider to be "harm's way." Before I go any further, let me remind you of a scripture that rips my heart out every time I think of changing the world for God:
"If anyone comes to me, and does not hate father and mother, his wife and children -- yes, even their own life -- such a person cannot be my disciple." -- Jesus, Luke 14:26, TNIV
Really? Hate? Really? Well I will not claim that Jesus' words were completely literal, but I think that claiming they were hyperbolic is robbing them of their strength. Jesus would not have used strong words -- such as hate if he had not intended to make a strong statement.
I believe the above-mentioned scripture is telling us, that compared to our love for God and for being his disciple, our love for ourselves and our family should look like hate. That means that if we know that we know that we know that our life's calling is to serve as missionaries in a dangerous place, we cannot let the excuse of "but it's not safe for my family" get in the way. Do we take precautions? Yes. Do we run into warzones with our children in our arms and no plans to keep them safe? No. But do we stay in our comfortable suburbs even though we are called to be elsewhere? That would be disobedience. And having parents who are disobedient to God is not what's best for our children, even if they are safe in their rear-facing carseats and their low-crime neighborhoods.
Please do not misunderstand me. It is right to use your resources to protect your children when you are placing them in danger -- as you are every time you are driving a car. I am not saying that anyone who promotes safety issues is being overly fearful and should chill out. I'm not saying that at all.
But I'm saying this: Protecting our children is not noble. It's instinctual. What I mean is what Jesus meant when he said, "If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners love those who love them." (Luke 6:32, NIV)
So when I am tempted to refrain from doing something, big or small, that I believe I should do to live out my values (such as ride a bicycle instead of drive a car, or work on the mission field) because of fear, for myself or my family, I take a step back and say to myself, "Is this something I know that I am being called to do, in order to actually change the world?" And if the answer is "yes," I do it, with as many safety precautions in place as I can have while still doing it. Because I am not called to "the wisdom of this world" (1 Cor. 3:19) but I am called to a higher standard -- to actually change the world, even at personal risk to myself and yes, sometimes, even to my family.
P.S. I know this topic makes people crazy, so the next few posts will address the ideas of fear, safety, courage, and changing the world. Stay tuned.
What I am about to write about is the most important thing I have learned this year: what is keeping me, and every woman, down is this culture of fear, and the thing we are threatened with the most is becoming so fearful that we never actually change the world.
As Christians, we like to tell each other that "God has not given us a spirit of fear" or that "the most frequent command in the Bible is 'Do not be afraid'" (I have not run a statistical test on that, but it seems plausible to me.) We like to do that so that we don't have to deal with each other's anxieties, so that we can quote a scripture to our friend and then move on, not helping her to actually deal with whatever fear is threatening to cripple her. And because we ourselves are afraid and don't know what else to do but try to quote that scripture in order to make ourselves magically un-afraid.
As women, we are the primary victims and progenitors of the culture of fear in America. In some ways, it makes sense. We are usually the ones who are responsible for taking care of children, and keeping them safe is instinctually important -- it is a basic human desire that our children live to be adults. But as Christians, we are called to be different from the rest of the world, to surpass our natural "instincts" and to change the world, which means changing the culture.
Does this mean that we willfully and knowingly put our children in harm's way in order to change the world? It depends on what we consider to be "harm's way." Before I go any further, let me remind you of a scripture that rips my heart out every time I think of changing the world for God:
"If anyone comes to me, and does not hate father and mother, his wife and children -- yes, even their own life -- such a person cannot be my disciple." -- Jesus, Luke 14:26, TNIV
Really? Hate? Really? Well I will not claim that Jesus' words were completely literal, but I think that claiming they were hyperbolic is robbing them of their strength. Jesus would not have used strong words -- such as hate if he had not intended to make a strong statement.
I believe the above-mentioned scripture is telling us, that compared to our love for God and for being his disciple, our love for ourselves and our family should look like hate. That means that if we know that we know that we know that our life's calling is to serve as missionaries in a dangerous place, we cannot let the excuse of "but it's not safe for my family" get in the way. Do we take precautions? Yes. Do we run into warzones with our children in our arms and no plans to keep them safe? No. But do we stay in our comfortable suburbs even though we are called to be elsewhere? That would be disobedience. And having parents who are disobedient to God is not what's best for our children, even if they are safe in their rear-facing carseats and their low-crime neighborhoods.
Please do not misunderstand me. It is right to use your resources to protect your children when you are placing them in danger -- as you are every time you are driving a car. I am not saying that anyone who promotes safety issues is being overly fearful and should chill out. I'm not saying that at all.
But I'm saying this: Protecting our children is not noble. It's instinctual. What I mean is what Jesus meant when he said, "If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners love those who love them." (Luke 6:32, NIV)
So when I am tempted to refrain from doing something, big or small, that I believe I should do to live out my values (such as ride a bicycle instead of drive a car, or work on the mission field) because of fear, for myself or my family, I take a step back and say to myself, "Is this something I know that I am being called to do, in order to actually change the world?" And if the answer is "yes," I do it, with as many safety precautions in place as I can have while still doing it. Because I am not called to "the wisdom of this world" (1 Cor. 3:19) but I am called to a higher standard -- to actually change the world, even at personal risk to myself and yes, sometimes, even to my family.
P.S. I know this topic makes people crazy, so the next few posts will address the ideas of fear, safety, courage, and changing the world. Stay tuned.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Actually Change the World
I am committed to actually changing the world.
What do I mean by actually changing the world? Do I mean as opposed to pretending to change the world, or trying and failing to change the world, or just saying that I’m changing the world?
What I mean is that our generation is coming into our own -- having 10- and 15-year high school reunions, having children, starting careers -- and it is time we look at ourselves and ask, “What am I doing and what will I do to actually change the world?”
Because it isn’t changing as rapidly as one would expect, despite all the criticism “the world” has received.
And we are the best culture critics, with our blogs and Facebook statuses ready and poised to link to the newest article about something our culture needs to change.
And that’s a start. The links and the blogs and the idea-swapping are all part of our generation’s attempt to change the world in a new way.
But there has to be more. If we are going to do something real, something other than complain and say something needs to change, then we have to make choices that separate us from other generations. And those of use who are Christians have to live lifestyles that are radically different from those around us -- and not just morally.
This culture isn’t working for us. It doesn’t work for women, it doesn’t work for the environment, and it won’t work for future generations. As Americans, we are wasteful and drowning in a slough of bad habits -- bad habits that will do more than give us diabetes and heart disease and make us obese. Not only will the habits we are all caught in help us to destroy ourselves quicker, they will lead to the destruction of our planet and, for those of us who care, will delay the fulfillment of the Great Commission.
As a human, the destruction of our planet is serious business. As a Christian, the delay of the fulfillment of the Great Commission is even more serious.
I believe that women are not only equal to men, but that we are just as powerful when it comes to our ability to change the world. But we are keeping ourselves down. How? That I will reveal in a later post.
For now, I am asking you to think: What does your life need to look like if you are going to actually change the world? Maybe you aren’t an environmentalist or aren’t into liveable cities and sustainable transportation, which are some of the things I care about -- maybe you see other issues that continue to plague you and you feel like your lifetime will not quite be satisfactory if it ends without some progress being made on these issues. No issue is too big or too small. You were born to make a difference, and if you think otherwise, then you are not understanding your role as a human being, let alone as a Christian. That’s OK. Keep reading and you will see that you can and should actually change the world.
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