That Band Aid Song Got It So Wrong and Yet Still So Right.

There's something wrong with the way we celebrate Christmas! I'm just not convinced we do it right. Thinking we're missing the point of Christmas is not a new or original idea. But every Christmas the conviction still alienates and overwhelms me. Yet again, I feel like Charlie Brown standing on stage asking, "Isn't there anyone who knows what Christmas is all about?" Every time the boxes come down from the attic and Christmas tunes dominate the airwaves, I get so depressed. I turn into this brooding poet version of the Grinch but without the he-even-carved-the-roast-beast ending. I rant: Christmas is too extravagant and excessive. We're missing the real meaning. (I think I run the risk of sounding like that overly dramatic Band Aid song about Africans crying and not even knowing it's Christmas Day. I could do an entire critique on this song, even though it's one of my favorites. But I won't. So please keep reading.)

Because this past year has been especially tumultuous, I really want something different for Christmas. This year, I've made a new commitment to joy. I'm not going to ignore the fact that our Christmases are too materialistic/consumeristic or that we are blinded by our own dancing Christmas lights so carefully adorning every (!) single (!) roof (!). But I am actively choosing to get down off my soapbox and embrace the joyous parts of Christmas.

Cue Linus: "Sure, Charlie Brown, I can tell you what Christmas is all about. Lights, please..."

My Gameplan of Joy

Much singing and dancing to Christmas songs : particularly "The Christmas Song" by The Raveonettes, "All I Want is Truth (For Christmas)" by The Mynabirds, and David Crowder Band's "Angels We Have Heard on High"

Fair trade and homemade gifts : It's unrealistic of me to expect people to stop giving gifts at Christmas. It's a tradition passed down from those wise men in the Bible. But why not give gifts that are responsible and beneficial to the people we never think about: the ones who actually produce them? Fair trade gifts are great and there are lots of fantastic fair trade companies. Even better than that, though, are gifts that actively help people rescued from slavery (often labor slavery). Some of my favorites: SariBari, Thistle Farms, Ten Thousand Villages, International Justice Mission.

Watching Elf at least five or six times, while quoting every line of the movie : "Do you want to get some food? You know, like the code? *wink*"

LoveGaveHope : LoveGave is a project the collective Church of Charleston adopted several years ago to give back to the community. This year we're camping out at three Wal-Marts for 58 straight hours to raise the money and supplies to demolish local orphanages' wishlists. This is my first ever LoveGave event, and I'm stoked. Check in at the LoveGaveHope website between Dec. 6th-8th to watch the live broadcast or to donate.

Enjoying (with eyes all aglow) the rainbow of lights and blow-up Santas on motorcycles : This will take many forms including but not limited to the Christmas tree lighting in Marion Square this Saturday, the annual boat parade (also Saturday), and the inevitable Christmas Eve drive through a Rock Hill neighborhood with my family.

Baking Christmas goodies and decorating gingerbread houses with my little sister : Prepare your hearts for an explosion of goopy frosting and sugary candies.

Drinking eggnog with friends : I've never tried it before and I'm lactose intolerant...so this is sure to be an adventure.

Being with my family : Seriously, I just want to be fully present in their lives for the few days I'm home. We'll go for wintery hikes, see The Hobbit and Les Miserables, drink hot tea together, etc.



(Ha. Bono has a mullet.)

That Band Aid song tells us that "the greatest gift they'll get this year is life." Let's be real. Life is the greatest gift we'll all get this year. That resonates a lot with me this Christmastide for various reasons. So for my own sake, I am going to enjoy life this Christmas! C'mon! Enjoy it with me! Why does it have to be complicated? It doesn't have to be an "either/or." I can be aware of the footprint Christmas leaves on the world, choosing to be a responsible consumer/celebrator, while also rejoicing in the fact that I have life and friends and family. There can be joy in the awareness.

Childhood in Light of Halloween

Halloween happens to be in my top 3 favorite holidays. On days like today, when the routine of life and the fluorescent lights of the library are determined to crush my spirit, I claim it as my very favorite (yes, above all the big ones: Christmas, Easter, the 4th of July, Arbor Day). To an extent, I may have inherited my enthusiasm for the creepiest of holidays from my younger sister, Victoria, who has gone all out for Halloween for as long as I can remember. It was only a matter of time, though, before my love of Edgar Allan Poe, Alfred Hitchcock, and Snickers caught up with me, too...yes, I love Halloween.

