Today I am truly thankful for my God, my family, my friends, my home, and all the rest of the usual things that people are thankful for.
But the truth is, today specifically I am most thankful for kindness. The kindness shown by others, and the fact that we are able to choose kindness, and in so choosing, are blessed beyond measure.
As my parents are away this Thanksgiving (and the rest of my family is in Canada and celebrated last month) I was going to be alone for Thanksgiving. I probably would have spent it with the folks at BBC while eating jam on toast. But instead I got an invite to dinner from some folks at the church I just started attending. Without hesitation or question, they showed me the kindness of inviting me to spend time with their family on this day that is usually all about family. And that's just it, they see me as family.
Kindness tends to do that. It transforms a stranger into a friend. And it doesn't have to be a big show of anything; it's just simple, quiet kindness. But it moves me beyond what I can express. And I'm grateful.
I hope and pray that each and every one of you will reach out to someone who is alone this Thanksgiving. Even if it's just a kind word or gesture, a small gift, or an invite to a family dinner, make someone who is alone feel loved. It is worth more than anything in the world. And I trust that when the time comes, I will open my home to someone in need.
Matthew 25:35-40
"for I was hungry and you gave Me food; I was thirsty and you gave Me drink; I was a stranger and you took Me in...assuredly, I say to you, inasmuch as you did it to one of the least of these My brethren, you did it to Me."
Thursday, November 22, 2012
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
Oh, for the love of watermelon
Over the years, I've noticed how in any debate between two or more individuals, people often perceive differences in opinion as purposeful personal offences. The Democrat finds the Republican offensive, simply because he's a Republican, and vice versa. Or the Baptist finds the Pentecostal offensive, and vice versa, and so on and so forth.
So I shouldn't be surprised that those who love watermelons find me incredibly offensive. I just hate watermelons. And I am always met with the same reaction: "You don't like watermelons? What is wrong with you?!"
But what is it about watermelons that draws out such powerful emotions, that makes people so defensive? I've never heard anyone defend an apple with the same zeal, or a banana or a strawberry, or any other kind of fruit, for that matter. Watermelon-lovers just seem incredibly passionate about watermelons, and they all seem to believe that everyone should love watermelons with the same intense loyalty. It never occurs to them that anyone would not love watermelons. They go through life believing that they live in a perfect world in which everyone understands that watermelons are wonderful, until one day someone just slaps them in the face for no reason.
I don't suppose I'll ever understand. It's a melon thing, I guess.
Note: similarities have been found between the watermelon-lover and the salmon-lover. Watermelon-lovers are simply more common, but salmon-lovers seem to possess the same propensity for vehement defenses.
So I shouldn't be surprised that those who love watermelons find me incredibly offensive. I just hate watermelons. And I am always met with the same reaction: "You don't like watermelons? What is wrong with you?!"
But what is it about watermelons that draws out such powerful emotions, that makes people so defensive? I've never heard anyone defend an apple with the same zeal, or a banana or a strawberry, or any other kind of fruit, for that matter. Watermelon-lovers just seem incredibly passionate about watermelons, and they all seem to believe that everyone should love watermelons with the same intense loyalty. It never occurs to them that anyone would not love watermelons. They go through life believing that they live in a perfect world in which everyone understands that watermelons are wonderful, until one day someone just slaps them in the face for no reason.
I don't suppose I'll ever understand. It's a melon thing, I guess.
Note: similarities have been found between the watermelon-lover and the salmon-lover. Watermelon-lovers are simply more common, but salmon-lovers seem to possess the same propensity for vehement defenses.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
As We Delight
I have, in the past, written on the nature of suffering, my love of novels and how these two tie together. I think there are various forms of literary concessions. Some take the form of delicate necessity, others take the form of pure delight.
When I refer to suffering, I am speaking of both the emotional and the physical, however, there will be little distinction made here in any examples provided. Both can be acute and crippling. But at this moment my concern is for the depiction of suffering in a literary sense, or more so, the uses of language in describing it. What motivates that language, and to what end.
I previously referred to transcendence as it relates to suffering in the novel Island of the World by Michael D. O'Brien. The story takes place in the Balkans during WWII, and the main character suffers immensely throughout. More than once, he falls victim to unthinkable cruelty, knows love and loses love, touches faith but is too overwhelmed by his own agony to continue in his pursuit of God. And though I was often weeping at injustices or enraged at atrocities, I found myself continuously hoping that the hero would find peace in the end, that God's redemptive power would prevail. I wasn't disappointed. The author never intended to leave the reader feeling empty, devoid of any emotion but a weak indignation at being led by false hope or to a sappy ending; rather, he intended to depict delicately and eloquently the true nature of suffering in order for the reader to, at the end of the novel, feel the full impact of God's grace and mercy in the midst of sorrow.
