When not overrun with pictures of engagement rings, weddings, and new babies, my newsfeed is now a feeding frenzy for politics. I actually don't mind these posts as much as other people seem to; I'd much rather read an opinion about a current event than what someone had for lunch today, what they're doing tonight (unless I'm invited), or how much they loooooooove their boyfriend/girlfriend. Because current events are important.
I've held back posting my opinion about Chick-Fil-A supporting anti-gay organizations for two reasons: One, most of what I'd like to say has already been said...500 times. Two, I'm still figuring out where I stand as far the line between business and politics is concerned. On the one hand, part of me doesn't care what an employer believes, so long as he makes quality products. Then again, I'm not a fan of having my hard-earned dollars go toward a cause I don't believe in, like everyone else. As for Chick-Fil-A specifically, I've only eaten there once, and was not impressed. I'm trying to cut down on fast-food chicken.
What's been bothering me about the back-and-forth debates is not the stances people have, but the way they argue them. Naturally, people stand against gay marriage for religious reasons; people also favor gay marriage for religious reasons, too. I can't count the number of times I've seen a statement like this pop up over the last several days: "We need to stop judging people for who they love! Jesus preached tolerance and acceptance, not condemnation!" Cue 50+ "likes" and a handful of "Yeah, tell those conservative bigots where to go."
Winning an argument is never more important than trying to understand someone, but I'm having a hard time keeping my mouth shut when people put words in Jesus' mouth that he never actually said. What Bible are people reading where the words "tolerance" and "open-mindedness" are preached? The Jesus I've read about in the gospels had more, much more to say about conviction of sin and repentance than the fuzzy "love your neighbor" mantras people like to slap on bumper stickers and coffee mugs.
But what does it mean to "love" a neighbor? Or to "judge" them? It saddens me that people equate judgment with condemnation; we all make judgments, every day. There's "good judgment," like looking both ways before crossing the street, and "bad judgment," like choosing to drink and drive. Judgment helps us make choices; condemnation is deliberately putting someone down.
Love, on the other hand, is not allowing people to continue in their sin. Love is gently rebuking someone if they are struggling, and guiding them back to where they should be. This may not make sense to those in a secular world where morality is considered relative, but in Church World, we are ALL accountable to each other. The church misses the mark by not having the courage to get involved in the lives of its members. If that's too invasive for you, see Hebrews 10:24-25, or Proverbs 27:17.
I never understood why "tolerance" is such a virtue anyway. I tolerate it when someone is driving in front of me ten miles below the speed limit, or when the air conditioner breaks on a 90 degree day. I tolerate because I HAVE to. Why would we encourage that in our treatment of other human beings? When I think of "acceptance," I think of learning to deal with something, without complaining. Again, not a very loving or compassionate response. Doesn't sound at all like something Jesus would favor.
Sunday, July 29, 2012
Thursday, July 26, 2012
A confession from your friendly neighborhood rapist
The following post from STFU, Rape Culture! is perhaps one of the most disturbing things I've ever read. It's a very revealing look into the mind of what many of us would describe as a "typical" guy...one who also happens to be a serial abuser.
The sad truth is, he (I use the pronoun "he" in the general sense, not referring to a specific person) is most likely someone you've met before. Someone you might consider to be an all-around "nice guy." Experiences like his are the reason why rape and sexual assault are the most under-reported crimes in America, if not the whole world.
Not gonna lie: this is very disturbing stuff. If you can stomach a confession about how a man gets away with rape, I encourage you to read it, because it does well to explain why so many women are afraid to come forward. Here it is.
Done now? Disgusting, wasn't it? I for one had to hold back bile. But, a few thoughts:
I must say, this is a very brave confession, even though it's flawed (come on, the guy says he's only "somewhat remorseful"?? What the hell?). BUT, I will credit him with this: he's aware of the fact that he has committed rape. How many men who've done what he's done will call it for what it is? I think the majority would still consider themselves "good guys." They'd resort to blame games like "You know you wanted it," "You're so hot I can't keep my hands off you," and the like.
I'll even hazard a guess that there are guys out there who do those things, and legitimately don't know they are committing a crime. We are so deeply entrenched in a culture that puts pleasure on a pedestal, it's no wonder there are people who see coercion as just a means to a self-gratifying end, nothing more.
My next book is based on experiences like these. While fiction (in the sense that the characters have made-up names, but are composites of real people in real scenarios), I'm hoping it will resonate with the scores of women who have found themselves in similar situations, but don't know what to call them, or how to deal with them.
One of the take-home messages of the novel (and there are many) is that rape culture affects more people than you think; therefore, it's important to take seriously those who are brave enough to come forward about it. Don't second-guess them. Don't pepper them with personal questions. Refrain from hasty judgments like "Well why did you stay with him?" "Why didn't you just leave?" "Why haven't you called the cops?" You don't know what you yourself would do unless it's happened to you. Don't presume to know otherwise; you really don't. And even if you yourself have experienced something similar, your reaction to it will NOT be the same as another person's.
I plan on including a series of discussion questions in the back. Whether anyone looks at them or takes them seriously, who knows...but I will feel better as both an author and a future crisis center employee if I can leave the reader with something more valuable than just a story. I want people to read it and re-think the kind of jokes they tell, the behaviors they find acceptable, and what it really means to respect boundaries. It's a small step toward a day when confessions like the one above are read with the same amount of shock and disgust one would have if he confessed to kidnapping a stranger and raping her in an alley.
The sad truth is, he (I use the pronoun "he" in the general sense, not referring to a specific person) is most likely someone you've met before. Someone you might consider to be an all-around "nice guy." Experiences like his are the reason why rape and sexual assault are the most under-reported crimes in America, if not the whole world.
Not gonna lie: this is very disturbing stuff. If you can stomach a confession about how a man gets away with rape, I encourage you to read it, because it does well to explain why so many women are afraid to come forward. Here it is.
