intramuralist ™ – Page 120 – A Respectful Dialogue of Current Events

08/19/2014

got sorrows?

Throat tight, fiercely pounding heart throbs in my ears. Eyes wet. And that smell. Why do hospitals always have that smell?

We walked silently to the elevator together after meeting with the doctor. I wasn’t sure I’d make it. My legs felt funny. Weak. Wobbly.

I literally didn’t know what to say. How does one support, encourage, cheer on, give hope to someone just handed a potential death sentence? How do I take the next breath, how do I find hope HERE?

God, where are You in this?

I took his hand. We made small talk about parking as we walked to the elevator. I wished I didn’t have to drive home. Alone.

I’d met him at the clinic for the appointment. We looked at the images together with the doctor. The nurses had too much compassion – the kind that said, “We’re so sorry you’ve been given this news.”

The last time a doctor looked at me like this was when I was told I’d lost the baby. The days are filled with minutia-sized moments where every thought is being taken captive, lest I give way completely to fear. I feel fear’s snarl, it’s teeth bared at my neck, saliva dripping, lip-licking tongue and hot breath. It threatens to devour me.

I can’t imagine what it must be like for my friend, the man I married. The days have become faith-testing moments, one right after another, only to be repeated, over and over again.

God, where are You in this? Help me see… I’m so blind and everything’s distorted through the tears.

…

So without going too much into the details, a birth defect we didn’t even know my husband had is rearing it’s ugly head, threatening his life. We don’t know much yet, but what we do know has us rattled.

We have asked God for a miracle, because the surgery is rather risky. “The riskiest surgery we do,” said the cardiologist. I’m trying not to be angry at him for that. Actually, I’m not angry at all; what I’m trying to not be is afraid. I’m trying to trust God with everything. Even this. Even though in the last few months, a friend of mine’s uncle died with the same condition. It was the first time I’d ever heard of it in my life. And now…

As we begin this medical journey, and I look at Dare 22 in the book, “The Respect Dare,” I fondly remember ironing all those shirts. Thanks to my own physical disability, I don’t iron much any more, and it’s usually the chore I hate most. But I’d iron every one of his shirts every single day from here to eternity if it would change the news we’ve been given. Did You hear that, God? Could we make that trade?

I know, I know better… but still. In the NOW I’m in, I’m grasping through tears at anything that might change this, wondering if I couldn’t please just wake up now and have it be a nightmare… And the tears just keep coming.

Food’s lost it’s flavor, and the world seems a bit gray, so I’m praying, “Where’s the joy I’m to have, even in this NOW that I’m in?” Is my faith so small? Maybe… Maybe not.

So today, when you get mad at your husband for leaving his socks on the floor, or you trip over his shoes, or he leaves a dish on the counter, be thankful he’s even there to do that. Maybe take a moment and ponder what it might be like if he wasn’t.

And if you think of it, please join us in praying for a miracle for my husband. For complete, miraculous healing without surgery. And if God says, “No,” please pray for us as we journey through the steps of learning, traveling to specialists, and making appointments. Pray we do what is right and do not give way to fear… And that we are both strong and courageous.

Respectfully…

Nina

08/16/201408/17/2014

grab the remote

For my second ever guest post on the Intramuralist, I wish to explore the often over-looked values of television, a medium that receives a lot of bad press from those smug people who are oh-so sneaky by saying they “don’t own a television” (like we don’t know what Netflix and Hulu are). We all know of the dangers of TV, that it makes kids fat and promotes immorality and will make you go blind if you sit too close (just one of those things your grandma tells you that you believe before realizing it’s crap). We all know TV is everywhere, that Americans watch too much of it, that it has a huge impact on society/culture/the universe, and that it is linked to the rise in violence in teenagers, infidelity in adults, and swearing in infants. My response: whatever. Not that these points aren’t important, it’s just that every single thing on this earth can either be used destructively or beneficially (see money, sex, power, fame, sports, imagination, fire, pit bulls, kale), and people like to focus on the bad about TV and neglect the good. For the purpose of this very serious and academic article (/end sarcasm) I am going to focus primarily on how I have found TV to be a valuable tool for bettering your life — not that I won’t throw in something political every now and then.

Let’s start with a little case study of my own life, because what reader doesn’t like a long personal history of the writer in the middle of an article? I’ve had my bout with health problems the past couple years. When I spent last summer stuck in bed, many people asked me if I was spending my time reading loads of great books. People who asked this question have an idyllic view of what pain is like (a view I still adopt now when thinking of my plans for future flare-ups). It doesn’t mean you get to spend the day curled up with a good book; it means you’re laying in bed trying to find the least uncomfortable position, counting down until the next dose of pain killers, and reminding yourself to stop grinding your teeth. I had already spent many days like this when my internship-less, job-less, plan-less summer began. Without even knowing the medical use of distraction for non-chemical pain management (a phrase I recently learned in summer school — huzzah! knowledge!), I discovered TV: a way I could almost escape the throbbing and burning and the giant elephant sitting on my chest… a way I could still sort of experience a “normal life” (i.e.: what I called anything that wasn’t spending a few months of the “best years of my life” in bed). I could watch relationships, adventures, and life unfold for fictional characters that couldn’t judge me for my back, elbow, and wrist braces, or fear me like I’m going to infest them with a brain-eating parasite. I didn’t have to put effort into conversation or hide my pain or even wear a bra, but I could still observe human interactions (or actors’ interpretations of writers’ imaginings of human interactions, which is probably more realistic than reality TV depicting strangers trying to survive together in the wilderness without supplies or clothes — aka reality TV). But most of all: TV can be downright funny. There is no better painkiller than watching absurd people do and say absurd things.