To celebrate this year, I dressed up as the mouse from If You Give a Mouse a Cookie, one of my favorite books from when I was a kid. I made my own ears, rocked a pair of overalls, drew on whiskers and a little nose, and stuck a cookie (made of paper) in my pocket. And true to character, all day long, I craved a glass of milk to go with my cookie. I went to class, work, my internship at Darkness to Light, and my ESL class dressed as a mouse...I had no shame. It was Halloween! I am proud to say I elicited several smiles as people saw me walking down the street and when I entered a room.

The grand finale of my day caught me off guard. I thought the festivities were long over, and I was ready to wipe the drawn-on eyeliner off my nose. I was in a deserted frozen yogurt shop where my roommate, Courtney, works, waiting patiently for her to finish closing. Unexpectedly, she turned the music up, and recognition rolled over me: "Shout" by Tears for Fears. It was a beckoning back to our "American Duos: Shawn as Curt Smith and Gus as Michael Jackson" costume from last year. We danced in the classic Shawn and Gus fashion. No idea what I'm talking about? Here's a video to catch you up:

Anyway, one of the main reasons I love Halloween is that it is a celebration of childhood. For adults, it is the only day in the year where it is acceptable to "play dress up" and eat absurd amounts of candy. For me, as a child, I definitely exercised these freedoms more than just on Halloween. Halloween was the pinnacle of piecing together fun costumes and sitting on the floor surrounding myself with discarded candy wrappers until my stomach was swollen with sugary bliss. Remember trading pieces of candy with your friends? Remember the disappointment of getting a box of raisins or peppermint? Remember cold Halloweens where you just ended up wearing a coat over your costume as you trick-or-treated? Remember suspending disbelief and being genuinely terrified by every elongated shadow, yet finding nothing but joy in the terror?

I'm thinking a lot about childhood these days and what it means to reclaim it. With my work at Darkness to Light, I've learned a lot about child sexual abuse and the damage it does not only to a person's childhood but also to their future. There's something really freeing about looking back at the happy moments of your childhood, reflecting on the innocence and the intensity coloring every experience. I want to be more childlike in my everyday...not in the sense that I am immature and irresponsible, but that I really dig my toes into the dirt without worrying about getting dirty. I am currently planning an event for the spring centered around reclaiming childhood through the lens of child abuse as part of the Bonner Leader Program's Engage and Empower week.

So do me a favor and start thinking about your childhood. What are your favorite memories? What did you like to do most of all? What did you dream of becoming when you grew up? Who were your best friends? What was your favorite food? What music did you dance around to? What were your most painful moments? How did they shape you?
Tell me...what do you want to reclaim about your childhood?

A Poem for Monday Morning (looking a little differently at God's love)

My Inheritance

You were there when I found you—

that dark, wet place in the earth.

Your skin purpling around one eye,

The blackened blood connecting

Paled lips with ringed nostril.

You were grabbing at your heart,

Bent over in pain like

palms in a hurricane.

There were murderous cuts on your wrists,

scaling your arms. Your neck

had been marked by a choking hand,

But your chest still moved so slightly.

I watched as you took in short breaths of air

Clotted by your own life flow.

Naked, you had been raped

by this world I placed you in.

I watched you try in vain

to slice apart the ribbons attached to your heart,

            But your life belongs to Me.

The earth must have been so cold

on your back, the wind blowing

goosebumps onto your exposed breasts.

Blood under your chipped nails.

My beautiful bride,

I scooped you up from the stain

of your own life and staggered

a moment under your burdened weight.

With a soft cloth and warm water,

I washed what I could

from your skin and kissed gently

pried open wounds

I couldn’t erase.

You were there when I found you.

But now you are here in My arms,

waking up to My warmth

which imbues you with color again.

I am astounded when you look up

into My eyes.

My bride, My breathtaking bride.

My soul proclaims colors and light

And the world is somehow transformed

Because your arms have wrapped themselves around

Me. In this moment, I am made complete.

I sacrificed my own son for you, and,

Stunning bride, my radiant bride,

You are worthy.