Done now? Disgusting, wasn't it? I for one had to hold back bile. But, a few thoughts:
I must say, this is a very brave confession, even though it's flawed (come on, the guy says he's only "somewhat remorseful"?? What the hell?). BUT, I will credit him with this: he's aware of the fact that he has committed rape. How many men who've done what he's done will call it for what it is? I think the majority would still consider themselves "good guys." They'd resort to blame games like "You know you wanted it," "You're so hot I can't keep my hands off you," and the like.
I'll even hazard a guess that there are guys out there who do those things, and legitimately don't know they are committing a crime. We are so deeply entrenched in a culture that puts pleasure on a pedestal, it's no wonder there are people who see coercion as just a means to a self-gratifying end, nothing more.
My next book is based on experiences like these. While fiction (in the sense that the characters have made-up names, but are composites of real people in real scenarios), I'm hoping it will resonate with the scores of women who have found themselves in similar situations, but don't know what to call them, or how to deal with them.
One of the take-home messages of the novel (and there are many) is that rape culture affects more people than you think; therefore, it's important to take seriously those who are brave enough to come forward about it. Don't second-guess them. Don't pepper them with personal questions. Refrain from hasty judgments like "Well why did you stay with him?" "Why didn't you just leave?" "Why haven't you called the cops?" You don't know what you yourself would do unless it's happened to you. Don't presume to know otherwise; you really don't. And even if you yourself have experienced something similar, your reaction to it will NOT be the same as another person's.
I plan on including a series of discussion questions in the back. Whether anyone looks at them or takes them seriously, who knows...but I will feel better as both an author and a future crisis center employee if I can leave the reader with something more valuable than just a story. I want people to read it and re-think the kind of jokes they tell, the behaviors they find acceptable, and what it really means to respect boundaries. It's a small step toward a day when confessions like the one above are read with the same amount of shock and disgust one would have if he confessed to kidnapping a stranger and raping her in an alley.
Sunday, July 22, 2012
Hate or mercy, revenge or justice
I couldn't help but think of Colorado as a place of grieving the first time I went there. It wasn't only me who had some issues to wrestle with last summer; it was Leadership Training, or "Lots of Trials" as my friend and pastor Chad calls it. Everyone who went was challenged by something. So I thought of Colorado as both a place of grief and healing. I did end up leaving a slightly healthier person than I was when I arrived, even if it was only by 1 percent. It was a hard but necessary summer that I don't think I could handle again. And now, what do you know, I'm going back in 3 weeks (3 weeks!!!) for the next four years. God must be up to something.
Now, as I think of all the chaos that Colorado has seen lately...first the legacy of the Columbine shootings (in the same town, Littleton, where I will make my new home), the wildfires, and now the shootings in the movie theater...good grief, pun intended. So I'm definitely not the only one who has grieved there.
Sometimes it feels like one person's crisis is another person's bad day, nothing more. If I am to be a chaplain, I'll need to get out of the habit of labeling tragedies; you can't measure grief and say which episodes of pain are more damaging than others. Speaking of my own experiences, I will always try and convince myself that things could be worse. I haven't been as much of an optimist lately as I used to be, but I do know that even when my heart was shattered, my family still loved me. My friends were still there for me. I had food to eat and clothes on my back. I was still blessed. Not every tragedy has ripple effects on a national or global scale: it's a whole new level of hell on earth, one I hope to never experience.
Ever since I heard that news, I've had so many thoughts tangling in my head. I realized that, if I were a chaplain, I'd so much prefer to work with living victims over dead ones, because the living ones have something to look forward to. Dead people obviously do not. You can reassure a living person that life is still worth living, that the story is still being written and that healing comes to those who trust that God never wastes anything, not even pain. But whether I am ministering to live victims or the families of dead ones, one thing remains true: that God is always good, even if man is not. We must not confuse the two.
And speaking of God being good, so was the talk given in church this morning, which really got me thinking...a man whose wallet was stolen in the Philippines confronted the thief and had the opportunity to decide his punishment. A former thief himself in his younger years, the man explained to the teenage pick-pocket that he was shown mercy at his age; now was the chance to do the same for someone else, as Jesus would have done. He could have ordered the teen's fingers to be cut off. Instead, the teen's "punishment" was to put the money he stole in the tithe bucket at the local church. The surrounding witnesses in court were so moved, many of them came to Christ.
Now that is something! I've always heard how grace and mercy change people, and can melt even the hardest of hearts. It makes me wonder what the real point of revenge is...even though it's something I still think about from time to time. It's tempting, because it's instantly gratifying to see someone who made you suffer, also suffer. But what is the lasting effect? That's something we don't always stop to consider.
I can only imagine how many people in Aurora, Colorado would love to take the shooter and deal him the same fate he put on their loved ones. It's a completely understandable human response; clearly, the man who acted with mercy toward the thief who stole his wallet was acting as an instrument of something bigger than himself. Because honestly, no one is that good. I can't think of anyone who would do something like that, completely of their own volition. Certainly not me.
If it were up to me, I'd want to see the person who made me suffer, or someone I love suffer, be punished. I'd want to make him pay. That's the kind of ungrateful wretch I am, and I'm starting to think that if every angry person had their opportunity for revenge, they wouldn't really be healed by it. For one thing, revenge doesn't undo the damage that's already been done. Secondly, you've probably heard the saying before: that refusing to forgive someone is like drinking poison while hoping the other person dies.
And we continue to wonder why the world is the way it is.
I think if everyone were to realize that we are sinners in the hands of a merciful God, the world would be a completely different place. If only we all could realize that we were made to reflect the image of someone so holy, so perfect, and every good thing we have on this earth is because of him. If only we could see that all of us are in need of mercy because we take those good things, and pervert them in ways they were not meant to be. We are all in debt. But we are all loved equally and extravagantly.
Now, as I think of all the chaos that Colorado has seen lately...first the legacy of the Columbine shootings (in the same town, Littleton, where I will make my new home), the wildfires, and now the shootings in the movie theater...good grief, pun intended. So I'm definitely not the only one who has grieved there.