Then there is another kind of literature. I was recently enamored with the series A Song of Ice and Fire by George R. R. Martin. I've always loved fantasy writing, but the fact that this was a type of fantasy series made for adults that focused on the very real human condition in the midst of a fascinating other world and time, made it that much more appealing. It didn't, however, take long for me to realize that the literature lacked any sense of morality, but I was so engrossed in the story that I couldn't stop reading, or so I told myself. Some days I would spend 5 or 6 hours immersed in the pages. But the further into the series I ventured, the more I realized that the heroes of the story were almost as morally repugnant as the villains. The line between good and evil was nearly invisible. But in the end, this wasn't what most disturbed me. I can't quite say when I realized it, but I began to sense that the author simply delighted in portraying each scenario in the foulest language, illustrating the most perverse human encounters with the most brutal violence imaginable. We tell ourselves that "for the sake of a good story" we'll read on. But one night as I was ready to open volume 5, I felt uneasy, almost physically ill. At first I wasn't sure why, but then I began to realize that what I was feeling was actual dread. It struck me that the emotional, mental and spiritual atmosphere that had been created by the novels themselves had begun to permeate every aspect of my life. I carried the book out of my room, and when I went back in empty handed, I felt relieved, at peace, almost joyous.
We are told to hate what is evil and cling to what is good. If a film or a novel cannot identify true evil, or if it delights in a hypocritical love, it is a danger. For as we delight, so shall we live.
James 4:5 Or do you think Scripture says without reason that He jealously longs for the spirit He has caused to dwell in us?
Colossians 3:1 Therefore if you have been raised up with Christ, keep seeking the things above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God.
When I refer to suffering, I am speaking of both the emotional and the physical, however, there will be little distinction made here in any examples provided. Both can be acute and crippling. But at this moment my concern is for the depiction of suffering in a literary sense, or more so, the uses of language in describing it. What motivates that language, and to what end.
I previously referred to transcendence as it relates to suffering in the novel Island of the World by Michael D. O'Brien. The story takes place in the Balkans during WWII, and the main character suffers immensely throughout. More than once, he falls victim to unthinkable cruelty, knows love and loses love, touches faith but is too overwhelmed by his own agony to continue in his pursuit of God. And though I was often weeping at injustices or enraged at atrocities, I found myself continuously hoping that the hero would find peace in the end, that God's redemptive power would prevail. I wasn't disappointed. The author never intended to leave the reader feeling empty, devoid of any emotion but a weak indignation at being led by false hope or to a sappy ending; rather, he intended to depict delicately and eloquently the true nature of suffering in order for the reader to, at the end of the novel, feel the full impact of God's grace and mercy in the midst of sorrow.
Then there is another kind of literature. I was recently enamored with the series A Song of Ice and Fire by George R. R. Martin. I've always loved fantasy writing, but the fact that this was a type of fantasy series made for adults that focused on the very real human condition in the midst of a fascinating other world and time, made it that much more appealing. It didn't, however, take long for me to realize that the literature lacked any sense of morality, but I was so engrossed in the story that I couldn't stop reading, or so I told myself. Some days I would spend 5 or 6 hours immersed in the pages. But the further into the series I ventured, the more I realized that the heroes of the story were almost as morally repugnant as the villains. The line between good and evil was nearly invisible. But in the end, this wasn't what most disturbed me. I can't quite say when I realized it, but I began to sense that the author simply delighted in portraying each scenario in the foulest language, illustrating the most perverse human encounters with the most brutal violence imaginable. We tell ourselves that "for the sake of a good story" we'll read on. But one night as I was ready to open volume 5, I felt uneasy, almost physically ill. At first I wasn't sure why, but then I began to realize that what I was feeling was actual dread. It struck me that the emotional, mental and spiritual atmosphere that had been created by the novels themselves had begun to permeate every aspect of my life. I carried the book out of my room, and when I went back in empty handed, I felt relieved, at peace, almost joyous.
We are told to hate what is evil and cling to what is good. If a film or a novel cannot identify true evil, or if it delights in a hypocritical love, it is a danger. For as we delight, so shall we live.
James 4:5 Or do you think Scripture says without reason that He jealously longs for the spirit He has caused to dwell in us?
