Same author, different site

So, in an effort to start treating my writing less like a hobby and more like a business, I have created my own web domain! Follow me at www.sbethcaplin.com.

Same kind of Christian as me?

Some people are of the opinion that one needs to be a certain age or have a certain amount of “life experience” before they earn the right to write a memoir.

I’m 25 and wrote my first memoir at 22. I’m contemplating writing a second.

The only reason I’m considering this is because the kind of memoir I am interested in reading does not exist. At least not that I know of.

There are a plethora of memoirs out there about finding faith, losing it, and the grueling process of finding it again (see Addie Zierman’s When We Were on Fire, Elizabeth Esther’s Girl at the End of the World, and Rachel Held Evans’ Faith Unraveled for some awesome examples). But one thing these women have in common is their faith journey began in a church from early childhood. If you know me at all, you know that is not my life.

I want to read more books about people who chose Christianity after growing up in an environment that was staunchly against it.

I want to read more books about people who continue to choose Christianity despite the inevitable bumper-car effect of old cultural mores clashing with new ones; of old lingo that doesn’t jell with a new spiritual vocabulary; and the Pariah Syndrome that comes with being one of few people in your church with this particular background, which you are not ashamed of, but refuse to talk about because you are a person who desires to make friends, not some Show and Tell presentation.

If those books exist, I have yet to find them. It is my hope that if I were to write a book like this, it will bring other people with similar experiences out of the woodwork and into my favorite coffee shop to talk to me.

As of now, the people who share or at least relate to these experiences live in my laptop, not in my city. They can be found in organizations like Christians for Biblical Equality, but they live all over the world, not down the street.

The idea of “biblical equality” started with the idea that women can and should be able to lead people as male pastors do. But I want to take this definition further and expand it for people who worship differently than the “mainstream” Christian does: people who find standing during worship songs uncomfortable (and sometimes the lyrics tacky); people who feel squeamish when asked to pray out loud before a group; people who long for community but feel excluded because they aren’t extroverted or “outwardly spiritual” enough.

“Biblical equality” can mean that your worship is as valid and meaningful as my worship. I don’t see this idea expressed often enough.

I’m currently working on a piece that I hope to submit to a popular blogger as a guest post, so it won’t appear on my blog yet. But I hope to use it as a starting point for the maybe-memoir I might write. Because when it comes to improving community and making all members of the body of Christ feel welcome, there’s not enough paper in the world to discuss it.

Drunk texting and the complexities of human nature

A thirty-two-year-old woman is killed while updating her Facebook status behind the wheel of a moving car, and the Internet is flooding with opinions.

Reactions span everywhere from “She deserves a Darwin award” to “How would YOU like your entire life to be judged based on one mistake?”

Talk about extremes. One could rationally argue that Facebooking while driving is more a deliberate choice than a “mistake,” but I can understand the sentiment behind it: no one wants to be remembered solely for the wrongs they committed. Our lives should be more than cautionary tales.

But I have to wonder if the same amount of compassion would be shown if the truck driver she hit was critically injured or killed. Or if she plowed into a family’s minivan and killed all the children inside.

Then she’d be a monster. Right?

This idea of how we define “good” and “bad,” especially when the person in question is deceased and cannot redeem or justify their actions, appeals to me because it’s the primary topic in my upcoming book. Where There’s Smoke is full of flawed characters who want to believe they are good. And they do try; but the ways they go about proving themselves make others scratch their heads at best, and feel betrayed at worst. It’s a story that asks: who are we really? Are we the sum of all our actions? Is the note we finish our lives on the most defining of them all?

There are no right or wrong ways to answer this question, and that’s what I love about it.

There's a fly in the soup; there is patriarchy in my religion

As the information under my picture suggests, I am a fan of people who devote their lives to unpopular causes. Perhaps I should add: even if I disagree with them.

I applaud actress Kirsten Dunst for speaking up about femininity and the definition of womanhood (even if I don’t entirely agree with how she defines these things):

I feel like the feminine has been a little undervalued. We all have to get our own jobs and make our own money, but staying at home, nurturing, being the mother, cooking—it's a valuable thing my mom created. And sometimes you need your knight in shining armor. I'm sorry. You need a man to be a man and a woman to be a woman. That's why relationships work.