Sometimes it feels like one person's crisis is another person's bad day, nothing more. If I am to be a chaplain, I'll need to get out of the habit of labeling tragedies; you can't measure grief and say which episodes of pain are more damaging than others. Speaking of my own experiences, I will always try and convince myself that things could be worse. I haven't been as much of an optimist lately as I used to be, but I do know that even when my heart was shattered, my family still loved me. My friends were still there for me. I had food to eat and clothes on my back. I was still blessed. Not every tragedy has ripple effects on a national or global scale: it's a whole new level of hell on earth, one I hope to never experience.
Ever since I heard that news, I've had so many thoughts tangling in my head. I realized that, if I were a chaplain, I'd so much prefer to work with living victims over dead ones, because the living ones have something to look forward to. Dead people obviously do not. You can reassure a living person that life is still worth living, that the story is still being written and that healing comes to those who trust that God never wastes anything, not even pain. But whether I am ministering to live victims or the families of dead ones, one thing remains true: that God is always good, even if man is not. We must not confuse the two.
And speaking of God being good, so was the talk given in church this morning, which really got me thinking...a man whose wallet was stolen in the Philippines confronted the thief and had the opportunity to decide his punishment. A former thief himself in his younger years, the man explained to the teenage pick-pocket that he was shown mercy at his age; now was the chance to do the same for someone else, as Jesus would have done. He could have ordered the teen's fingers to be cut off. Instead, the teen's "punishment" was to put the money he stole in the tithe bucket at the local church. The surrounding witnesses in court were so moved, many of them came to Christ.
Now that is something! I've always heard how grace and mercy change people, and can melt even the hardest of hearts. It makes me wonder what the real point of revenge is...even though it's something I still think about from time to time. It's tempting, because it's instantly gratifying to see someone who made you suffer, also suffer. But what is the lasting effect? That's something we don't always stop to consider.
I can only imagine how many people in Aurora, Colorado would love to take the shooter and deal him the same fate he put on their loved ones. It's a completely understandable human response; clearly, the man who acted with mercy toward the thief who stole his wallet was acting as an instrument of something bigger than himself. Because honestly, no one is that good. I can't think of anyone who would do something like that, completely of their own volition. Certainly not me.
If it were up to me, I'd want to see the person who made me suffer, or someone I love suffer, be punished. I'd want to make him pay. That's the kind of ungrateful wretch I am, and I'm starting to think that if every angry person had their opportunity for revenge, they wouldn't really be healed by it. For one thing, revenge doesn't undo the damage that's already been done. Secondly, you've probably heard the saying before: that refusing to forgive someone is like drinking poison while hoping the other person dies.
And we continue to wonder why the world is the way it is.
I think if everyone were to realize that we are sinners in the hands of a merciful God, the world would be a completely different place. If only we all could realize that we were made to reflect the image of someone so holy, so perfect, and every good thing we have on this earth is because of him. If only we could see that all of us are in need of mercy because we take those good things, and pervert them in ways they were not meant to be. We are all in debt. But we are all loved equally and extravagantly.
Monday, July 16, 2012
Memo to Daniel Tosh: Rape is nothing to joke about
By now, the episode of comedian Daniel Tosh making rape jokes has circulated the world 50 times over, and has drawn critiques from two different camps: the "it's just comedy, lighten up" camp, and the "some things should never be joked about ever" camp.
As for me, I never had a high opinion of the guy to begin with. I've learned to have very, very low expectations for 90% of the world's celebrities because, let's face it, most of them are good only for entertaining us. Few of them are lauded for making the world a better place. I've only watched half an episode of Tosh.0 because I was bored one evening and decided to flip some channels. I watched for a few minutes and thought "Okay, so he's just a low-grade, stereotypical frat boy humor kind of comedian." I never thought about the show again until an article featured on the Got Consent? Facebook page tipped me off.
Since then, I've been thinking about the nature of comedy itself: why do we tell oppressive jokes? A better question: why do we find oppressive jokes funny?
I'm a firm believer in being able to make fun of one's self. Sometimes, that includes poking fun at certain cultural and/or ethnic groups. In general, I don't see anything wrong with that (so long as the person making the joke actually belongs to said culture/ethnic group). I think there are tasteful ways to use humor to promote social examination of serious issues. That being said, there are some lines that should not be crossed when it comes to comedy. When the end result of a joke is further oppression, and further promotion of already existing stereotypes, the joke is no longer funny. It's cruel.
But before you go on to accuse me of stomping on the First Amendment, consider the effect that rape jokes, like those made by Daniel Tosh, have on a society that is already poisoned by rape culture. It's very similar to the reason it's generally frowned upon to yell "Fire!" in a crowded theater.
For those who haven't already heard, here is what happened: Tosh makes a series of generalizing comments about rape jokes being hilarious. A woman in the crowd is outraged, and calls him out in the middle of the show: "Actually, rape is never funny!" So Tosh fires back "Wouldn't it be hilarious if, like, five guys just raped her right now?" Maniacal laughter ensues. Needless to say, the woman who spoke up felt justifiably terrified.You may be thinking that the likelihood of a gang rape occurring in the middle of a comedy act is next to zero, but whether the threat of violence was real or not doesn't matter: the reality is, that comment was meant to "put her in her place," so to speak. And it did...the woman ran straight for the nearest exit.
Now, here are the reasons (I think) why such derogatory content is never, ever funny:
It completely trivializes a devastating, life-altering event. I don't see how making a joke about rape being hilarious is any different than saying lynch mobs or concentration camps are hilarious. This goes beyond hurting someone's feelings; it can trigger PTSD.
It promotes the stereotype that rape only happens to women. Just think for a moment what would have happened if it was a man who stood up to Tosh instead of a woman. I can only guess that there were plenty of people in the audience that night who thought "Of course a woman would find this offensive!" Something tells me that a man who stood up would have had his masculinity questioned. Because men never get assaulted (just ask Jerry Sandusky).