Colossians 3:1 Therefore if you have been raised up with Christ, keep seeking the things above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God.
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Dark Representation
It's SO late. So late, and I am exhausted. But I've been working on a paper, in fact my last for university, ever, and it's led to a million other questions that I can only raise here. And maybe, just maybe, this little brainstorming session will help me get to the end of my paper satisfactorily.
This is a question of representation. The course is the Anthropology of Africa, and it's fascinating. Some topics have had me squirming in my seat, documentaries have had me crying, debates have had me heated, but all the while, the question has loomed: what comes to mind when you think of Africa, and what do you think Africans would like you to think of when you think of Africa?
Now, this is a multi-faceted question with a multi-faceted answer. Of the 196 independent countries in the world (though not all are recognized, particularly by the UN) 54 of those countries are part of Africa. I don't think people realize the magnitude of that ratio. Africa is huge, and its countries diverse. But for some reason, they are often lumped together to make up what is seen as a primitive, underdeveloped, war-torn region. That may be overstating it a bit, but in reality, very few Westerners are aware of the reality of Africa's diversity, and the tragedy that is our current perception of it. Consider these three countries: Egypt, Mozambique and South Africa. The elements of their geography, history, climate, their political systems, economic systems, culture systems, religious systems and a whole lot of other systems could not differ more from one another.
My paper is on the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) or just, Congo. I'm analyzing newspaper articles on this region and examining the language that is being used to describe current events, statistics and imagery, and trying to determine the common focus of newspaper articles on Africa in general. What I see continuously are death tolls, horror stories of gang rape and mass murder, genocide and warfare, economic and political systems disintegrating, and in general, death, destruction and hopelessness. What I want to suggest, is not to turn a blind eye to the reality of pain and suffering, but rather to point to another way of representing people. Finding a balance between this dark representation, and uncovering the stories underneath the stories. Seeing a people, not just the people who have ceased to exist. As anthropologists, we're constantly told to at least make an attempt at objectivity, to peel through the layers of culture and provide a "thick description." We're told to spend at least 6 months in a particular area in order to give an acceptable representation of a people and what is occurring in their day-to-day lives. I realize that there is a shortage of people who are willing to invest that kind of time and effort into such a profession. I realize that anthropology is not for everyone. And I don't want to criticize journalism as a profession, but what I see is people being flown into a crisis for a few days, a week perhaps, and taking a few snapshots of people dressed in ragged clothes, crying in the street, and saying "look at how miserable this nation is." What does this representation do to that particular group of people? Does it help them? Does this whole concept of "creating awareness" make us Westerners feel as though our sympathy is some sort of contribution? Does it make those subjects of our study, the individuals who are the focus of our awareness, feel better about what is going on around them? I do not want to suggest that we ignore the atrocities taking place around the word, I simply want to stress the importance of telling the other stories as well, the ones that are comprised of the living. The ones that paint a culture, a people, and not only after it has been decimated.
I want to know what the purpose of this dark description truly is. What the motivations are. And maybe after I've turned in my paper on Thursday, I'll have something that looks like part of an answer.
This is a question of representation. The course is the Anthropology of Africa, and it's fascinating. Some topics have had me squirming in my seat, documentaries have had me crying, debates have had me heated, but all the while, the question has loomed: what comes to mind when you think of Africa, and what do you think Africans would like you to think of when you think of Africa?
Now, this is a multi-faceted question with a multi-faceted answer. Of the 196 independent countries in the world (though not all are recognized, particularly by the UN) 54 of those countries are part of Africa. I don't think people realize the magnitude of that ratio. Africa is huge, and its countries diverse. But for some reason, they are often lumped together to make up what is seen as a primitive, underdeveloped, war-torn region. That may be overstating it a bit, but in reality, very few Westerners are aware of the reality of Africa's diversity, and the tragedy that is our current perception of it. Consider these three countries: Egypt, Mozambique and South Africa. The elements of their geography, history, climate, their political systems, economic systems, culture systems, religious systems and a whole lot of other systems could not differ more from one another.