I occasionally read PluggedIn movie reviews. It’s sponsored by Focus on the Family, but the reviews can be snarky and funny. I take issue with their response to Ms. Dunst’s words:

“[Dunst’s] viewpoint is increasingly challenged these days, and it's harder and harder to see the proper path forward while still holding tight to the past, to the traditions God Himself initiated.”

Read their full article here. Some of the comments are excellent.

My head is spinning as I try to remember where in the Bible it states that all women must be stay-at-home mothers and let their husbands be the sole breadwinners. I don’t even recall where it states that all women HAVE to become mothers. As a soon-to-be-married woman who doesn’t want kids (for now), it troubles me to think of the reactions I might face when I try shopping for a new church where my fiancé lives. Any attitude suggesting women have to be this or that is an automatic dealbreaker.

I cannot understand how it’s “unbiblical” for marriages to be treated as partnerships, where each couple makes decisions that are best for them and their families; why it’s considered unreasonable in many conservative circles for men to help out with chores and child-rearing; why a woman choosing to have a career is accused of neglecting her children. I went to daycare as a kid while my mom worked; I think I turned out okay. When my dad got sick and had to retire, mom took over financially. Do ultra-conservatives somehow believe they are above that possibility?

But no matter which path you choose, there is disdain to be met at every turn. The disdain for women who choose to be stay-at-home mothers is also backlash in the face of feminism. It has to stop.

I can’t deny that these attitudes have a direct impact on my faith and the way I relate to Jesus. Even though I firmly believe Jesus valued women (he saved the life of one about to be stoned for adultery, per Old Testament law, after all), if other Christians who claim to represent him cannot allow for equality in their definition of womanhood, then the result is simple: the church will have no women.

Respect, dignify, and above all, listen to individual women and their stories, or we leave the church. Engage with us in discussion and consider the impact of our leadership skills, or we leave the church. Maybe not all of us in droves, but this particular woman will pack her bags if things do not change.

I know this wouldn’t happen on a large enough scale to wake people up. Sadly, there are plenty of women perpetuating anti-feminist viewpoints, because they have never been taught what feminism is supposed to be: a radical notion that women are people; an idea that goes beyond politics, religious differences, and social status.

Ironically, I have met more women lately who actively promote patriarchy (like this woman who told me "We don't need feminism in America!"). They look at me like I’m holding a dead squirrel when I dare to admit I am a feminist. That, too, must stop. 

Always have to wear with a cross. Always.

When cynicism throws coffee in your face

While some days are worse than others, I’ve been stuck in an “I hate people” funk for over a year. I’ve had so many moments where I questioned my decision to stay in Colorado, because I left my closest friends in Cleveland. Not a large number of people, but a select few I know I can count on in dire circumstances. Tell secrets to. Look stupid in front of.

It’s been a slow process finding those people in Denver. Today, at my favorite coffee shop, someone I know from seminary waved at me from across the room like I was her best friend – someone who repeatedly told me, “Let’s get coffee!” but never responded to a single call or text about when to make that happen.

I hate people, I thought as I waved back.

The only table that happened to be available was tucked in a corner. Not my favorite spot, but an outlet and bathroom were nearby: two absolute necessities. I set up camp there, preparing to stay there for a few hours editing the first draft of my newest manuscript. With my laptop open and headphones in (even with no music playing) I’m pretty sure I had my DO NOT DISTURB ME vibes in full motion.

I typed furiously for about thirty minutes when I looked up, and saw someone I didn’t know (could have been my age, but I’m horrible at guessing people’s ages) saying something in my direction. Initially annoyed, I ripped out my headphones and said, “Yes?” as politely as I could muster.

“I’ve seen you here before,” she said. “I was wondering if maybe you wanted to join me and my friend at that table over there?”

She points to the table I always hope to get when I come here – but it was occupied when I arrived.

