Say What You Need to Say

I love this song by John Mayer. This afternoon I listened to it, and was struck by how true this is becoming for my life. There are many things that need to be said, questions that need to be asked, prayers that need to be prayed, challenges that need to be discussed. I am going through such a transformative time in my faith and worldview, and it's sometimes difficult to express my emerging thoughts and questions to people who are have not entered the same dialogue that I am wrestling with. And yet, that is no excuse to not challenge people to enter the dialogue in their own way, to question the status quo, to look at the world through a different perspective. "You better know that in the end, it's better to say too much than to never say what you need to say again." Sure, the dialogue I'm having is difficult, personal, challenging, and life-altering. Many people do not want to participate in such a dialogue. I can't blame them. It's much easier to go about life as if there are no injustices, as if problems such as human trafficking are out-of-sight, and therefore out-of-mind, and as if our own problems take all of our time. But that is not what God is calling us to. He's calling us to seek justice, to care for others, to question the status quo. So, as difficult as it can be, I sometimes just need to say what I need to say to evoke particiaption in the dialogue.

Self-talk

My niece was running up and down my parents' hallway last week as I was doing some reading for school. The rest of my family was out in the family room, so she was in her own world. Her own world where she was a star.

When she reached the end of the hall, she gave commentary on the amazing race that had just transpired. "Caitlin, wins again!" "Caitlin, the number one runner of the AquaSox!" (A little confusion on the sport!). "Caitlin, the fastest runner!" No one was watching and no one was listening. She wasn't proving anything to anyone.

I'm not sure when we learn how to self-talk, but I do know how important it is. Although my self-talk is usually (never?) something I verbalize, it is something I am aware of. For example, last summer I found myself biking through a Scottish landscape, what felt like miles behind my biking companions. I couldn't even see them anymore they were so far away. It was just me, and the cows I was slowly passing by. So, I thought, I can either feel lame, slow, and weak, and start crying because I feel unworthy OR, I can realize what an amazing experience this is (when will I ever bike through Scotland again?!), that I am going my own pace, and that my own pace is good enough and the best I can do. Thankful, I was able to self-talk myself into the latter frame of mind and have an enjoyable, though slow, ride through the greenery.

Although Caitlin is only three, I hope she continues to self-talk and encourage herself. Self-talk can be very useful when you least expect it, so practicing is a good thing - even when you're racing yourself down a ten-yard hallway. Caitlin, the racing champion.

Madeleine Musings

"Two people whose opinion I respect told me that the word "Christian" would turn people off. This certainly says something about the state of Christianity today. I wouldn't mind if to be a Christian were accepted as being the dangerous thing which it is; I wouldn't mind it, when a group of Christians meet for bread and wine, we might well be interrupted and jailed for subversive activities; I wouldn't mind if, once again, we were being thrown to the lions. I do mind, desperately, that the word "Christian" means for so many people smugness, and piosity, and holier-than-thouness. Who, today, can recognzie a Christian because of "how those Christians love one another"? Madeleine L'Engle, A Circle of Quiet

Oh, to sum up how I feel about my newly discovered friend, Madeleine. Respect? Certainly. Delight? Absolutely. As if she's speaking to me directly? Quite frequently.

She wrote A Circle of Quiet nearly 40 years ago, as a woman in later stages of life, about her life at her home, Crosswicks, in New England. And yet she reaches me in a profound way. She speaks such simple gems of truth as she reflects on her life and on what it means to just be. If only I could meet her in the town grocery store, in a church pew, or in her kitchen, over a scruptious homebaked goody (that I would bring :)) - I would tell her how I, a 26-year-old who is navigating life in Seattle in 2010, have fallen in love with her stories and ideas. And how I can't wait to read the rest of the Crosswicks series.

Madeleine, I'm not a writer, yet because of people like you, I feel compelled to share my stories in hopes that they will inspire others as much as yours inspire me.

Praise

Walking around the block, hand-in-hand with my one-year-old charge, I got a glimpse of what praise looks like to God.

Matt is learning to walk, and needs to hold someone's hand in order to stay on both feet. We were tripping around in the rain when suddenly he stopped and looked up at me. Maybe it was just one of those times when kids zone out, or maybe he just needed a little break, but all I saw was what God sees when His followers are praising Him.

We were just standing there. He was looking up at me. We weren't moving. He just appeared to enjoy looking at me. For no good reason. Just to look and observe. Just to look at recognize that I was making the whole walking experience happen. Just because he wanted to share his smile with me. Just because he liked me.

Just because.

He didn't need a reason to look at me. He just stopped, looked, and smiled.

And at that moment, I realized that this is what praise looks like to God.

Jeans

It was a sad moment when I put my jeans in the hamper. I knew this was the last time. The last time I would see them hole-free. These jeans, they were much-loved. These jeans, I had high hopes for them. These jeans, I will never have another pair like them.