Besides its medicinal purposes, television has another power that is largely overlooked by its naysayers: it brings people together. I noticed this phenomenon in my own family and how we spend the precious time when we’re all together. When all of my siblings reconvene at my parents house after a few months of not seeing one another, on our first evening together there are two things that are bound to happen: we eat a delicious meal together, and we either talk about or watch TV together. Why would a family waste precious together time that happens only a few times a year on watching TV? To my family, watching TV is pretty recreational. We don’t just stare at the screen, we interact with each other and the characters by laughing together, repeating the funny lines during commercial breaks, and discussing who will be kicked off this episode of “Master Chef” (usually determined by how little drama the person adds to the show, how much they were featured in the episode compared to previous episodes, and the quality of the food which we deduce by how much we like them as a human being). Weeks after a night together, few families still remember and laugh about their game of Monopoly, but we still laugh at what we saw together on TV. We have all heard that TV can tear people apart as it replaces communication and relationships, but it seems like we have fostered our familial bond through our common love for a few TV shows — we randomly text each other funny quotes that often open communication when we’re hundreds of miles apart. My older sister and I even have an ongoing “Dick Van Dyke Show” trivia game that goes back years (bet you didn’t know one of the show’s few inconsistencies is Laura having two maiden names). I will simply text her a question that I come up with, and if she cannot answer it, I win. What other family is as cool as that?

For me, TV isn’t a mindless way to escape my problems and waste away my life. It’s my drug of choice, a tool I use to stay connected with the people I love the most, and a way to explore new ideas and opinions that I disagree with or haven’t thought about. While TV is often unrealistic and is indeed only a group of writers’ thoughts, it can still show you that maybe you don’t have it all figured out. NBC’s drama “Parenthood” brings up many difficult topics in a way that makes you think, teaches you empathy for the struggling characters, and demonstrates that maybe the hardest issues are more than a black and white “anti” or “pro.” What makes USA’s “Psych” interesting is not as much the running jokes or goofy characters, but the struggle of a man who never takes anything seriously as he confronts very serious topics. You laugh at Shawn and his lighthearted antics while together you confront heartbreak, risk-taking, sacrifice, love, friendship, and our own mortality. Shows like “Parenthood” and “Psych,” while one a drama and the other about as goofy as you can get, both lead the audience to think about important things that we must all confront.

If you look at the cover of almost any TV show ad, you always see the same thing: a group of people… people who have backstories, problems, struggles, and relationships just like you or me, and these are the foundation of any genre of show, movie, book, story, or real-life human interaction. Relationships are the heart of both TV and our lives. They are often messy, come with both struggle and laughter, and are the most relatable thing in any story because we all cherish them. Television shows capitalize on the fact that no two humans are alike by examining the clash of different people who either choose or are forced to go through life together, despite their many differences. “Community,” recently picked up by Yahoo as a web series, explores and pokes fun at the clashes of race, religion, orientation, class, and age through a randomly assembled study group by making you laugh as you cringe. The best part of the show is how it manages to do all of this while exploring what it means to be a classmate, a friend, and a fellow-human being (the mascot of the community college where the comedy takes place is fittingly a Human Being). [See video http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iE8meUf0qCM.]

TV is a tool that I use for many purposes. When my health gets worse, I use it to lower my pain with laughter and distraction. Other times I use it to connect with the people I love. It exposes me to new ideas, opening a door to study them more. But what draws everyone to it is what it says about relationships — very different individuals learning to protect and strengthen the bond between them. One of the best examples of this is the caricatures of a libertarian government employee and his pro-government second-in-command, Ron Swanson and Leslie Knope, respectively, and their friendship told on “Parks and Recreation.” Leslie and Ron are not friends because they are alike; in fact, they clash on almost every single issue and topic and attitude (except breakfast food — they both love breakfast food), but they maintain their strong friendship through mutual respect and admiration. I think this is what the Intramuralist is all about — respecting people and their opinions — not because you agree with them, but because they are human. TV is a fun activity that can entertain a bedridden, braless, teeth-grinding teenager, as well as a large group of people who may not have much in common. It allows people to come together in a way very few things can — when a goal is scored in the World Cup, a whole country jumps up and cheers. TV should never replace relationships, but it can be a tool to bring people together and remind us to have respect and love for others. I think TV can teach us to do what Jeff said in the clip from “Community” above: to extend the same compassion to one another that we give to sharks, pencils, and Ben Affleck. It’s easy to talk about the vices of television and see it as a mindless time waster, but it’s way more than that. It’s time for TV to be seen not as an evil but as a tool that can be used for many different goods. So throw away that book and grab the remote; it’s time to watch more TV.