I weighed my options: how much editing will I get done if I’m sitting with two people who will expect me to make some kind of introduction about myself? But then again, how choosy can I afford to be when people are attempting to make friends with me?

Honestly? Not very.  It’s been easier to keep to myself to avoid disappointment and stick to my best “friends” that only exist in books. But something about this person’s face convinced me this was a chance I had to take.

Screw your paranoia, Sarahbeth. Go make some friends. So I packed up my stuff, and joined their table.

I did get some editing done: not as much as I would have liked, but the time lost on that project was made up for with riveting discussion about whether it’s polite to eavesdrop on conversations that are happening a mere few feet away from you, and if people have the right to be offended if you insert your own opinion, because there’s no such thing as an expectation of private conversation in crowded coffeehouses.

“Sometimes I can’t help but say something,” I told my new tablemates, *Susie and *Milton.  “Depends on the subject matter. If people are showing extreme ignorance then I feel like it’s an obligation. Because stupid can be contagious.”

And this, Sarahbeth, is why you don’t have a lot of friends. That kind of honesty gets you in trouble.

“That’s hilarious,” laughed Milton. Leaning toward Susie, he asked, “Where did you find this one?”

“Back in that corner,” Susie answered, smiling.

We didn’t leave exchanging numbers or Facebook usernames, but we did part with an expectation that “maybe we’ll run into each other again sometime.”

I have no idea if I’ll ever see those two again. But even if I don’t, it’s nice to be reminded every now and then that people are capable of surprising you.

If you're able to read this, you're not actually "poor"

There’s quite a bit to get pissed off about when scrolling through Facebook updates, but this article really got me: an article about the top ten most “useless” college majors. “Uselessness” was essentially defined by how much – or rather, how little – you’d earn from any job in those fields.

Surprise surprise, English Literature was up there (but surprisingly not the most worthless: that honor went to journalism, my second choice of majors). But what articles like that fail to take into consideration is the motivation for choosing such majors: clearly, you have to be more motivated by passion than money.

Maybe I would be financially better off in an accounting job, or marketing. I’d be richer, but a lot more miserable. Those jobs are a good fit for plenty of people, but I’d be putting my gifts and talents to waste in an environment like that.

Realizing my student loan payments begin in June, and that the only somewhat steady job I’ve had lately is babysitting, articles like that can instantly ruin my day. Consequently, I’ve been thinking a lot about worth and where it comes from: how much of my identity is defined by what I “do,” and how I’m going to weather the judgments of strangers I meet at social gatherings who scoff when I tell them “I’m a writer!” (Which is precisely why I don’t go to many social gatherings).

At one point in my life, I judged people who were “just” waitresses, or “just” Starbucks baristas. “Who would want to be stuck doing that for a living?” I’d wonder. But that was well before I found myself struggling to keep my head afloat in the working world. That was when I still lived at home with my parents and never had to pay for anything myself.

I’ve grown up a bit since then: and I’ve been considerably humbled, since my next day job may very well be – surprise! – Starbucks. At least until book sales pick up. *crosses fingers*

It helps to remember that status and job titles don’t matter a whole lot when I never have to doubt where my next meal is coming from: I make enough to at least have those at my disposal. People in third-world countries aren’t so fortunate. Maybe that’s an extreme comparison, but when the majority of the world lives below the poverty line, it’s a wake-up call. It makes me less likely to complain because I’m a few dollars short of meeting up with a friend for a beer after a long workday. It humbles me to realize that while I may not earn enough book royalties to quit my day job (whatever that will be), I still have the freedom to publish what I want, when I want. That’s a priceless gift right there.

I write these words in hopes that I will convince myself of their truth, and remember my true worth as a daughter of God; someone’s fiancé; a close friend to a handful of really awesome people.

On meeting Anna Nalick and my second book-iversary

This last weekend may go down as the most epic in Beth soon-to-be Stoneburner history: I bought my wedding dress, met Anna Nalick, and reflected on the 2^nd anniversary of my first book baby, Confessions of a Prodigal Daughter.