Be What You Should Be

Sometimes I do crazy things. Usually they don't fall into the typical reckless college student category, but I do crazy things nonetheless.

My dad used to tell me that I should ask God the hard questions. He said to do it boldly because God can handle my questions and because I'm likely not the first person asking them. Lately, I've been asking God a lot of questions, pushing at the sealed-up edges of what I "know," of what I've always just "known." The edges have been coming unsealed, and instead of finding answers, I've been finding more questions. One of my favorite authors, Donald Miller, tweeted the other day, "If you want answers, do math. If you want love or beauty or Jesus, dive into mystery." I don't want to do math, and so I suppose I shouldn't be surprised by the lack of answers. This is certainly not the first time I've looked to God in my forest of question marks and not discovered the finality of a period.

A couple weeks ago, I decided to petition God. This is where the story of crazy doings begins.

I stumbled over a couple verses in Lamentations I'd never noticed before:

So it is good to wait quietly for salvation from the LORD. And it is good for people to submit at an early age to the yoke of his discipline: Let them sit alone in silence beneath the LORD’s demands. Let them lie face down in the dust, for there may be hope at last. (Lamentations 3:26-29 NLT)

Maybe I took it a little too literally, but I decided to make my requests known to God and then to be silent before Him for an entire day. I waited quietly for the Lord's salvation. I fell into a state of mourning, which was appropriate since I was living out Lamentations. And for an entire day, I protested God for His answers and His salvation.

Did it work? Did I get the answers I sought? Yes and no...I laid down with my face in the dust of the earth both literally and metaphorically. And I waited for hope to begin at last. Indeed, it feels like hope is beginning again for the first time in months. The key word there is "beginning." It began with a day of mourning followed by a bookended day of redemption. My roommate and I woke up for a sunrise run to the Battery and Waterfront Park. We were so early we met only darkness and had to wait patiently on the pier overlooking the water for awhile before the morning began to roll back night's cover, the spangled stars disappearing gradually. From that moment until evening fell and found me at a Gungor concert, I, like the day, became so full of life.

The Gungor concert was too perfect for words. I love that Gungor boldly gives God a voice and that they sing so completely for Him. It was an experience, one that sent me out feeling more saved than when I arrived. And amidst all the familiar riffs, banjo patterns, and vocals that give lift to my heart, Michael Gungor stood on stage alone and sang a song I'd never heard before, "Song For My Family." As he sang, he proceeded to give voice to the storm of chaos in my heart. The song didn't give me answers, but it gave me hope.

This is a song for my family

Outside the walls of Sunday morning 

From some within.

This is a song to confess our sins,

Lay it all out, and try to begin again.

To hope again.

Please forgive our ignorance

In looking down on you

Please forgive our selfishness

For hiding in our pews while the world bleeds

While the world needs us to be what we should be 

This is a song for my family who 

Just can’t believe in the Jesus that you’ve seen 

On Sunday morning.

This is a song for the cynical saints.

The burned out and hopeless.

The ones that we’ve cast away.

I feel your pain.

Please forgive the wastefulness of all that we could be

But don’t forget, there’s more than this

Her beauty still exists

His bride is still alive

This is a song for my family 

Inside the walls of Sunday morning.

Be what you should be.

The Poet's Obligation

Poet's Obligation

By Pablo Neruda, translated by Alastair Reid

To whoever is not listening to the sea
this Friday morning, to whoever is cooped up

in house or office, factory or woman

or street or mine or harsh prison cell:

to him I come, and, without speaking or looking,

I arrive and open the door of his prison,

and a vibration starts up, vague and insistent,

a great fragment of thunder sets in motion

the rumble of the planet and the foam,

the raucous rivers of the ocean flood,

the star vibrates swiftly in its corona,

and the sea is beating, dying and continuing.

So, drawn on by my destiny,

I ceaselessly must listen to and keep

the sea's lamenting in my awareness,

I must feel the crash of the hard water

and gather it up in a perpetual cup

so that, wherever those in prison may be,

wherever they suffer the autumn's castigation,

I may be there with an errant wave,

I may move, passing through windows,

and hearing me, eyes will glance upward

saying "How can I reach the sea?"