Respectfully…

08/14/201408/14/2014

everyone needs a superhero

If you had told me thirty years ago that I would be following the heroic antics of Marvel superheroes in movie form, I would have laughed and walked away. The closest I ever got to comic books while growing up was a stack of Archie and Richie Rich back issues left behind in the mountain cabin we bought when I was little. I read them again and again until I was bored with them, and I never sought out any more comic books.

But having raised geeky kids, and lived with a geeky husband, the superhero and his super deeds have become regulars in our lives. Sitting through the latest Marvel super movie, the literary critic in me noticed once again that these stories usually run along a similar theme, and the characters in these movies (and perhaps in the comic books, though I haven’t opened one) follow similar archetypical patterns. The beauty of these patterns is that they reflect the deepest cries of the human heart. A biblical worldview perspective shows how universally appealing the superhero tale can be.

The story of the superhero follows a similar pattern, even though there are large variations from time to time.

The struggle between good and evil. The moral tale becomes very clear. Good and evil are clearly depicted. Even the colors, the setting, and sometimes the music that accompanies the good and the evil get treated very differently. Evil is dark and brooding; the lair of the evil ones is sinister, ugly, sometimes cold. Evil is depicted in such a way that the audience hates it, rejects it, finds it vile and wants it to lose. Evil, in short, is not pretty.

We identify with that theme, the great struggle of good over evil. It is one of the most universal, and one of the oldest, stories of all time. We want good to win. We recognize that good MUST win in order for us to survive. So good, as depicted in most superhero comics, does ultimately win. Our hearts are satisfied with that kind of an ending. It’s how we were wired.

Bystanders are innocent and get caught up in the moral struggle. We laughed until we hurt when we saw the crowds of people in Superman 1 and 2 (1978 and 1980) get in the way of the epic battle between Superman and General Zod (or whatever villain got in the way). The cheesy bystanders got tossed around; they cried for help in typical “woe is me” melodramatic fashion.

However, even this is part of the moral tale of good versus evil. The innocents need protecting by a powerful hero, and he does protect them, as promised! He keeps the bus from crashing to the ground; he prevents the mother’s baby carriage from getting crushed, and more. Again and again through superhero literature, we live out the need for someone powerful to save us because we are not strong enough to save ourselves.

The Superhero has incredible powers. He has huge muscles that seem barely contained by the clothes he wears. (In the case of the Incredible Hulk, his clothes cannot contain his overgrown muscles.) He is able to leap tall buildings in a single bound, spin a web to snare an enemy, throw his massive hammer over long distances to defeat a foe, to name a few superhuman skills.

He is a protector. He saves even those cheesy bystanders from the evil plans of the enemy.

The earliest superheroes were found in the Bible, in people like Samson, whose long hair gave him the power to pull an entire building down on his enemies. Some have argued that the gods and goddesses of Greek and Roman tales were also early types of superheroes. Sometimes that works, although those gods and goddesses were pretty petulant and self-serving most of the time. They only saved someone if it made themselves look good, or perhaps ticked off a rival god.

The Villain is dark and brooding and pure evil. His world is dark; his demeanor is just as dark and brooding as his lair. Loki, from the Thor movies, is the antithesis of Thor. To Thor’s strapping muscles and long golden locks, Loki has black hair, wears all black, is of normal height and build (scrawny in comparison). Loki is all bad, all the time, even if he pretends to help Thor. In short, you can depend on the stereotypes most of the time: evil is evil, and good is good, all the time.

Batman seems to break the stereotype in several ways, since he is dark and brooding and often skulks in the darkness to hunt down the evil. As we saw in The Dark Knight, however, no matter how dark Batman is, his foe is always darker and more sinister.

Though some of you may find fault with my overt generalizations, you will have to admit that the human longing for good to vanquish evil is nearly universal. We work out our own longing by cheering for the good, urging them on to fight the good fight.

Why do we create a superhero, and why does it appeal to us so much?

We recognize the truth about ourselves – that we are weak and vulnerable, and we need someone greater than us to win on our behalf. Or perhaps we even place ourselves in the position of the superhero and live out that epic battle in our minds. We are still longing for evil to be conquered.

We desperately need to feel as if there is a remedy. We realize, somewhere deep in our hearts, that we are not the superhero. We live in a sick world, and we long for a cure. In fact, if we were to take a careful look inside, we would realize our desperate need for a superhero because we are trapped by our own evil, not strong enough to save ourselves.

We recognize that in our desperate need, mere man cannot overcome the evil out there. On our own we are weaker than the evil one, and like the innocent bystander, we need an advocate, a hero–someone stronger than ourselves. That superhero–that savior – is the only one strong enough to save us.

We need someone with powers that exceed our own meager abilities. The cry for help comes from deep within our hearts, at the mercy of an overwhelming evil.

Human imagination draws upon the universal archetypes of the superhero and villain, and of the war between good and evil, in order to work out the battle that rages inside. The story is as old as time and as universal as all humankind (and the fables of gods and superheroes from many cultures around the world speaks to that universal theme). The human imagination replays, again and again, in its vast creativity, the epic struggle and the eventual victory of the superhero. The characters may shift and change, but their types remain essentially the same.