It could justify further violence. Just to be clear, if a woman was raped outside the set of Tosh.0, Daniel Tosh is not to be held liable. I know that words don't rape people. At the same time, a man with that kind of influence is not doing potential victims any favors by perpetuating a "She was asking for it" mentality. She interrupted a comedy show? She's "asking" to get raped. She wore a short skirt to a club? She clearly wants to get laid. She left her drink unattended? She should have known what was coming to her. There may not be direct causation between Tosh's jokes and men who go and commit rape, but there is definite correlation.
Those are just a handful of reasons why violence of any kind is completely inappropriate fodder for comedy. However, Daniel Tosh is far from being the only symptom of what is wrong with society's response to rape. Daniel Tosh made those jokes because he knew it's what his audience called for; he knew it would boost his ratings. We are the ones who created this culture where making fun of violence is okay.
So what are we going to do about it?
As for me, I never had a high opinion of the guy to begin with. I've learned to have very, very low expectations for 90% of the world's celebrities because, let's face it, most of them are good only for entertaining us. Few of them are lauded for making the world a better place. I've only watched half an episode of Tosh.0 because I was bored one evening and decided to flip some channels. I watched for a few minutes and thought "Okay, so he's just a low-grade, stereotypical frat boy humor kind of comedian." I never thought about the show again until an article featured on the Got Consent? Facebook page tipped me off.
Since then, I've been thinking about the nature of comedy itself: why do we tell oppressive jokes? A better question: why do we find oppressive jokes funny?
I'm a firm believer in being able to make fun of one's self. Sometimes, that includes poking fun at certain cultural and/or ethnic groups. In general, I don't see anything wrong with that (so long as the person making the joke actually belongs to said culture/ethnic group). I think there are tasteful ways to use humor to promote social examination of serious issues. That being said, there are some lines that should not be crossed when it comes to comedy. When the end result of a joke is further oppression, and further promotion of already existing stereotypes, the joke is no longer funny. It's cruel.
But before you go on to accuse me of stomping on the First Amendment, consider the effect that rape jokes, like those made by Daniel Tosh, have on a society that is already poisoned by rape culture. It's very similar to the reason it's generally frowned upon to yell "Fire!" in a crowded theater.
For those who haven't already heard, here is what happened: Tosh makes a series of generalizing comments about rape jokes being hilarious. A woman in the crowd is outraged, and calls him out in the middle of the show: "Actually, rape is never funny!" So Tosh fires back "Wouldn't it be hilarious if, like, five guys just raped her right now?" Maniacal laughter ensues. Needless to say, the woman who spoke up felt justifiably terrified.You may be thinking that the likelihood of a gang rape occurring in the middle of a comedy act is next to zero, but whether the threat of violence was real or not doesn't matter: the reality is, that comment was meant to "put her in her place," so to speak. And it did...the woman ran straight for the nearest exit.
Now, here are the reasons (I think) why such derogatory content is never, ever funny:
It completely trivializes a devastating, life-altering event. I don't see how making a joke about rape being hilarious is any different than saying lynch mobs or concentration camps are hilarious. This goes beyond hurting someone's feelings; it can trigger PTSD.
It promotes the stereotype that rape only happens to women. Just think for a moment what would have happened if it was a man who stood up to Tosh instead of a woman. I can only guess that there were plenty of people in the audience that night who thought "Of course a woman would find this offensive!" Something tells me that a man who stood up would have had his masculinity questioned. Because men never get assaulted (just ask Jerry Sandusky).
It could justify further violence. Just to be clear, if a woman was raped outside the set of Tosh.0, Daniel Tosh is not to be held liable. I know that words don't rape people. At the same time, a man with that kind of influence is not doing potential victims any favors by perpetuating a "She was asking for it" mentality. She interrupted a comedy show? She's "asking" to get raped. She wore a short skirt to a club? She clearly wants to get laid. She left her drink unattended? She should have known what was coming to her. There may not be direct causation between Tosh's jokes and men who go and commit rape, but there is definite correlation.
Those are just a handful of reasons why violence of any kind is completely inappropriate fodder for comedy. However, Daniel Tosh is far from being the only symptom of what is wrong with society's response to rape. Daniel Tosh made those jokes because he knew it's what his audience called for; he knew it would boost his ratings. We are the ones who created this culture where making fun of violence is okay.
So what are we going to do about it?
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
The great ambition of the ordinary sinner
This is a very bold confession I'm about to make: much of my life has been characterized by ambition. That in and of itself is not a bad thing; doing whatever is necessary to get ahead doesn't have to be a selfish pursuit...but sometimes it is.
Many of my historical favorites are known for their ambition, which is probably why I love Anne Boleyn so much (though her ambition did cost her her head...). It was ambition that lead me to quit my dance class at the age of six and take up figure skating instead, for no other reason except to perform by myself, with all eyes on me. I didn't want to share the spotlight with anyone else.
Ambition lead me to explore a calling as a Rabbi, because it made me "different." People talked about me and remembered me for that (heck even my 7th grade English teacher who stopped in at Panera one day remembered that). Finally, as many people already know (or suspected), changing my name was partly due to ambition as well. To stand out more. Add on to that the self-made glory of writing a book, and there you have it: I am in danger of allowing success to go straight to my head (which is big enough thanks to the mop of curly hair sitting on it). I count my blessings that I can recognize this problem on my own before it becomes necessary for close friends and family to point it out to me.
Honestly, if I were Jesus, I'd have shown off my ability to perform miracles to everyone who passed by. But instead, he told the people he healed not to tell anyone about what they saw. He wasn't interested in raising himself up on a self-made pedestal; he was interested in glorifying the one who sent him.
Yeah, I'm nothing at all like that.
So, I have come to the conclusion that I could use a few exercises in humility; but how would I go about doing that? Well, for starters, it won't be long now until I pack up my life and move across the country to Colorado, where I hardly know anyone, and no prior reputation will precede me. There's no temptation for me to perform and impress people I don't already know. A little blending in could be good for me.