And I shall broadcast, saying nothing,

the starry echoes of the wave,

a breaking up of foam and of quicksand,

a rustling of salt withdrawing,

the grey cry of sea-birds on the coast.

So, through me, freedom and the sea

will make their answer to the shuttered heart.

I think a lot about what it means to be a poet. Do I have a certain responsibility to myself, to others, to the strange, post-forbidden-fruit condition of humankind? Most of the time, I write for myself. This keeps me sane, keeps me actively engaging the world around me. Sometimes I share that with others, so they become part of my human experience. I want to write for bigger, more universal causes, though. The phrase I've latched onto is "Be a voice for the voiceless." To do that takes a boldness I haven't yet possessed, but I'm getting there.

This Neruda poem captures so beautifully the obligation I too feel as a writer and as an active citizen in the world. I love the union of freedom and the sea. My experiences in Charleston resonate strongly with that connection. I also love the poet as a vessel through which the imprisoned can find what they seek. 

What do I seek?

I seek the discernment to hear the voices that are silenced in the systems of a broken world.

I seek the wisdom to do those voices justice and create a forum where they would be heard.

I seek the boldness to tell their stories no matter how ugly, painful, unresolved, offensive they may be.

I seek the burden of birthing the stories of the silenced in the societies that silenced them.

I seek freedom for the sake of freedom : for myself, for others.

In all things, I seek grace to give me the hope to ask, "How can I reach the sea?"

If you speak Spanish, I implore you to read the original Spanish version of the poem. The sounds are magnificent and lost in translation: http://thepoeticquotidian.blogspot.com/2006/12/pablo-neruda-deber-del-poeta-poets.html

Peace or Passivity?

I used to blog. Then I went to Honduras, worked at a summer camp, and started my junior year of college. And here I am now.

September 21st: Today is the International Day of Peace as declared by the United Nations. I know this because one of my Bonner friends told me about it during freshman year, and rarely do I forget a date. I also got bombarded by people in Cougar Mall while walking home from my internship at Darkness to Light this afternoon:

Hey! Do you want a sucker? Do you want a sticker? We have free cookies! Don't forget today is International Peace Day!

I'm so glad they were more interested in offering me a prize than telling me about the International Day of Peace (yeah, sarcasm)...or perhaps they just thought I was more likely to stop and talk to them if they offered me a cookie or a "peace pop." Wrong. I kept walking.

Peace is a concept I've spent a lot of time thinking about. It started in the eighth grade when my friends and I decided it was cool to be a hippie. We were also really into the Beatles and making our own trendy buttons--original hipsters. At that point, I mainly associated peace with the antithesis of war. Peace is perpetually trapped in a binary relationship with war by our society. Now, I think it's a lot more than that.

I grew out of the hippie phase within a couple years but clung to my belief that war is wrong for much longer. That's a controversial belief, though. I had a lot of conversations with people much wiser than me who challenged my belief and forced me to consider the implications of my belief. Was I prepared to declare all war wrong? Even wars that were fought to end genocide, holocausts, mass suffering? Should/could Christians be involved in war? I was pointed toward St. Augustine and Aquinas's Just War Theory. I wrestled with mixed feelings about the armed forces. I did a lot of research. My opinion on the relationship between war, peace, and Christianity has become deeper and more complex...but that really isn't what I want to talk about right now.

No, my thoughts about peace of late have been on a much smaller scale. In Honduras, I participated in a peace march in a neighborhood in Tegucigalpa where gang and domestic violence are the norm. Child abuse is nothing new there, and guns are a routine safety precaution. Being part of the rally was chilling, incredible, and thought-provoking. I began to think about peace within communities and families instead of within nations. Maybe it's an easy way out because advocating for peace in the home and in communities is less controversial than protesting for peace on a national level (at least in the States). But if peace begins in the homes and moves out into the communities, who is to say that it won't then become more of a priority on a larger level, too? Besides, peace in the homes and neighborhoods feels more urgent to me. Those should be places of refuge...

This pushed me to think on an even smaller scale. The individual! Of course! Shouldn't peace begin with the individual? As I returned to the States with this incredible experience at the peace march in my back pocket and began working as a staffer at Camp Longridge, I began to process what it means to be peaceful at an individual level. How could I become a peaceful person? More importantly, how could I become a peacemaker? I saw very obvious answers to those questions while working with the kids at camp. There were moments when I had to intervene in conflicts (both physical and verbal). Now that I'm back in the real world, though, how does my life reflect my desire to be peaceful, to be a peacemaker?

