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. 

Two checks for Bucket Item #1!

So much craziness in what feels like such a short time...grad school has officially begun!

As is the tradition of higher education, the first three days have consisted of reviewing the syllabi and class expectations, so I can't give a review of how classes are just yet. Thankfully, my classes are too big for those awkward, first-day icebreaker games. Unfortunately, my classes are too big to feel like I can really get to know anybody (save for Biblical Hebrew, which has only five people in it, but we're not supposed to speak much English in that class). So, updates on that will have to come later.

Now, I have bigger news. Halo Publishing likes my new manuscript, and wants to publish it!! That makes two self-published books in one year, and one very, very broke graduate student. Trust me, I do not intend to make this a habit; the plan is still to get my name on the New York Time's best-seller's list so I won't have to keep paying for self-publication. I can imagine the responses already...is she serious? Is the expense really worth it? I believe the answer is yes, and no, it's not just to have the glory of seeing my name in print once again.

The same day I received an acceptance email from Halo, I de-friended from Facebook a college friend who "joked" about going to rape his wife. Believe me, I like jokes as much as the next normal person; but threats of violence are not joke material (as discussed in my analysis of Daniel Tosh's tasteless comedic comments of a similar vein). This is why the new book had to be written: because rape culture is a wide-spread epidemic that affects even the most well-intentioned people.

Just for the record, I don't believe my friend really intended to rape his wife; but that he thinks the idea is worthy of a few chuckles is enough to prove my point. The jokes, the laughs, and the trivialization of rape don't cause it to happen. Only the rapist is responsible for rape, but making fun of it just makes it extremely difficult for victims to be taken seriously. Unfortunately, this is the sort of thing that is hard to understand unless you or someone close to you has experienced it.

So, will my little novel really make much of an impact? I don't know. I'd like for it to at least bring comfort to those who have survived assault of any kind, and give them hope. I'd like readers to come away with a better understanding of what consent is and what it isn't; that there is no such thing as 'asking for it' with clothing alone; and that it's not at all unusual to still have feelings for someone who hurt you like that, because most of us want to believe the best about people, and feelings don't come with a light switch.

There is so much I could go on about, but maybe it's better to save it for the press :) There is no official release date yet, but I will post information as soon as I find out!

(Oh, and I do recall promising some mountain pictures. This isn't the best one, but it's from my beloved Estes Park):

Where I ought to be and when

Three days and 1300 miles later, I have finally arrived in glorious Colorado!! And today, after finishing all my unpacking and driving my mother to the airport, I made my first "pilgrimage" of sorts back to Estes Park, where I spent my summer last year. Unfortunately, I didn't plan it very well, as the weather no longer looks as promising as it did when I first got here. So while I have satisfied my Kind Coffee withdrawal, I may not make it back to the Y today. But, there are 11 more days before my semester begins. So perhaps another day...

At no other time did I think to myself "SB, you're not in Ohio anymore" than when I made the drive up here. After picking out the perfect playlist and setting my cruise control to 80, it was just me and mountains, mountains, mountains for two glorious hours.

Oh, did I mention there were lots of mountains?

Almost immediately, I felt something close to that freedom I've been craving for so long. Hope feels real again...it's something I don't quite know how to explain, except that it's way more than a fleeting feeling of happiness. It makes me realize just how necessary all the spiritual and emotional stretching of last summer was.

Still, it feels strange to be back here again. There are lots of memories here, and not all of them good. But what is waiting for me here is much preferable than what I am leaving behind (everything but the people I love most in Ohio, that is). I look down at my "Choose Joy" tattoo, my souvenir from the last time I was here, and realize that I am a different kind of "joyful Christian" than what the culture projects. The joy that I am discovering is far from a light, bubbling over kind, though I do have that from time to time.

On a normal day, the joy I have is more of a quiet, contemplative sort. It's not loud, it's not boastful, or immediately visible. Another thing I don't quite have words to explain. I can offer one analogy: the feeling you get after eating a warm bowl of soup on a cold winter day; a calming, settling feeling. Maybe that's a tad cliche, but it's all I can come up with for now.

The more I see of this place, the more profoundly aware I am of how much I've been blessed. I have a beautiful condo for the amazing price of $300 a month; I have an awesome roommate with two precious kitties I am quickly learning to love (even if it makes me miss my own kitty in Ohio that much more). I haven't been here a week, yet I already have a job. While I'm slightly afraid of how I'll keep up with the academic rigor of grad school, I feel much more at peace now than I ever have before. Life is surprisingly good. I'm almost afraid to put it in writing because I'm very superstitious, but the more days pass by, the more I see that it's true. It's okay to actually admit it every once in a while!

Sooner or later, I will post some pictures. In the meantime, I'm going to wait out this rain from the haven of Estes Park's best coffee house and catch up on some more writing.

Fill the glass, these last few days have gone so fast

So this is it, then. This move is about to happen. All my belongings are packed and now my biggest struggle is to smoosh it all in my tiny little Mazda.

Oh and when I say "belongings," what I really mean is "books." Four giant shelves worth, all divided by genre: Religion, history, fiction, and miscellaneous. They are the most precious items I own. Is that sad? What non-readers fail to understand is that there are pieces of my life in all of these books: from childhood heroes to the ones that kept me up at night sobbing, these books are like my children. The thought of leaving ANY of them behind is appalling. So I will take the chance of adding another 100 pounds to my vehicle. But I will still make plenty of room for my roommate:

I said to Pippa, "Wiggle your nose if you're excited for Denver!" Nose-wiggling ensued. I take that as a good sign :)

Now comes the part where I freak out about all the things you'd expect of someone who is literally packing up her life and moving it to an unfamiliar place...will all my crap fit in my car? Can I make it all the way across the country without my engine crapping out on me again? And then there are the "long term" fears: how the heck am I going to pay back all these loans?! Will I be able to find a job? Is this really the right school? What the heck am I doing?!?!?

But nothing feels as scary as starting something brand new. That, and leaving behind the most amazing guy I've ever known...but, if all goes according to plan, I'll be seeing him in Denver next year. So many changes in such little time. Who can keep up? If I didn't obsessively journal every detail over the last few months I would hardly believe that any of this has happened. I'd still think I'm too scared and too lazy to leave my suburban Ohio box.

So here's to venturing off into the big world of grad school and real adulthood. To learning how to cook with more than just a microwave. To figuring out a monthly budget and actually sticking to it. To stop being a whiny baby about going to the gym. To budgeting not just my money, but also my time, so I can actually study...and maybe finish my book in the process.

Last but not least, here's to leaving the past behind and starting over. To taking advantage of the mountains and re-learning how to ski. And making new friends.

To Colorado we go!!!

Theology-flavored word salad

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.

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.

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.

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?

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?