Though the authors may not have intended it to happen, I rejoice when I see these archetypes and themes. I see the universal story that the human heart depicts again and again, and it is overwhelming evidence of the human cry for a savior.

Respectfully…

08/12/2014

friends for whom i am an ally

What if…

My friend was born gifted artistically and relationally, different build and interests than his football trophy-winning brothers and father. He watched from the kitchen window, wanting to be invited into the brotherhood, but their limited scope of relating as males unintentionally and unfortunately created a rift, leaving him on the outside looking in. Instead of acknowledging his gifts as equally (potentially even more) valuable, masculine strengths in the world, there was a void of male affirmation and bonding. Finding girls easier to relate to, he was called sissy and other names at school. Then, eager to be accepted by an older boy, he found himself lured and molested. Gifted, alone, eager to fit in, rejected, finding solace in friends that were girls, molested… What if… he was given no choice to sort out those feelings as to what they may mean, but only told some of the names he was called were true? “You are gay.” “You were born that way. Accept it.”

Wait, rewind… how was he born? Slight of stature, sensitive relationally and talented artistically, gifted differently than any of the males in his family. Born into an environment with a limited perspective of what it means to be male, no one perceptive to affirm and encourage his gifts as wonderfully valuable in the world of men, calling him into manhood as a respected leader. His boyhood became shaped by the traumatic and confusing experience of being drawn instead into an abusive sexual experience by someone he’d hoped would be a true friend.

I would never want my friend to change his relational nature. His gifts are no less masculine in the arts as in athletics. He is a great husband, father, dance instructor, counselor, son, brother, friend. He has realized that his perceptions of himself and others formed not exclusively because of the way he was born, but like all of us, because of the perspectives and shaping of the relationship dynamics around him, including societal values, others’ imperfect attitudes toward him, and comparison of himself to others, starting in his family. Experiences (not all ideal) mixed with personal perceptions led to responses in his young life, creating and solidifying his view of self in comparison to other men, some of which were not worthy to emulate. Did that make him less of a man — or was there a bigger problem with our worldly perspective of manhood, and the labeling of those who are not within the popular machismo?

Wouldn’t the world be a better place if people had known to embrace and encourage the more sensitive, creative young men as great models of the measure of a man — and empowered those hearts with courage that they have just what it takes in unique gifts to be the virtuous men and leaders this world needs? Not “sissy”… not “go play with the girls because you don’t fit here”… Not to be used sexually by a bully.

Where did that all leave my friend in puberty? Quite confused. More bonded with the girls, still wanting, needing acceptance among his own gender, but labeled as feminized, and then, his strongest experience feeling most “accepted” by a male being a perpetrator’s seduction.

What if…

What goes into determining one is “gay”? Alongside the popular idea of “born that way,” (the ideology many want accepted as the foregone conclusion of every story), I’ve heard many personal stories of young men called names, labeled with “fag,” “sissy,” “girl,” etc., before they had any concept of sexuality… or “tomboy,” “butch,” “dike,” “lesbian,” toward precious, strong girls — many surviving childhood molestation, and/or more subtle exposure to cruelty or porn in the home, its very presence screaming underlying attitudes of what society accepts as the pinnacle pinup model of women — and the expectation of objectification and idolatry as a pleasurable pastime for men. Female friends of mine share these experiences from their formative years, mixed with broken relationships in homes, and unfortunate combinations of passive and harsh parents, and society says, “Born that way! Period.”

Is there not cause to speak of the need (& the lack) of protection of innocence and purity over the emotional, spiritual, and yes, even sexual development of children in our world? How do we respect the strength and value of little boys and girls? … of teens, young women, and men? Lacking protection, the cultural messages are loud and clear — rather than affirming the goodness of their gender, instead degrading and polluting it in so many ways. Degrading them. All of us! Would any argue that our culture is wounded and bleeding in many places in the area of sexuality?

The transition from childhood into what it means to be an adult in a highly sexualized culture is fraught with hazard. And what are we saying if we are allowing the stereotype and labeling to continue, that particularly more relationally sensitive, less athletic, or more artistically gifted males, or physically strong, outdoorsy girls are “born gay”? I realize that we’re not limiting “gayness” to those who are seen as having softer traits as boys or more athleticism in girls. But if we admit to having in society often correlated, even labeled those qualities as “born that way/gay,” are we potentially part of the development of that self-perception in some individuals? And, here’s a heated question: has society called “gay” what was not popularly accepted as healthy qualities for heterosexuality? Strength in femininity and sensitivity in males? (Are these questions too deep — too sensitive? I won’t be surprised if they hit some nerves!)

Are we really going to ignore all the factors that go into the development of sexuality — and those experiences that most certainly have a sway on the development of sexual feelings and gender identity? What if my friends who were labeled this way are given no help, no encouragement, no choice to look at the circumstances of environment, experiences, and nurture part of their sexual development, just because that’s the politically correct accepted belief right now? What if any sexual abuse and perversion toward gender development is ignored, all for the sake of “accept and embrace any feelings as meaning this different identity over here, and go proudly on!”? What if what’s “pop” at the moment is not the full picture? What if that does not touch the deepest heart issues at stake?

