Continuing the humility project

Summary of grad school so far: burnout happens.

I'm not quite at the point of being so busy that I want to tear my hair out, but I know my time is short when a novel I haven't read yet goes untouched for over two weeks, even though I want to read it. I've forgotten what it's like to be staring at words all day, so all I want to do after class is something that doesn't require me to think: like watch movies. Play the "Who do I know from high school who's getting married?" game. Play with my roommate's kitties. Anything but reading!

It's surprisingly difficult that the books I have to read for class are mostly all Bible commentaries...and then, of course, there's the Bible itself. Who would have thought that one day I'd be assigned Scripture readings for homework? I'm definitely not at Kent State anymore. I am "required" to read Scripture for reasons I'd normally never think to, like to make note of linguistic patterns and cultural nuances. It's tempting to mentally check that off my to-do list as killing two birds with one stone; got my homework and my "quality time" with God done for the day. But I know that's not how it works. Reading the Bible to learn is not always the same as reading it to get closer to Jesus. You'd think it's possible to do both, but not all the time.

My attempt to learn how to walk in humility has been...well, humbling. Most people here know me as Beth, and I don't feel as much pressure to stand out, because I'm not competing for anything or trying to impress anybody. I'm here to learn, and I'm here to start over. What's the point of starting over if you bring everything you're known for back home with you? I'm referring to the old me who had to prove she was worth something through her relationships, her accomplishments, and her "unique" testimony.

It's hard though, being in seminary, and listening to gentile professors talk about the Old Testament. I confess that I am a bit of a snob when it comes to hearing other Christians talk about what I always considered to be "my book." There's a self-righteous part of me that must resist the temptation to snicker when a classmate refers to "us" (everyone in a particular lecture) as being "grafted" into the Jewish family tree. It's difficult not to be that annoying person who raises her hand with a snotty-sounding "Excuuuuuse me" whenever someone butchers a Hebrew word.

Actually, just today, one professor asked the class "How many people learned about the Old Testament growing up?" I had to fight the urge to say: "How many people only had the Old Testament growing up?" But I didn't, because everyone has a class with that one person who always has something snarky to say, and I don't want that person to be me.

That's all a big part of my commitment to humility: not using my testimony as some kind of bragging right. Once I was done hiding from it, I made sure people knew about it in both campus ministries I've been a part of. Why? Because the assumption that I was raised in the church like "everybody else" seemed so dull to me. But I don't need that kind of attention here. I will share my testimony when it's relevant, not to "compete" with anyone.

For someone who's always wanted to be famous, though, it's easier said than done.

But that's why I'm here, isn't it? To learn. And not just academically :)

Author's note: Why I wrote a book about rape culture

This is the introduction to Book #2, Someone You Already Know, due this Fall :)

It’s been said that fiction contains a significant degree of autobiography. So, before you begin this book, you should know why I felt it necessary to write about sexual assault and rape.

      

When I was a sophomore in college, I met a girl I’ll call Megan. I met her through a guy who asked me out on a date – a date that crashed and burned when it became clear he wanted more to happen that night than dinner and a romantic comedy. Megan told me later on that this boy had assaulted her one night at a party; I refused to believe her. Why? Because she and this boy were part of a bigger circle of friends who ate lunch together daily, in the same booth, in the campus dining hall. At the time, I couldn’t fathom how or why she could stand to be around him if what she said was true. In my mind, she was not acting like I thought a “true victim” should.

     

In one act of terrible judgment, I told her what I thought of the situation. Needless to say, we are no longer friends. Two years later, after ending my own abusive relationship, I realized how wrong I was to judge her. The same accusations I made toward her – Why do you still hang out with him? Why haven’t you pressed charges? – were the same questions I would face from some of my own friends. It was then that I realized the dynamic of abusive relationships and sexual abuse, in general, is far more complex than we realize. Thus, the idea for this book was born.

      

This novel is, at its core, fiction. The characters are products of my imagination, but they are also composites based on the stories of real people. This is not a book written to entertain, rather to invoke serious questions and promote dialogue about why we hold on to misconceptions that further traumatize and alienate survivors of abuse. To set these important dialogues in motion, I’ve included a discussion guide in the back of this book.

      

Because sexual abuse is such a complex, personal topic, I understand that not everyone will agree with my conclusions. There may be some who hold on to their previously conceived notions of what is or is not considered abuse, and how a victim is “supposed” to act. That’s okay; what really matters is that we are willing to suspend our judgments long enough to give people a chance to be heard.

      

For all I know, acting like nothing had changed was Megan’s way of deflecting the severity of what had happened to her. Maybe she was afraid of not being believed, of putting her friends through the stress of having to choose sides. Maybe that boy threatened her with more violence if she told. All or none of these possibilities could be true; if not for Megan, then certainly for scores of other women. 

There are many things I could say about how to act (or how not to act) toward someone who has experienced abuse, but every person’s story is different, and every person will respond in his or her own way. One fact remains true: Rape and sexual assault are some of the most under-reported crimes in America, if not the world. Many perpetrators of these atrocities never see a day in court, or the inside of a prison cell. This is largely because shame and social stigmas prevent people from coming forward. Let’s do what we can to rid ourselves of bias and condemnation, so those who are suffering from abuse don’t have to suffer alone.