When I first started getting to know Josh, he asked if he could call me Sarah, because, ya know, Sarahbeth is just so long. My response was "Pssht, no!" So he asked, "Okay, can I call you Beth instead?" At the time, I wasn't expecting anything beyond friendship, so I said "Sure why not." Well, seven and a half months later, it seems that Beth has stuck. His family calls me that. His friends call me that. My own father said to me one day "Hey Beth, can you unload the dishwasher?" Initially, that had me thinking "Hey, wait a minute! There's nothing unique or different about 'Beth'! That's not what I want!" But, thinking about it more, I realized once again that what I want isn't always what is good for me.
Honestly, would I really be less special if my name was once again more common? Would my presence on this earth matter any less? Interesting, too, that growing up I always wanted a nickname; now I have one. And yet, I still manage to find something to complain about. The time I spend analyzing trivial, unimportant matters is starting to concern me greatly.
Now I have assigned myself the task of remembering that I was not put here to live for, or glorify myself. There is no real reason for me to stand out against everyone else; every gift or talent that I have is wasted if I use them for my own selfish advancement. In trying to make humility a new way of life, I strive to glorify the only one who really matters; the only one who really deserves it. And that is none other than God himself.
~B (S.B.)
Isn't that James Bond-ish?
Many of my historical favorites are known for their ambition, which is probably why I love Anne Boleyn so much (though her ambition did cost her her head...). It was ambition that lead me to quit my dance class at the age of six and take up figure skating instead, for no other reason except to perform by myself, with all eyes on me. I didn't want to share the spotlight with anyone else.
Ambition lead me to explore a calling as a Rabbi, because it made me "different." People talked about me and remembered me for that (heck even my 7th grade English teacher who stopped in at Panera one day remembered that). Finally, as many people already know (or suspected), changing my name was partly due to ambition as well. To stand out more. Add on to that the self-made glory of writing a book, and there you have it: I am in danger of allowing success to go straight to my head (which is big enough thanks to the mop of curly hair sitting on it). I count my blessings that I can recognize this problem on my own before it becomes necessary for close friends and family to point it out to me.
Honestly, if I were Jesus, I'd have shown off my ability to perform miracles to everyone who passed by. But instead, he told the people he healed not to tell anyone about what they saw. He wasn't interested in raising himself up on a self-made pedestal; he was interested in glorifying the one who sent him.
Yeah, I'm nothing at all like that.
So, I have come to the conclusion that I could use a few exercises in humility; but how would I go about doing that? Well, for starters, it won't be long now until I pack up my life and move across the country to Colorado, where I hardly know anyone, and no prior reputation will precede me. There's no temptation for me to perform and impress people I don't already know. A little blending in could be good for me.
When I first started getting to know Josh, he asked if he could call me Sarah, because, ya know, Sarahbeth is just so long. My response was "Pssht, no!" So he asked, "Okay, can I call you Beth instead?" At the time, I wasn't expecting anything beyond friendship, so I said "Sure why not." Well, seven and a half months later, it seems that Beth has stuck. His family calls me that. His friends call me that. My own father said to me one day "Hey Beth, can you unload the dishwasher?" Initially, that had me thinking "Hey, wait a minute! There's nothing unique or different about 'Beth'! That's not what I want!" But, thinking about it more, I realized once again that what I want isn't always what is good for me.
Honestly, would I really be less special if my name was once again more common? Would my presence on this earth matter any less? Interesting, too, that growing up I always wanted a nickname; now I have one. And yet, I still manage to find something to complain about. The time I spend analyzing trivial, unimportant matters is starting to concern me greatly.
Now I have assigned myself the task of remembering that I was not put here to live for, or glorify myself. There is no real reason for me to stand out against everyone else; every gift or talent that I have is wasted if I use them for my own selfish advancement. In trying to make humility a new way of life, I strive to glorify the only one who really matters; the only one who really deserves it. And that is none other than God himself.
~B (S.B.)
Isn't that James Bond-ish?
Monday, June 25, 2012
Vocations, they don't come easy
I had this brief exchange with a customer at work the other day. It wasn't the first time I've had a conversation like this, and it will not be the last:
Customer: So what grade are you in?
Me (grinning mischievously): I'm in grad school, sir.
Customer (clearly stunned!): No kidding? Where at and what for?
Me: Denver Seminary. Divinity.
Customer: Damn! (Backtracks) I mean, uh, dang, that's intense (I think it's hilarious when people instantly clean themselves up around me when they find out I'm in seminary!). Whatya wanna do with that?
Me (trying to keep the line moving so I don't get in trouble): Chaplaincy.
Customer: Military?
Me: Rape crisis center.
Customer (clearly blown away): Wow. You've got quite a future ahead of you, kid.
I am a unique force to reckon with, that is for sure. Poor guy, he probably thought nothing of making a little small talk with the broke ex-college student who is ringing up his sandwich. Boy did he get a surprise!
I love how brief exchanges with strangers like this can teach you a lot about the inaccuracy of first impressions. I remember feeling similar shock when a blonde, peppy acquaintance whom I honestly wrote off as vapid and ditzy told me she wanted to be a biochemist. That lead me to think about how people are not always what they seem...the private battles we fight behind publicly projected images of calm, cool, and collected...the battles that may or may not lead to occupational callings. And that, friends, is what lead me to the idea for my next book:
Yes, barely six months after the publication of the first one, I've gone and started another. I'm already 90 pages into the manuscript, and I imagine this one will appeal to a much wider audience than the first. But this isn't a "fun" book to write; rather, I think it's a necessary one. I toyed with the idea of writing from the perspective of both the victim and the perpetrator, but decided against it because really, I have no idea what goes on in the heads of the kind of men who prey on women. I can only write about what I know...but even that is one-sided. There are so many ways to address this complex, controversial, multifaceted issue.