My paper is on the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) or just, Congo. I'm analyzing newspaper articles on this region and examining the language that is being used to describe current events, statistics and imagery, and trying to determine the common focus of newspaper articles on Africa in general. What I see continuously are death tolls, horror stories of gang rape and mass murder, genocide and warfare, economic and political systems disintegrating, and in general, death, destruction and hopelessness. What I want to suggest, is not to turn a blind eye to the reality of pain and suffering, but rather to point to another way of representing people. Finding a balance between this dark representation, and uncovering the stories underneath the stories. Seeing a people, not just the people who have ceased to exist. As anthropologists, we're constantly told to at least make an attempt at objectivity, to peel through the layers of culture and provide a "thick description." We're told to spend at least 6 months in a particular area in order to give an acceptable representation of a people and what is occurring in their day-to-day lives. I realize that there is a shortage of people who are willing to invest that kind of time and effort into such a profession. I realize that anthropology is not for everyone. And I don't want to criticize journalism as a profession, but what I see is people being flown into a crisis for a few days, a week perhaps, and taking a few snapshots of people dressed in ragged clothes, crying in the street, and saying "look at how miserable this nation is." What does this representation do to that particular group of people? Does it help them? Does this whole concept of "creating awareness" make us Westerners feel as though our sympathy is some sort of contribution? Does it make those subjects of our study, the individuals who are the focus of our awareness, feel better about what is going on around them? I do not want to suggest that we ignore the atrocities taking place around the word, I simply want to stress the importance of telling the other stories as well, the ones that are comprised of the living. The ones that paint a culture, a people, and not only after it has been decimated.
I want to know what the purpose of this dark description truly is. What the motivations are. And maybe after I've turned in my paper on Thursday, I'll have something that looks like part of an answer.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Good Conversation
Me: I have a germ problem.
Dave: But didn't you just say you were attracted to a guy who had crumbs in his beard?
Me: Yeah but the crumbs didn't touch me!
Dave: Well, they might touch you if you play your cards right.
Rachel: Time travel is possible.
Me: Hahahahahaha.
Rachel: Laugh now, but don't expect a ride in my time machine.
Brian: Are you mad at me?
Me: Yes!
Brian: Why?
Me: Because you said I looked like a member of Led Zeppelin!
Brian: No I didn't!
Me: Yes you did!
Brian: No, no. I distinctly remember saying you looked like Peter Frampton.
Me: That's just as bad!
Brian: How can you say that? Peter Frampton is beautiful!
Me: Look at your beard!
Dad: I know, it's like when arm pit hair goes bad, does drugs, runs away from home and lives on a face.
Giulia: It's weird. With my feet, all of my little fingers are longer than my big one.
Me: Don't you mean toes?
Giulia: Yeah, so what about your feet? Are your little fingers longer?
Me: Toes, you mean.
Giulia: Yeah, so are your little fingers longer than the big one?
Me: Toes! Say toes. Just say it.
Giulia: Toes.
Me: So you were saying?
Giulia: Well your little fingers look shorter.
Me: What is going on?!
Giulia: I don't know!!
Giulia: I found out what the problem was!
Me: What?
Giulia: In Italian, we don't have the word "toes."
Me: What do you call them?
Giulia: Foot fingers!
Me: Oh my gosh.
Me: Dad, you're great.
Dad: I know that. Rebekah, don't waste my time telling me things I already know.
Rachel: I really just want my time machine right now.
Me: Then why don't you start building it?
Rachel: I can't! I have to wait for my future self to come back and show me how!
Me: I really hope I die peacefully in my sleep.
Dad: Really? I just hope you're with your loved ones when the tectonic plates flip and melt us all in molten lava.
Diane: Did you hear the news?
Me: What news?
Diane: They've killed Obama!
Me: WHAT?!
Diane: Osama! I meant Osama!
Rachel: Did you see "Inception"?
Me: Yes!
Rachel: Did you love it?
Me: Yes!!
Rachel: Did you love it better than "Shutter Island"?
Me: I loved it way more.
Rachel: Did you even like "Shutter Island"?
Me:........No.
Rachel: I just don't understand how the ancient Mayans could have ever condoned human sacrifice.
Nathan: I'd condone human sacrifice on one condition.
Rachel: What?
Nathan: I'm the one they're sacrificing to.
Rachel: I hate Toopy and Binou.
Me: Yeah, terrible.
Rachel: Like, why did they have to make Toopy gay?
Me: I don't know.
Rachel: I mean, that's fine and everything, but why make a kid's show about a flamboyant mouse who runs around pantless with his little boyfriend?
Dave: But didn't you just say you were attracted to a guy who had crumbs in his beard?
Me: Yeah but the crumbs didn't touch me!
Dave: Well, they might touch you if you play your cards right.
Rachel: Time travel is possible.
Me: Hahahahahaha.
Rachel: Laugh now, but don't expect a ride in my time machine.
Brian: Are you mad at me?
Me: Yes!
Brian: Why?