Would encouraging these friends to go explore sexual experiences of any kind help? Would that not be like telling someone with an open wound or a broken bone to go run and play, ignoring their need for care and attention to prevent further pain and danger of infection — or for bones to be set to heal back to full strength and function? To ignore the existence of factors other than genetic is not the full picture… it’s not love… and it’s not respecting the whole of the individual and choice.

My friends have come to see themselves as adequate men and women. They came to recognize their first sexual experiences as abusive and not defining. They are still overcoming perceptions thrust on them now of being “gay but in denial,” from those on one side of the political spectrum — and of “not trying harder to be feminine or masculine enough” (based on societal outward expectations) from some on the other extreme — instead of being looked upon in general as a good and accepted example of heterosexual masculinity or femininity, as the sensitively mannered male, and intelligent, athletic female. I believe these factors when they tell me, are worth considering.

What if…

Respectfully…

A Friend

08/10/201408/10/2014

what would God have me do?

As I look back on the 52 years I’ve been at my profession, I have tried to respond to life’s situations asking, “What would God have me do?” Sometimes that direction has come quickly. Sometimes it has taken longer.

One night I was called to a home where the husband had shot his wife and then himself, killing both. Their nine year old son was in the police squad when I arrived. My direction was to search with the boy for a relative, teacher, friend — anyone with whom he was familiar, who could be with him when I shared the news of what had happened in that house.

Early one evening I was called to a home where a domestic dispute was re-erupting. I went to the home, knocked on the door and heard, “Come in!” I entered and observed a man holding a gun on his wife and then stating to me, “As long as I’m going to shoot one I might as well shoot two.” The direction I felt at that moment was “talk fast.” And I did.

One day a man, separated from his wife, took his two children to his parent’s house and then went home and killed himself. I was asked to go with the children’s mother and two police officers to help put the children in the mother’s custody and then tell the parents what their son had done. We had a plan for approach. As soon as the grandmother saw her daughter-in-law at the door, everything disrupted. We all discarded the plan and took care of the children’s safety and informing the grandparents, as seemed best to do.

Then last year around Christmas, I was at the hospital when the oncologist said to me, “Your daughter has stage four cancer. She is the youngest patient I have ever had with this type of cancer. I usually find it in 65+ year old men, and I give them a year to live.” I didn’t have a plan for his one. “God, what would you have me do?” Nope, that wasn’t the first question that came. It was more like, “How can this be?” And of course, I didn’t believe it.

I had been with parents whose children had become seriously ill many times. I had been with families whose teen children and younger had lost their life to drugs, accidents, other illnesses. But this was my own daughter, my own flesh and blood, my own child — my goodness. “How can this be?”

When such news comes I know there is an emotional process. But I also know everyone proceeds through that process in their own individual way. I started with denial. My wife and I exchanged thoughts, emotions, fears, expressions of our faith and more, giving strength to each other every day. My extended family, the church and this community have been enormously supportive.

But do you know what has been the most helpful? It is that 34 year old daughter who has stage four cancer. She is absolutely amazing. She sees the good that God has brought forth in so many ways from this situation. She believes “In all things God works together for good with those who love Him.” And she does love Him. She has not missed her work teaching at school except for days I have taken her to the Iowa City Cancer Center for chemotherapy. She continues to give the children’s sermon in worship once a month. She gets her eight year old daughter to dance lessons and her six year old son to baseball. She has a setback for a few days following the chemo, but she endures it with an unbelievable attitude. Truly this young lady is an extraordinary inspiration to me, her mother, her family, her school, her church and this entire community.

This time when I asked, “What would God have me do?” He answered through Nicole.

Respectfully…

Bob

08/07/2014

forgiving self?

When I accepted the invitation to guest blog while a well deserved sabbatical is enjoyed by AR and her family, I once again procrastinated. Of course, I then beat myself up trying to force myself to figure out a topic on which to write. And once again, I became one of the last to turn in her work. I thought to myself, “I sure hope AR forgives me.” And knowing my sweet sister, AR, I am most positive she does. The word forgive got me thinking. I scrapped the beginnings of a post that I had struggled to write and started over.

I forgive you. I forgive you, but I won’t forget. Can you ever forgive me? Please forgive me. Father, please forgive me.

How many times have we heard or uttered one of those sentences? I looked up quotes with the word “forgive” in them, and of course, website after website had plenty to choose. Quotes from famous people, quotes that made sense, quotes that made no sense whatsoever… funny quotes, sad quotes… however, for today I want to focus on these words that I am sure each one of us has thought, said or heard more than once.

“I can’t forgive myself.”

Culture today perhaps teaches us that in order to move on with our lives we must forgive ourselves. Indeed a difficult task. After all, forgiveness is hard work. The historic scriptures are peppered with the words “forgive,” “forgiveness,” “forgiven”…

Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. Father, forgive them; they know not what they do.