So, a great deal of research and maybe some imagination is required for this piece...but I'm eager to do it. No, I haven't signed up for an "easy life" (whatever that is) with lots of cushioning and lots of cash. It's been said that I tend to make things harder for myself than is necessary. This is only because my experiences of searing private pain have driven me to want to help others with theirs.
Here's the thing about me and writing: if it's important to me, it has to go on paper. Otherwise, it's like the experience (whatever it may be) never happened. Or that the person who confided in me about something doesn't matter to me. Therefore, I have a feeling that most of my books (yes, I plan on writing for as long as my hands work!) will be, in the words of that customer, "intense." There's a time and a place for "vacation literature," the kind you can enjoy without having to think too much, but there's waaaay too much chaos in my head to produce any of that, at least for the time being. I'll keep my light, airy ideas to my blog for now :)
Also, should anyone have an idea for a title for this new book, PLEASE let me know!
SB
Customer: So what grade are you in?
Me (grinning mischievously): I'm in grad school, sir.
Customer (clearly stunned!): No kidding? Where at and what for?
Me: Denver Seminary. Divinity.
Customer: Damn! (Backtracks) I mean, uh, dang, that's intense (I think it's hilarious when people instantly clean themselves up around me when they find out I'm in seminary!). Whatya wanna do with that?
Me (trying to keep the line moving so I don't get in trouble): Chaplaincy.
Customer: Military?
Me: Rape crisis center.
Customer (clearly blown away): Wow. You've got quite a future ahead of you, kid.
I am a unique force to reckon with, that is for sure. Poor guy, he probably thought nothing of making a little small talk with the broke ex-college student who is ringing up his sandwich. Boy did he get a surprise!
I love how brief exchanges with strangers like this can teach you a lot about the inaccuracy of first impressions. I remember feeling similar shock when a blonde, peppy acquaintance whom I honestly wrote off as vapid and ditzy told me she wanted to be a biochemist. That lead me to think about how people are not always what they seem...the private battles we fight behind publicly projected images of calm, cool, and collected...the battles that may or may not lead to occupational callings. And that, friends, is what lead me to the idea for my next book:
Two teenage girls, two experiences with sexual
assault: one committed by a stranger, the other by a boyfriend. Neither girl
quite believes the other when she shares her story: wasn’t she ‘asking for it’
by walking home alone so late at night? Why didn’t she just end the
relationship if he really treated her that way?
Insert Title Here is a raw, emotional book that
explores the impact of rape culture on modern society. Told in alternating
perspectives from two survivors, it unpacks the common myths of sexual assault,
revealing important truths that every woman needs to know.
Yes, barely six months after the publication of the first one, I've gone and started another. I'm already 90 pages into the manuscript, and I imagine this one will appeal to a much wider audience than the first. But this isn't a "fun" book to write; rather, I think it's a necessary one. I toyed with the idea of writing from the perspective of both the victim and the perpetrator, but decided against it because really, I have no idea what goes on in the heads of the kind of men who prey on women. I can only write about what I know...but even that is one-sided. There are so many ways to address this complex, controversial, multifaceted issue.
So, a great deal of research and maybe some imagination is required for this piece...but I'm eager to do it. No, I haven't signed up for an "easy life" (whatever that is) with lots of cushioning and lots of cash. It's been said that I tend to make things harder for myself than is necessary. This is only because my experiences of searing private pain have driven me to want to help others with theirs.
Here's the thing about me and writing: if it's important to me, it has to go on paper. Otherwise, it's like the experience (whatever it may be) never happened. Or that the person who confided in me about something doesn't matter to me. Therefore, I have a feeling that most of my books (yes, I plan on writing for as long as my hands work!) will be, in the words of that customer, "intense." There's a time and a place for "vacation literature," the kind you can enjoy without having to think too much, but there's waaaay too much chaos in my head to produce any of that, at least for the time being. I'll keep my light, airy ideas to my blog for now :)
Also, should anyone have an idea for a title for this new book, PLEASE let me know!
SB
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
The rare moment your dreams are replaced by something better
Yes, it actually can happen.
How often does the average person get to say she has almost nothing (severe) to complain about? That everything is, for once, going better than she ever dared to imagine?
It feels so deliciously dangerous to say that. I've been superstitious for far too long. I sincerely believed (though I would never say so out loud) that the moment I opened my arms and declared "I AM HAPPY!" Satan would chuckle and say "HA! Only a matter of time, girl. Better watch it."
Now, I think I'm finally at a place where I can tell ol' Satan to shove it.
Recap of this last week: sold every book at the signing (okay, so only ten copies were ordered...guess the Learned Owl was serious when they told me religious books don't sell very well. BUT, they were all bought within the first 15 minutes and additional copies were ordered from the store's database...sounds like success to me!).
I deposited my first royalty check yesterday. Just under $160! 39 books in all sold over the last 2 months. And then I got interviewed by the Akron Beacon Journal! I don't know how my little book got their attention, but I almost fell out of my chair when the reporter asked if she could do a story on me. Good thing it wasn't a recorded interview. It was probably not very professional to squeak "Really? Really?!!" about five times before answering any questions. My voice went up a few octaves with nervousness and excitement, I probably sounded like a dying mouse on helium. And I probably rambled too much. But I'll do better next time. *knocks on wood*
And finally...one more triumph...I got an awesome opportunity to make some money for my jewelry-making. Check it out!
That's from a place called B. Lux Boutique in Hudson. Haven't sold anything yet, but the display has only been up for a few days. So between the book sales and now my jewelry...I get to afford groceries this semester! Yay!!!
Not a bad way to close this "gap year," I think. Not bad at all.
How often does the average person get to say she has almost nothing (severe) to complain about? That everything is, for once, going better than she ever dared to imagine?
It feels so deliciously dangerous to say that. I've been superstitious for far too long. I sincerely believed (though I would never say so out loud) that the moment I opened my arms and declared "I AM HAPPY!" Satan would chuckle and say "HA! Only a matter of time, girl. Better watch it."