Me: Because you said I looked like a member of Led Zeppelin!
Brian: No I didn't!
Me: Yes you did!
Brian: No, no. I distinctly remember saying you looked like Peter Frampton.
Me: That's just as bad!
Brian: How can you say that? Peter Frampton is beautiful!
Me: Look at your beard!
Dad: I know, it's like when arm pit hair goes bad, does drugs, runs away from home and lives on a face.
Giulia: It's weird. With my feet, all of my little fingers are longer than my big one.
Me: Don't you mean toes?
Giulia: Yeah, so what about your feet? Are your little fingers longer?
Me: Toes, you mean.
Giulia: Yeah, so are your little fingers longer than the big one?
Me: Toes! Say toes. Just say it.
Giulia: Toes.
Me: So you were saying?
Giulia: Well your little fingers look shorter.
Me: What is going on?!
Giulia: I don't know!!
Giulia: I found out what the problem was!
Me: What?
Giulia: In Italian, we don't have the word "toes."
Me: What do you call them?
Giulia: Foot fingers!
Me: Oh my gosh.
Me: Dad, you're great.
Dad: I know that. Rebekah, don't waste my time telling me things I already know.
Rachel: I really just want my time machine right now.
Me: Then why don't you start building it?
Rachel: I can't! I have to wait for my future self to come back and show me how!
Me: I really hope I die peacefully in my sleep.
Dad: Really? I just hope you're with your loved ones when the tectonic plates flip and melt us all in molten lava.
Diane: Did you hear the news?
Me: What news?
Diane: They've killed Obama!
Me: WHAT?!
Diane: Osama! I meant Osama!
Rachel: Did you see "Inception"?
Me: Yes!
Rachel: Did you love it?
Me: Yes!!
Rachel: Did you love it better than "Shutter Island"?
Me: I loved it way more.
Rachel: Did you even like "Shutter Island"?
Me:........No.
Rachel: I just don't understand how the ancient Mayans could have ever condoned human sacrifice.
Nathan: I'd condone human sacrifice on one condition.
Rachel: What?
Nathan: I'm the one they're sacrificing to.
Rachel: I hate Toopy and Binou.
Me: Yeah, terrible.
Rachel: Like, why did they have to make Toopy gay?
Me: I don't know.
Rachel: I mean, that's fine and everything, but why make a kid's show about a flamboyant mouse who runs around pantless with his little boyfriend?
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
New
I am amazed at the perspective we gain when we are graced with the presence of new life. My sister's first arrived on his due date, perfectly formed. Every eyelash was in place. It makes you realize that from the point of conception to the point of birth, microscopic changes are occurring inside a woman to form a human being with a personality, a soul.
One of the moments that will go down in my personal history books is lying on a king sized bed with my sister and her son. I laid him on the covers, swaddled in his blue blanket, and I lay next to him with my arms around him smelling his wonderful, soft head. Some day he'll grow up and think I'm just his crazy aunt who just sits around laughing about nothing with his crazy mom. But I'll remember the moments I spent with him when he was too small to hold up his head. And I'll remember that I loved his entire being.
Often I slip into daydreams as though I was guided by nothing but the wind. I live in other worlds created by my own mind. I think, it's just imagination at work. I've spent many hours in that state. Living in those other worlds. And I don't think there's anything wrong with that. And I wouldn't dare ask anyone to give up their daydreams. But when I hold this baby and look into his tiny face, I feel the power of the present so strongly that there is no mistaking that it is an ordained, perfect moment in which innocence and love exist in the purest form. No thoughts exist but quiet, undisturbed thoughts of life.
One of the moments that will go down in my personal history books is lying on a king sized bed with my sister and her son. I laid him on the covers, swaddled in his blue blanket, and I lay next to him with my arms around him smelling his wonderful, soft head. Some day he'll grow up and think I'm just his crazy aunt who just sits around laughing about nothing with his crazy mom. But I'll remember the moments I spent with him when he was too small to hold up his head. And I'll remember that I loved his entire being.
Often I slip into daydreams as though I was guided by nothing but the wind. I live in other worlds created by my own mind. I think, it's just imagination at work. I've spent many hours in that state. Living in those other worlds. And I don't think there's anything wrong with that. And I wouldn't dare ask anyone to give up their daydreams. But when I hold this baby and look into his tiny face, I feel the power of the present so strongly that there is no mistaking that it is an ordained, perfect moment in which innocence and love exist in the purest form. No thoughts exist but quiet, undisturbed thoughts of life.
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