Doing some very quick research, depending on the translation used, I noted that the word “forgive” in the bible is used at minimum 27 times, but never once does scripture call us to forgive ourselves. Believe me, I have looked! I have had many loving conversations gathered around a table, bibles open and not one of us could find a specific verse calling us to forgive ourselves. We are called to forgive and we are called to ask God for forgiveness. But we are not called to forgive ourselves. Forgiving our own sin is God’s work. If we forgive ourselves, does that truly free us? … or are we still in bondage to our wrongdoing? Do we have the power to pardon ourselves? I read a quote in a devotional that I keep in my bible: “As the author of Hebrews points out, if our forgiveness relies on our doing something, that forgiveness has no effect at all, outside of creating guilt.” And so the cycle continues. The enemy will continue to remind us that we are unforgivable if we cannot forgive ourselves, putting the focus on ourselves rather than the Forgiver.

The forgiveness of the cross eliminated the need for us to forgive ourselves from our wrongdoings. We can humbly go to God for the work that only God can do in our lives. So the next time you think or say “I cannot forgive myself for what I have done,” remember you do not need to take on such a lofty task. Go to the Forgiver, with a true repentant heart. He will forgive your sin and remember it no more.

Respectfully…

08/04/2014

under the knife

At the age of 56, I find myself in counseling. No addictions, no marriage crisis or nights filled with sleeplessness, yet here I am going every other week to someone I hope can extend a handhold up out of the ruts where I currently reside.

A couple of years ago my kids started not so casually mentioning the idea of me seeing someone for my extreme emotional reactions. My frequent hurt feelings and intense crying never seemed over the top to me, but then I was blinded by my oceanic need for affirmation. When I felt rejected by someone, mainly family members, I fell completely apart. Even though I have been in some very stretching accountability relationships over the last 10 years and my personal awareness level is pretty high, I wasn’t able to identify this “growth area” (a nice way of saying weakness or fault).

The other thing that concerned my family was my physical fitness. My parents both led very sedentary lives, which affected their health in significant ways. Everyone wants a different outcome for me.

Like any good person in denial, I put off making that appointment for several years. But after going through two major surgeries to regain some physical health, it occurred to me that shoring up my emotional well being would be a good idea. I adopted a new mantra: “I want to finish this life well!”

So what does that look like?

I began to take inventory of my resentments. Who am I holding a grudge against and why? God showed up here in an unexpected way by prompting me to ask myself some very difficult questions, like:

“What was I getting out of holding on to this resentment?”

“What may I not be considering about this situation?”

“How did I want to experience judgment and forgiveness from others?”

My counselor added more questions to ponder…

“How was I nurtured as a young girl?”

“What triggers cause me to act like a hysterical child instead of responding as an adult?”

“Why am I so reactionary?”

Part of me feels really good about this process of discovery, but the other part of me says it’s too exhausting. I fight feeling defeated.

This lack of confidence carries over into my pursuit of fitness as well. I have a lot of weight to lose. How will I ever achieve this?

I need to envision myself differently. The invisible conversation bubble over my head says, “Busy pursuing fitness!” The other day I actually bought fitness wear. Getting back to the gym is next. It’s difficult to change the DNA of someone who loves reading, writing and knitting, but finishing well means adding movement and energy to my life.

“Wanna to go for a walk?”

Respectfully…

08/03/201408/03/2014

otherness

Father, Mother, and Me
Sister and Auntie say
All the people like us are We,
And every one else is They.

“We and They” by Rudyard Kipling

I’m on the train going back to Bandung after a day in Jakarta. It’s a nice train – nicer than Amtrak – with a comfortable seating, attentive stewards, and an air conditioner that would rival the blast freezer at any high end restaurant. Families sit and sit together, watching the bad television at the front end of the train, letting their kids run amok. There are a bunch of little kids, and as they run up and down the train – not too loud, oddly – they all stop and stare at me because I’m the only bule around.

It’s odd that primarily when I travel do I feel my otherness. People – mainly kids – peer around corners and over seats to get a glimpse of the lone white guy, as though they haven’t seen one before (and perhaps they haven’t). Usually my neighborhood places in Bandung know me, so I don’t feel as though I stand out much there. It’s just when I travel that I really remember that I’m the only white guy, standing out from the crowd, garnering looks or a few surreptitious camera snaps from a Blackberry under someone’s arm.

The first time I experienced this was about a month after I moved to Indonesia, when I was on the island of Sulawesi (another post on this trip here). What I didn’t go into in the post I just mentioned was my first experience of the bule effect. I was with a friend bringing supplies to a village cut off by a landslide, and a helicopter was picking up boxes of noodles and water to aid the isolated area. I was one of two bule in the vicinity and I felt it. It was palpable. Literally every person in the surrounding area came to see the helicopter landing and taking off multiple times. It was an impressive sight. Apparently, so was I, because when the dust from the helicopter had cleared, the people had not left yet, and they were still snapping pictures with whatever device they had at hand – of me.

The military who came in to supervise the operation was starting to clear the people out when they noticed who they were taking pictures of, and they started to walk toward me. I was a little freaked out because I was not ready for armed soldiers striding in my direction, saying things in a language I did not yet understand.

Frozen, I just stood to see what what about to happen. They got to me and were also speaking quickly in Indonesian, and finally I picked out the words that I would come to associate with traveling in Indonesia: “Foto, Mister?”

With that, no less uncomfortable, but much less fearful, my newfound military friends proceeded to form a line at least thirty deep, each shaking my hand and putting an arm around my shoulder before having one of their compatriots snap a few quick pictures. I’m probably on the Facebook pages of half the military in Sulawesi now, all for the incredible achievement of being different.