So when the people with the free suckers and cookies yelled at me to remember Peace Day, this is what went through my mind: Scorn. Of course I remember the International Day of Peace. Of course I care. Of course I am seeking to live peacefully and advocate for peace in my daily life. Of course I'm not going to give up my fight for peace.

Wait. A fight for peace? Is that allowed? Can I fight for peace? If I don't, I'm being passive. And in my experience, passivity is one of the more dangerous sins. I guess what I've been getting at this whole time is that people often mistaken passivity for peace. Sitting idly by and choosing not to engage in violence does not make you peaceful; it makes you passive. If I were to go to Honduras and choose not to abuse a child or become part of a gang, I would be passive. But if I were to go to Honduras and choose to help rescue a child from abuse or speak against gang violence, I would be a peacemaker. I believe it's important for me to actively pursue peace in my life. I want to be able to have a spirit of peace so that my actions stem from that. I want to pursue peace in my friendships, in my family, in my community. I want to eradicate the violence that systematically finds its way into the institutions of my life...by fighting for peace.

What does it look like to fight for peace in all areas of my life? I am still not sure...but it's something I'm thinking about, particularly today.

So, happy International Day of Peace! I can't offer you a free cookie, but I hope I've offered you some things to think about...

The Best Hug Ever

Yesterday, my team made our first trip out to Casa Hogar. I nervously chewed on my lip for the entire 45 minute ride past wooden shacks that leaned in ways they were supposed to, past men riding horses, past views of the mountains cloaked in clouds that surpass all words. I think I was mostly nervous that the kids wouldn't remember me. When our busito finally approached the chapel at Casa Hogar, several kids were hurrying into the church wearing red in honor of Pentecost (the red represents the tongues of fire that settled on the believers when the Holy Spirit filled them in Acts 2). The chapel's bell rang out over the rocky terrain and signaled us to join the children's hustle. I probably should have been more astonished or emotional when I walked in the door of the chapel and saw all the kids from last summer gathered together. I wasn't. I calmly walked over to the group of little girls, with whom I spent a lot of time last year. It was touching to catch their eyes and have them smile at me in recognition. I almost instantly found myself trying to keep one of the girls, Yareli, from playing with her tambourine while Suzy was at the front of the chapel leading everyone in prayer. It was as though I'd never left. 

It wasn't until Suzy called everyone's attention to the North Americans randomly sitting among them that the gravity of returning to Casa Hogar hit me. And because God has a great sense of humor, it hit me via Fernando, one of the younger boys that I seemed to be most at odds with last year. He calmly walked over to me and gave me the best hug ever. Just the way his arms wrapped around me, refusing to let go for several minutes and without saying a word...that was the moment. 

I couldn't put my finger on it. All day long I tried to decipher why that moment was so instantaneously meaningful for me, why I thought I would cry and laugh all at once while sitting in that church service. I've since realized Fernando has become the face of why I want to spend the rest of my life serving God and people. His hug brought back all the memories from last summer of him acting out, taunting me, and leaving me in absolute exhaustion. I thought about all the prayers I'd said about him and for him. Everything came back in his hug. For me, it's not the people who are easy to love that make this life worthwhile. It's the challenging ones, the ones that make you want to pull out your hair one second and then are sweetly tugging at your hand the next. Fernando has become a representation of that for me. I don't think I can say he's fully healed or that my three weeks with him last summer helped him in any significant way. But the love and connection I feel with him because of our struggles together have helped me. They have scarred me and healed me. They have given me purpose.

I worry about Fernando. He comes from a background of neglect and abuse that is hard to recover from. I desperately want him to grow up feeling nothing but safety and love from here on out. I also worry about whether I'll even be able to make a difference in lives like his. No matter the outcomes, I am utterly thankful for the chance to be a small part of Fernando's life and to love him.

"Therefore, we who have fled to him for refuge can take new courage, for we can hold on to his promise with confidence. This confidence is like a strong and trustworthy anchor for our souls. It leads us through the curtain of heaven into God's inner sanctuary." Hebrews 6:18-19