Now, I think I'm finally at a place where I can tell ol' Satan to shove it.
Recap of this last week: sold every book at the signing (okay, so only ten copies were ordered...guess the Learned Owl was serious when they told me religious books don't sell very well. BUT, they were all bought within the first 15 minutes and additional copies were ordered from the store's database...sounds like success to me!).
I want to thank all my childhood heroes -- Belle, Matilda, and Harriet the Spy for encouraging my love of reading and writing! Couldn't have done this without you guys!
I deposited my first royalty check yesterday. Just under $160! 39 books in all sold over the last 2 months. And then I got interviewed by the Akron Beacon Journal! I don't know how my little book got their attention, but I almost fell out of my chair when the reporter asked if she could do a story on me. Good thing it wasn't a recorded interview. It was probably not very professional to squeak "Really? Really?!!" about five times before answering any questions. My voice went up a few octaves with nervousness and excitement, I probably sounded like a dying mouse on helium. And I probably rambled too much. But I'll do better next time. *knocks on wood*
And finally...one more triumph...I got an awesome opportunity to make some money for my jewelry-making. Check it out!
That's from a place called B. Lux Boutique in Hudson. Haven't sold anything yet, but the display has only been up for a few days. So between the book sales and now my jewelry...I get to afford groceries this semester! Yay!!!
Not a bad way to close this "gap year," I think. Not bad at all.
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
The Jewish girl who dreamed of saints
An alternative title for my book probably would have been "The Jewish Girl Who Dreamed of Saints." I could have elaborated on that theme for 200 pages just as much as the theme of being a prodigal daughter. I tried to weave them together, but in some places I thought it might have been overkill. So I only mentioned my fascination with Saint Joan of Arc in particular once in the beginning, when I was a little kid and thought I was reincarnated as her (don't ask), and again when I was 21 and visited her memorial in Rouen, where she was executed.
I've never prayed to saints before, or wanted to be confirmed in the name of one (so no, I'm not becoming Catholic). But I've always been fascinated by them. Most likely because, unlike Jesus, they were fully human, fully flawed individuals who still stood up for their faith, many under pain of death. Thus, they seemed more real and approachable to me growing up than a man who was known to be without sin. So I always enjoyed reading about them...but for some reason, it was Joan who stuck out to me more than any other.
Maybe it's because she was still technically a kid when she died. Maybe it's out of morbid curiousity of how she died. I can't really say. But she is a reminder that God is more powerful than any hopeless circumstance. And in her case, being poor, illiterate, and female in 15th-century France was more of a stumbling block than my financial troubles, relationship struggles, and identity crises.
I actually give her much of the credit for inspiring me to remain a virgin until marriage. And when I was thoroughly convinced that I would never marry, I looked to her story even more for inspiration and solace. But in a world where celibacy is considered outdated, and religious fervor is practically equivalent with insanity, her story loses some of its resonance. At a time in my life when I am more than susceptible to temptations, and am once again re-considering my romantic future, it almost seems as if I've outgrown her. And that saddens me, because it feels like losing a part of myself. I even considered making Joan my middle name once, but decided against it because I just didn't like how it paired with Sarahbeth. I wanted to make her legacy part of my identity.
Maybe it's good that I am maturing and re-considering the plans I had before. The downside of admiring someone who died young is not having any way to know how she would have turned out if she had died of natural causes. There is no way of knowing how her life plans may have changed after the war was over. In the case of my own life, it is no surprise that my views on things have been modified with age. That is exactly what is supposed to happen.
Yet, I still pay homage to my childhood hero by watching the 1999 TV movie (my favorite film adaption so far) on this day, her feast day. Weird? Maybe. But my life story is not exactly conventional, as was hers.
I've never prayed to saints before, or wanted to be confirmed in the name of one (so no, I'm not becoming Catholic). But I've always been fascinated by them. Most likely because, unlike Jesus, they were fully human, fully flawed individuals who still stood up for their faith, many under pain of death. Thus, they seemed more real and approachable to me growing up than a man who was known to be without sin. So I always enjoyed reading about them...but for some reason, it was Joan who stuck out to me more than any other.
Maybe it's because she was still technically a kid when she died. Maybe it's out of morbid curiousity of how she died. I can't really say. But she is a reminder that God is more powerful than any hopeless circumstance. And in her case, being poor, illiterate, and female in 15th-century France was more of a stumbling block than my financial troubles, relationship struggles, and identity crises.
I actually give her much of the credit for inspiring me to remain a virgin until marriage. And when I was thoroughly convinced that I would never marry, I looked to her story even more for inspiration and solace. But in a world where celibacy is considered outdated, and religious fervor is practically equivalent with insanity, her story loses some of its resonance. At a time in my life when I am more than susceptible to temptations, and am once again re-considering my romantic future, it almost seems as if I've outgrown her. And that saddens me, because it feels like losing a part of myself. I even considered making Joan my middle name once, but decided against it because I just didn't like how it paired with Sarahbeth. I wanted to make her legacy part of my identity.
Maybe it's good that I am maturing and re-considering the plans I had before. The downside of admiring someone who died young is not having any way to know how she would have turned out if she had died of natural causes. There is no way of knowing how her life plans may have changed after the war was over. In the case of my own life, it is no surprise that my views on things have been modified with age. That is exactly what is supposed to happen.
Yet, I still pay homage to my childhood hero by watching the 1999 TV movie (my favorite film adaption so far) on this day, her feast day. Weird? Maybe. But my life story is not exactly conventional, as was hers.
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
Joy re-discovered
I am acutely aware of how drastic the life changes between this year and last have been. A year ago right now I was settling in Estes Park, Colorado, at the lowest point in my life. Who would have thought I'd accomplish the first item on my bucket list by now? Even better...