It’s no longer an uncomfortable feeling because it is in no way malicious. The most it is is slightly intrusive when someone gawks for too long in an obvious way or asks to take a picture with me. I think that I haven’t done anything to deserve it – I’m certainly no Brad Pitt, and it seems to reinforce the tradition of idolizing foreigners. But at the same time, it’s flattering and kind, and often funny.

After two years, I can tell when they’re going to come over to ask for the picture. By now, I’m pretty good at sensing it. There’s a posse – usually girls – who slowly and not-so-nonchalantly makes its way toward me. They usually are whispering to one another, shooting furtive glances my way, each one coaxing the others to make the first step to asking for a picture. Or odder still, an “interview.”

The interview is an interesting phenomenon because it’s a completely legitimate tool that the universities use to have their students practice their English. They’ll send out groups to talk to unsuspecting bule sitting in coffee shops (usually grading or working on lesson plans, in my case), and they’ll descend on us – often with the same modus operandi as the picture seekers. These interviewers can be divided into two categories: real and fake. The legitimate ones have a set of questions printed on a piece of paper that they follow and on which they record my answers. The fakers all very clearly make it up as they go, writing nothing, but plowing ahead boldly anyway, and I don’t have the heart to completely shut them down. However, after a few minutes they run out of steam and fade out, while those with the questionnaires follow their script, and I’m usually happy to let them proceed – I am a teacher after all.

The questions, legitimate or otherwise, always follow the same script.

1. What is your name?
2. Where are you from? (About half the time, when I answer that I’m American, they’ll respond with a thumbs up and a hearty “Obama!”)
3. How long have you been in Indonesia?
4. What are you doing here? Student or teacher?

This is all standard fare, but then the inevitable final question:

5. What is the biggest difference between America and Indonesia?

My answer to that question: That question.

At no point in America – if you value your safety or dignity – would someone go up to another person and, based solely upon the premise of their otherness, begin interrogating that person. Certainly not, “Hey, you’re Black/Asian/Hispanic/Insert Ethnicity Here: Answer my questions!” Your answer might come in the form of a punch in the nose.

We’re perfectly accustomed to our heterogeneous lives. Differences are a part of our DNA in the United States – obviously there are those who feel differently, who harbor a deep seated racism. But, walk through any supermarket, not to mention a Whole Foods or something like Jungle Jim’s (a regional tourist destination in the Midwest), and you’ll see evidence that we like difference. Everything we have and everything we are came from another place.

The situation in which I often find myself simply speaks to the homogeneity paradox of Indonesia. At least, in terms of Asian to non-Asian. This is actually a hugely diverse nation. With countless tribal groups (of which I’ve only encountered a scant few), and a large, fairly dominant (in terms of economics) Chinese population, there is nothing but diversity in Indonesia. They have an aspect of their constitution that says, Bhinneka Tunggal Ika, similar to our E Pluribus Unum. However, here there is a minuscule minority of caucasians. Hence, the stares, pictures, and other efforts to single us out. Once I was walking by a school while students were eating lunch, and a group of ten high schoolers ran to the fence and clung to it, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, watching me walk by. I’m not narcissistic, either. I was the only person within sight walking down the road near my house. It’s just an odd fact of life.

I’m not annoyed by it, unless I am actually trying to get work done at the coffee shop, and even then I tell the interviewers that I only have a few minutes to spare and they readily oblige. I worry at times that these moments reinforce the decades – centuries even – old perception of westerners as better or more important than Indonesians, a thought process instilled by the Dutch during their occupation. This imperialistic holdover bothers me. Edward Said would have found some irony, however, as generally he talked about Otherness in context of those in Power marginalizing those without it by thinking of them as set apart and below themselves. The stereotype that stems from the colonial period is that of the European superiority, infused in the culture on many levels. And yet, I am a schoolteacher in Asia who is singled out by those around him, questioned and viewed as exotic. Oh, how the tables have turned, Mr. Said.

And then other times I think that it’s just because I represent a culture that (for better or worse) they’re focused on, through movies and music. They rarely see white people outside of that context, and so they take the opportunity as some would when they see someone famous, because it’s simply outside the realm of normality. So maybe it isn’t so different from Said’s premise, after all.

But most often it’s just the picture. We all smile awkwardly – which everyone knows it is – and take the picture(s). About half the time the whole group takes the picture together, and the rest of the time is a long series of one at a time pictures, just me and a long string of girls. It’s weirder when there’s the random couple of guys in the midst of the girls, because let’s face it: I’d rather have pictures with girls I don’t know than guys.

I hope that when they meet me they realize that there’s nothing special or picture worthy about me. I’m just different, and my kind of different is simply in the form of my skin. Regardless, I’ll still be there, sitting at the coffee shop, probably grading or writing lesson plans, and I’m happy to talk for awhile, though it will be less illuminating than they think.

Respectfully…

Tyler

07/31/201407/31/2014

the impact of personalized news sources

One of the things I enjoy about living in 21st century America where we have relative economic prosperity and technological innovation are all the choices available to me.