For those who have never heard of Amazing Anna (and sadly, many people haven’t, since she left her old record label several years ago), Anna Nalick is a self-described “indie artist,” which makes her the patron artist of indie authors. She is the incredible voice behind one of my favorite songs of all time, “Breathe,” as well as the lesser-known song “These Old Wings” that helped get me through the worst depression of my entire life.

Can I just say, aside from being wicked talented and a sweet, down-to-earth person who tells stories during her concerts, it’s so amazing to see a successful artist humbly admit to struggling with depression herself. It reminded me that it’s often a source of great art, be it music or literature. I can never have enough of those reminders. I want people to feel the same about my books the way I feel about Anna’s music.

She talked about autobiographical writing as a way of freezing yourself in time. Your beliefs and personality may develop through the years, but when you put yourself out there to be read or listened to, you are in a sense forever bound to who you were at that time. 

That’s how I feel about Confessions. That book was not intended to become a bestseller. Writing it was my way of processing through the conflict of adopting beliefs that are wildly different from the ones my parents taught me, so it reads very much like the journal of a confused woman who is gradually becoming aware of her inner strength. I do not have the same doubts or beliefs that I did when it was published. But I’ve also become stronger in certain beliefs I was shaky about at the time. I can still sense the turmoil when I flip through it every now and then.

My writing has greatly improved in the last two years, along with my knowledge of the publishing industry and marketing (and in a rapidly changing industry like this, there is always more to learn!). I had this idea that having a book available for purchase meant it would sell on its own. I couldn’t be more wrong! Despite working on my fifth book, I’m not beating myself up for not being “bigger” than I’d like to be, since I only actively started marketing when my third book was released last August. Confessions may remain my only memoir for the time being, as I quite enjoy the freedom of inserting my own experiences into my characters, without locking myself into a certain set of beliefs or characteristics. I’m also aware that the average 25-year-old is not world-weary enough for more than one memoir (or even just one).

But today feels like a birthday. So from this day forward, I can only learn more. 

When hate begets grace

A funny thing happened when I got engaged last weekend (cue the squeals!):

I was consumed with so much joy at the thought of spending the rest of my life with a man I’m crazy about (and get this guys, he actually feels the same!) that I forgot to be bitter for the rest of the weekend.

You see, the engagement happened during the 6-year anniversary of being assaulted; the 3-year anniversary of ending the abusive relationship in which that assault occurred; and the 11-year anniversary of when a friend of mine committed suicide. So needless to say, the first few weeks of springtime are not typically joyous for me. In fact, I dread them, for all the memories that come up.

And then – and then! – Fred Phelps, the legendary patriarch of the hate-filled Westboro Baptist “church” passed away. So I’ve been reading up on articles that keep cropping up on Facebook about it, and it seems my internet friends’ reactions fall almost evenly in two separate camps: those who want to piss on Fred’s grave and protest his funeral, and those who insist on extending forgiveness and the hope of salvation to a very, very lost individual.

I, like many Christians, am not without bitterness towards people like Phelps: people who make me ashamed to identify as “Christian” for all the ways that word has been abused. Still, this man was someone’s father, grandfather, brother, husband…and it saddens me that it’s not obvious to more people how protesting his funeral isn’t justice; it’s only sinking to his level of depravity. I find myself increasingly inspired by people who are choosing to extend grace and mercy on his behalf.

But I can’t have those thoughts about Fred without doing some soul-searching about my feelings towards the man who wronged me. I’ve wished for bad things to happen to him. I’ve wished for the chance to humiliate him. But in the same way protesting Fred’s funeral won’t undo the emotional damage caused by holding up signs saying “God Hates Fags,” wishing terrible things on my abuser doesn’t undo what he did. And it certainly doesn’t make me a happier, joy-filled person.

It’s giving him permission to live rent-free inside my head. And there’s something about the counter-protests like this one, plus getting engaged, that makes me think “Ain’t nobody got time for that.”

It’s time to start living. Time to accept that the past can’t be undone, and the memories may still sting, but they don’t define me or determine the happiness I can choose to feel. Time to start planning my wedding!