For some, getting holes in clothes is probably an exciting prospect because it means that they now have a good excuse to buy new clothes. For me, getting holes in clothes makes me want to cry. Once in a blue moon, I have an urge to go shopping. The rest of the time, I try and avoid it like the plague. This morning my mom texted me - "Want me to return your clothes that are laying on the floor next to a pile a receipts?" Yes, it is 20 days after Christmas, and the pile of Christmas presents that I need to return are still in a pile, receipts pinned to them, just waiting to return to the store. But driving to the mall, getting out, and going in is honestly one of the last things I ever want to do. I'd rather go to the dentist. Seriously. At least there you come away feeling nice and clean. These are not feelings I have when I go shopping at the mall.

Another reason I don't like buying clothes is because I don't know where most of them come from. No matter how cute a sweater is or how well a pair of shoes fit me, if I cannot be guaranteed that a child or an overworked adult did not make them, I just don't feel right buying it. That would make me, in some sense, a perpetrator of human slavery. And this is not what I want to be known for. This is not something I have to have any part of. Except, of course, as an abolitionist.

I realize that knowing where everything you purchase comes from is quite a daunting task. I'm at the beginning of my journey to be a slave-free shopper. And I don't think that the journey will be easy, or ever over. But if we only took journies that were easy and quick, we probably wouldn't take very many.

So, as I begin the jean-replacement process, I do so as a shopper who is committed to buying slave-free jeans. It won't be easy, but I don't think it will be impossible, either. In the meantime, please pause and take a moment to mourn the loss of my favorite parts of jeans. You will be missed.

"I'm Tenderheart Bear. I like to help people be nice to each other, so that love can spread and grow."

I was reading "A Friend for Frances" to my niece tonight, and, though it is certainly no great piece of literature, I did appreciate Tenderheart Bear's approach to working with people, and the hopeful result that ensues. People being nice to each other, and love spreading. Sounds pretty good.

Although I did have the yellow Carebear as a child (sunshine bear?), I don't remember reading any Carebear books or watching any Carebear shows. I guess I was more of a stuffed animal and American Girl fan. Who know that 20 years later I would be touched by the simple words of a Carebear? I guess we never know when childhood heroes will give us a word of encouragement.

Human Trafficking Engagement Day

This morning I woke up far too early and drove down to Olympia in the torrential rain for the Human Trafficking Engagement Day. Lawmakers, government employees, and grassroots organizers met to discuss the importance of raising awareness of human trafficking in America.

Of particular note was Linda Smith, former legislator and founder of Shared Hope International, who shared three important goals that her organization is working towards: 1). Protective, safe housing for child victims of human trafficking; 2). Decriminalization of child victims of human trafficking; and 3). Increasing the penalty for buyers/clients of trafficked victims. As human trafficking is such an overwhelming epidemic, I appreciated her comment that, "it would be worth it [combating trafficking] if it were for one person." An important truth for abolitionists to remember as they struggle against the powerful forces of human trafficking.
For more information, check out http://www.washingtonhte.com/ and http://www.seattleagainstslavery.org/

Thank you, Anonymous Professor

A friend I hadn't talked to in a while called me tonight to interview me for a class. We spent some time catching up and then she asked me her questions and then we spent some more time catching up. Thank you, Anonymous Professor, for the assignment that added a little extra happiness to my day :)

Six Days and Counting...

It's official. It's unreal. It's really happening.

I am sleeping without my precious fan.

For the past 20+ years, come rain, snow, or sleet, after I turn off my light and before I lay me down to sleep, I reached over and turned on my fan. Cool air slowly circulating through my room. White noise perfection. Only then I could sleep. Without my fan, I lay with eyes wide open, the stillness of the night growing louder and louder as I thought of one thing and one thing alone: the plastic blades of my night savior. The gentle humming of the motor. Oh, if only I had it with me; if only it was on!

But all of that changed on Monday.

You see, this year is the year of the fish - fish oil, that is. I have decided to take fish oil everyday this year in order to see if it will give my eyes sweet relief from their dryness. The year of the fish oil also includes other measures to care for my eyes, in hopes that they will care for me back :) My doctor has, many times, suggested that I stop using my fan - the air blowing through the room not only could cause my eyes to feel extra-dry, it also could make the air in my room dry.

She's told me this many times before, but this time I was sold.

I have, surprisingly, slept very well. Perhaps my mind is picking up other white noises - the chiming of the grandfather clock, the hum of the computer, the (very slight) buzzing in my ears. Other attempts have ended in futiliy (especially the Great Summer 2009 attempt - I don't recommend trying to give up a fan addiction the week before the hottest week ever!).

Whatever the reason, I am rejoicing in the daily success. It almost seems normal now. I guess the old addage, out of sight, out of mind, is really working for me. To not be addicted to a sleep aid, AND to not be wasteful (especially as a self-proclaimed environmentalist!) is a liberating experience. Hopefully, day 7 will come, and I will have another reason to rejoice :)