When I was a kid, we’d go to McDonald’s, and I could choose between the Big Mac, the Quarter Pounder, and the Filet-O-Fish. That was it. Today my options at the Golden Arches include hamburgers with all sorts of toppings such as bacon habanero ranch, chicken (grilled, crispy, or even nuggets), a McRib, wraps, salads, yogurt, not to mention multiple latte and smoothie flavors.

Of course, Mickey D’s isn’t the only fast food restaurant in town any more, and now I can go to Subway, Qdoba, Jack-in-the-Box, Jimmy John’s, Chick-fil-A, Culver’s, Five Guys, Noodles & Company, or Rally’s, none of which were around when I was young.

Henry Ford famously said you can have any color Model T you want, as long as it’s black. Today, your local car dealer can offer you shades of Smoky Topaz, Techno Pink, Lemonade Yellow, or Jalapeno Green. (I did not make any of those up!) There are plenty more product examples I could provide, but you get the picture.

Where I am going with this is that as I was growing up, our news came primarily from either ABC, CBS, or NBC, period. Now there’s Fox, CNN, and MSNBC on cable TV, plus a plethora of Internet sites too many to list. Overall, I think having more choices is better, but in this instance there is a downside.

Because these multiple news sources have a smaller share of the overall market than the big three networks from forty years ago, each of them are able to tailor their news toward the preferences of their audience. Even if they’re not editorializing, opinions still come out in how stories are presented. Further bias is demonstrated through what current events are covered (as well as what events are not covered).

Someone who gets their news from the Drudge Report, Breitbart, and the Gateway Pundit will get a totally different view of the world from their neighbor who frequents the Huffington Post, Salon, and Daily Kos. Those two people could check the news the same morning and end up thinking very different things happened the day before.

I consider myself a political junkie; however, I no longer enjoy engaging in political debates. So often when I talk with someone from the opposite side of the ideological spectrum, we just end up shouting past each other. It’s fun and intellectually stimulating to explore differing philosophies and understand why others come to opposing conclusions. It’s boring and uninteresting argue about what the facts are, and that’s what our political discourse seems to amount to today.

This situation isn’t going to reverse course anytime soon. In fact I would predict even more customization of our news. What’s to stop right-leaning news sources from dividing into (for lack of a better term) Tea Party and Establishment news channels? The left might separate into liberal and full-fledged progressive information sites.

Andy Warhol said that in the future, everyone will be famous for fifteen minutes. I say, in the future, everyone will have their own personal news source. And it won’t be pretty.

Respectfully…

Pete

07/29/2014

connected

So many issues we face in this modern world: I’ve heard it said recently that things aren’t really any worse than they’ve ever been; we just have the technology to know immediately when trouble arises. I don’t know if that’s true, but I do know that we are in a constant state of being connected. But the reality of that is, while the ability to obtain knowledge and communicate with people is always at our fingertips, we as a society as a whole are far less authentically connected than we have ever been.

The truth of the matter is, no matter how many Facebook friends, followers and likes you have on social media, nothing trumps authentic one-on-one communication. Nothing tops spending real time with people. Not only is it good for your soul, it teaches you about humanity. How to accept people for all their parts, to see the world through a different perspective, that everyone has something to contribute, how to have a debate when you don’t agree, see expression on their faces, passion in their voices. Know them, truly.

And you can’t get that from any device you can hold in your hand.

You have to have connection — real human connection. To make friends out of strangers. I was reminded of that last night at my son’s baseball banquet. Here was a group of 16 boys different ages and grades. Some have played together for years, some have for a few seasons, and some had never played together. But from the start, they have made an effort to get to know one another. Establish a bond. And when the captain, a senior, stood up to give his senior speech, he really made the point clear — you can’t be a team if you don’t have a connection and you can’t have that without spending time together. Baseball more than any sport is about chemistry. So, when the season started, when they were getting the cobwebs out of their batting mechanics, awakening the muscles used to field a ground ball or the throw from right field to third base, just as important, was building the bond of a team. And seeing those boys together last night, it was more than obvious that is what they are, and more than that, they are friends.

And as this season continues, and it has been a successful one on the field, I think the memories those boys will carry is the fun they had with each other off the field, that so contributed to the success they have had on the field. And they did it through cookouts, and bonfires. Through team lunches, and fishing excursions. They did it by getting to know each other, and the giving and earning of respect.

In person. Being present in the moments that they will have as memories for all their lives. They put down their phones and their video games. They didn’t really even post or tweet about any of it. They were too busy living it.

What an example for all of us. How many times a day do you look at your phone? When you are meeting a friend for lunch how many times do you check your phone? Send a text? Answer a call? What in your present are you missing by being so plugged in? Authentic one-on-one communication, it is the greatest way we have to really understand each other. Support each other; learn to respect each other’s differences.

So for me, I’m going to take a cue from my son, and his team. I am going to stop being tied to that tiny screen. Make some authentic plans with people I love and people I want to get to know better. Maybe if we all did, if we stopped working so hard at being connected, and made actual human connections, we’d all feel more a part of our communities, and society as a whole. A part of the team. And if I’ve learned anything this season: a well-connected team is one that wins. When that happens, it gives us all something to celebrate.

Respectfully…

Jules