My first book signing! I was told that religious-themed books don't sell as well, but I figured it was worth a shot. I know at least three people will show up: my boyfriend and his parents :) Other than that...who knows. I've had this silly idea that the success of sharing my story with the world somehow depends on how "together" my life is. I've had many people, from the woman who does landscaping in our yard to my family dentist stop in where I work and tell me they have been praying for me for years, and they are proud of me.
I wish I felt as confident. I feel like the more I grow in my faith, the more aware I am of how messed up I was before. Sometimes it's hard to be dependent on Christ when everything is going so well. But it's during those times that I remember where I used to be...and I thank God I am still here.
Right now I'm just enjoying the time I have left in Ohio. While I wish the summer would hurry up and fly by so I can begin my new life in Colorado, I still need to cherish the time I have left here, where it all began.
My first book signing! I was told that religious-themed books don't sell as well, but I figured it was worth a shot. I know at least three people will show up: my boyfriend and his parents :) Other than that...who knows. I've had this silly idea that the success of sharing my story with the world somehow depends on how "together" my life is. I've had many people, from the woman who does landscaping in our yard to my family dentist stop in where I work and tell me they have been praying for me for years, and they are proud of me.
I wish I felt as confident. I feel like the more I grow in my faith, the more aware I am of how messed up I was before. Sometimes it's hard to be dependent on Christ when everything is going so well. But it's during those times that I remember where I used to be...and I thank God I am still here.
Right now I'm just enjoying the time I have left in Ohio. While I wish the summer would hurry up and fly by so I can begin my new life in Colorado, I still need to cherish the time I have left here, where it all began.
Here we go, Summer 2012!
Botanical Gardens with my one and only
These old wings/been a long time, been a long time coming/These old wings/Just gotta be good for something
Burn these strings/So I can see what these old things/What these old wings can do...
Yep, life is pretty good right now, I think.
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
On confronting ignorance with patience over anger
This week I experienced an episode of one of life's "teachable moments," giving me a taste of what the difficult days of my future career might look like -- the face-palm worthy parts that might make me wonder why I chose it in the first place.
I misplaced my car keys, and an acquaintance I'll call "Suzy" found them. She noticed that I carry a "rape whistle," which is more for my mother's comfort than my own. In reality, that would be the last thing I'd think to use if I was being attacked. I'd probably be too busy running and/or fighting for my life to bother fumbling through my purse for it.
Anyway, I jokingly said "Yes, that is my rape whistle," to which the teenage girl replied "I wouldn't fight back if that happened to me. I mean hello, it's free sex! And no one will think you're a slut for giving in because, you know, you could say you were raped."
I wasn't the only person to hear this. Another girl standing nearby immediately turned around, and she was just as shocked and dumbfounded as I was. "How could you think something like that, much less say it?!" she demanded.
Suzy simply shrugged and quipped "Well, if you're not getting any..."
I was torn between wanting to literally shake some sense into that girl, walking away and ignoring her completely, or -- God forbid -- taking the time to attempt educating her.
As a future chaplain in a crisis center -- if that's where God still wants me -- I can't shake sense into every ignorant client, obviously. This is not the first bout of ignorance I will face, and it will not be the last. My patience and tolerance levels will have to approve tremendously if I am to succeed in this field. Perhaps this episode is my first training session.
In a strange, back-handed sort of way, I actually envy Suzy for being able to afford that kind of ignorance. More likely than not, she hasn't experienced the trauma of a sexual assault. She's lucky she has not the foggiest clue what she's talking about. As offensive as her comment was, I sincerely hope that she never has to learn first-hand just how wrong her thought process is about this issue.
I consider it a small miracle that I was able to take a breath, compose myself, and say calmly in response "You know Suzy, you wouldn't think that way if it happened to you."
She didn't do much more than shrug me off with a "Whatever," but my point was clear. The other girl who overheard the exchange thanked me for attempting, however feebly, to set Suzy straight.
Episodes like these make me all the more cautious of the words I choose, and how I use them. It also makes me aware of the possible damage that can occur by speaking blithely of things I know nothing about. You never know who might be listening.
I misplaced my car keys, and an acquaintance I'll call "Suzy" found them. She noticed that I carry a "rape whistle," which is more for my mother's comfort than my own. In reality, that would be the last thing I'd think to use if I was being attacked. I'd probably be too busy running and/or fighting for my life to bother fumbling through my purse for it.
Anyway, I jokingly said "Yes, that is my rape whistle," to which the teenage girl replied "I wouldn't fight back if that happened to me. I mean hello, it's free sex! And no one will think you're a slut for giving in because, you know, you could say you were raped."
I wasn't the only person to hear this. Another girl standing nearby immediately turned around, and she was just as shocked and dumbfounded as I was. "How could you think something like that, much less say it?!" she demanded.
Suzy simply shrugged and quipped "Well, if you're not getting any..."
I was torn between wanting to literally shake some sense into that girl, walking away and ignoring her completely, or -- God forbid -- taking the time to attempt educating her.
As a future chaplain in a crisis center -- if that's where God still wants me -- I can't shake sense into every ignorant client, obviously. This is not the first bout of ignorance I will face, and it will not be the last. My patience and tolerance levels will have to approve tremendously if I am to succeed in this field. Perhaps this episode is my first training session.
In a strange, back-handed sort of way, I actually envy Suzy for being able to afford that kind of ignorance. More likely than not, she hasn't experienced the trauma of a sexual assault. She's lucky she has not the foggiest clue what she's talking about. As offensive as her comment was, I sincerely hope that she never has to learn first-hand just how wrong her thought process is about this issue.
I consider it a small miracle that I was able to take a breath, compose myself, and say calmly in response "You know Suzy, you wouldn't think that way if it happened to you."
She didn't do much more than shrug me off with a "Whatever," but my point was clear. The other girl who overheard the exchange thanked me for attempting, however feebly, to set Suzy straight.
Episodes like these make me all the more cautious of the words I choose, and how I use them. It also makes me aware of the possible damage that can occur by speaking blithely of things I know nothing about. You never know who might be listening.
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