"We don't need feminism in America"

I was about to have another one of my “Sarahbeth might be closeted liberal” moments earlier today, based on my reaction from this blog a friend of mine shared on Facebook. The blogger describes herself as being “Christian, anti-feminist, pro-patriarchy.”

Oy vey. My heart definitely lurched into my throat when I read that.

But then I stepped away from my laptop for a moment (smart move) and realized my outrage has nothing to do with possibly being “liberal” or not.  Or conservative, really. What do those labels actually mean? My outrage stems from the complete ignorance of what feminism is, based on the ways it’s being perverted in the media. It has an ugly side, like all well-intentioned movements do. We can argue until we’re blue in the face about whether feminists should support abortion, or be stay-at-home moms, what have you. But Christian or atheist, male or female, I cannot understand why it’s so hard for us to agree on the fact that women are people, and as such, they deserve to be dignified.

Intelligent people understand that just because some loudmouth politician who calls himself a Christian is against gay rights (not just marriage, but against a homosexual being fired simply for being homosexual) does not mean all Christians agree with him.

Intelligent people understand that one negative encounter with someone of a different race does not mean all people of that race are bad.

Intelligent people understand that the militant “feminazis” (a term I abhor) do not represent all feminists. We are not out to supplant men, oppress them, or degrade them. Those who do are missing the whole point.

My heart wants to react violently when I hear people say, “We don’t need feminism in America!” I’ll be honest and admit that I’m hesitant to use expressions like “war on women” because life for women in this country is not nearly as oppressive as, say, women in the Middle East who are assaulted with acid for the crime of wanting to be educated. We are so blessed to not have to face that kind of persecution here.

But that doesn’t mean life is ideal for women in America. There are scores of men who are running Congress who make extremely damaging remarks about domestic violence, which influence society’s view of it as a whole. Those attitudes ruin lives. They destroy the dignity of women’s souls. They hurt women, their children, and create an attitude of shame that directly affects the impact they leave on this world. You cannot operate out of shame and expect to live a productive life. Sadly, more often that not, men with the utmost privilege, who cannot fathom what it’s like to be judged by their clothing choices or their decision to work outside the home, are the ones promoting these attitudes.

But it’s not just men. Women like the creator of that blog have also bought the lie that the entire feminist movement is damaging and irrelevant because politics have gotten in the way of simply affirming humanity. Can we please go back to the beginning, when it was decided that a movement was necessary to affirm the humanity of women??

We need feminism in America. We need feminism in churches. We need feminism in every corner of the world where there is even one iota of injustice. We need men who strive to dignify the women in their lives: their wives, mothers, daughters, sisters. We need feminism to teach women that they are more than vaginas. More than sex objects.

We need feminism, period.

Is being liked overrated?

Here’s a shocking question I’ve been trying to process lately: is being liked an overrated goal?

As a self-published author, putting my books out there to be loved or loathed by strangers, and even subjecting myself to criticism from those who don’t think self-publishing “counts,” I’d say the answer is yes.

There’s a difference, though, between living your life with selfish abandon, not caring at all about the legacy you’re leaving behind, and living your life with a healthy sense of nonconformity.

I had a misunderstanding with someone this week. It made me angry, upset, and tempted to retaliate. I’m forcing myself to bite my tongue and carry on, because there are times when people will be set on disliking me regardless of the effort I make to clear my name. Sometimes I have to accept that the consequences from my not-so-wise decisions will leave a sour taste in people’s mouths when they hear my name. And that sucks. But ultimately, what can you do about it?

I know I’m not always the nicest person. I’m even hesitant to label myself a good person, because I am the only one with an uncensored view of what goes on in my head, and I'm all too aware of my tendency to judge, criticize, and condemn. I don’t accept that as a permanent feature of myself that can’t be changed, but it helps me accept that my entire life is basically a work in progress, which means being unliked is inevitable. Not being able to change people’s minds is inevitable.

All that is to say, being viciously protective of what people think will make you immobile. For what it’s worth, maybe it’s better to not be liked by a few than go completely unnoticed in this life.

Again I repeat, This is sanctification.