Sarahbeth Caplin's Blog, page 52

Speaking up about rape: brave or foolish?

I’m blogging at Rachel in the OC today. Rachel Thompson is an awesome author, blogger, and advocate for survivors of sexual abuse. Check out her book Broken Pieces, an Amazon bestseller.

***

The lyrics to “Brave” by Sara Bareilles hit me hard and personally:

Your history of silence won’t do you any good/Did you think it would?/Let your words be anything but empty/Why don’t you tell them the truth?

That’s exactly what I’m ready to do.

Tell the truth.

But first, here’s the back story:

When I was seventeen, the summer before my senior year of high school, I met an outgoing, attractive, and charismatic twenty-one-year-old man about to enter his senior year of college. It was the kind of relationship where I dove in headfirst, as only a headstrong teenager can.

Read the rest here.

Filed under: Rape Culture Tagged: censorship, Controversy, depression, grief, rape culture

Building a business one cat meme at a time

Am I the only writer with this problem? Every month of halfway decent sales is followed by 1-2 more months of suck: no sales at all. None.

When this happens, I simply take a breath and remind myself of two things: 1) It happens to everyone, and 2) I’m competing against millions of other authors, many who come out with several books a year. Of course the competition is steep (not that it’s really a competition, even though at times it feels like one).

But that doesn’t mean the whole month is a wash. I’ve started to notice a pattern: when sales are down, social engagement goes up. When social engagement is low, sales are higher. It doesn’t make much sense, on the surface. You’d think that an increase of blog, Twitter, and Facebook followers would translate to sales, but that’s not always the case. As a reader myself, I understand that it can take a while for an author to gain my trust. I need to be reassured that my money is going toward a quality product. Often, I’ll follow someone’s blog for months before deciding to purchase their books. I have no doubt my followers do the same.

I’ve learned to appreciate the value of social interaction, though. One cannot earn readers without it. Sometimes it starts with a funny Tweet or a comment on someone else’s blog post. The silly observations and clever memes aren’t always pointless if they gain someone’s attention and captivate interest. It’s something I joke about with my husband, even though it’s not a joke: my job really does involve discussions on Twitter! There really is a purpose for sharing all these cat memes!

Sometimes if I’m not working on writing, I’m reading about writing. And sometimes I read aloud to Zoey.

Yes, on the surface I know that sounds ridiculous. But writers know that sometimes these silly measures are necessary. The authors I love most are the ones I connect to on a real, authentic level. I like reading about the messy, the every day, the grievances, and their overall process. As much as I’d love to present myself as being more of a big deal than I actually am, I know better. Other writers know that trick, because we’re all doing the best we can to keep our heads afloat in this business.

It’s always, always better to be honest than “professional.” So here goes: My name is Sarahbeth Caplin, and I haven’t sold any books yet this month. I am the furthest thing from a “big deal,” but I love what I do, and cannot imagine doing anything else. My royalties might never buy me a house, but they have bought me gas in the past. Sometimes.

In conclusion, here’s another picture of my adorable fur babies.

Filed under: Writing & Publishing Tagged: Author Sarahbeth Caplin, Facebook, Indie Author Life, self-publishing, Writing

That one time I eavesdropped on a discussion about homosexuality at Starbucks

I’ve moved four times in the last two years, and in each location I’ve found pockets of Christians at all the coffee shops I frequented. When I was new to Colorado and overheard snippets of a Bible study or Jesus-y conversation, my heart would swell with familiarity, and I’d feel a sense of home.

After leaving seminary, though, I’d eavesdrop on similar conversations and wonder, how will these people react if I were to jump in and be honest about the questions I have? There’s always that 50-50 chance when you insert yourself into strangers’ dialogue that you’ll emerge with new friends, or end up making things really awkward for everyone.

This week I decided I’d just listen. The conversation was about Christian compassion in response to LGBT discrimination (probably in the wake of Leelah Alcorn’s suicide). My attention faded in and out as I tried to focus on my book, but honestly, when two people are discussing something interesting and they are sitting three feet away from you, listening in can’t be wrong. So I turned my iPod off, but kept the headphones in, and pretended to be engrossed in my reading.

“It makes me sad when people are so quick to judge others,” the guy was saying (I’m horrible at guessing people’s ages, but he was around 20-something?).

“Absolutely,” replied the girl, bobbing her blonde head in agreement (also a theoretical 20-something). “I mean, Christians should be loving people back into healthy sexuality instead of acting cruel.”

At this point I had to bite my lip to keep from responding, but I don’t know what I would have said: Can you be a little more specific about what “loving people back into healthy sexuality” means? Can you explain why homosexuality is so bad, besides the fact that it’s “against God’s design”? Because plenty of straight, married couples aren’t having children and they’re still welcome in church, but that’s technically “against God’s design” too, right?

It’s better that I didn’t say anything. The words would have come out sloppy, tangled, and rushed. The last thing I wanted to do was appear antagonistic, because I’ve participated in countless similar discussions over the last several years. Only I wasn’t always concerned with appearing compassionate and Christ-like. I’ve carried an air of intolerance disguised as sympathy for homosexuals, which was easy to do as a straight woman, completely unable to understand their plight. It also helped that I didn’t know any homosexuals personally. After a while, my intolerance shifted toward indifference: I’d take no stance at all on the issue, as it did not apply to me. But during my final year of college, I did become acquainted with people who were gay, and I couldn’t remain indifferent any longer.

I chose the side of compassion and understanding. I decided I’d ask to hear people’s coming out stories and give them the attention they deserve. But as far as “loving people back to healthy sexuality,” that seemed beyond my qualifications, nor did it seem like any of my business.

So in a way, I’m still stuck in a state of indifference: I could accept the Bible’s proposed stance on homosexuality, but I have to be honest and admit that I hope those interpretations will be revealed in fifty years as misunderstood, just as Christians misunderstood verses pertaining to slavery. So I’m not investigating the sources out of fear of what I might find. I’m afraid of reading into things with a bias. I’m choosing to stay away, for now.

My close circle of Christian friends have assured me that this doesn’t have to be a deal-breaker, as far as salvation is concerned. The Bible does say, after all, that one must believe in Jesus to be saved: not vote against gay marriage, register Republican, protest abortion in all circumstances, and so on. Still, it concerns me that one doubt tends to have a ripple affect on all other things I thought I was certain about. Yank one weed, reveal three more.

What should I have done if I were a participant in that conversation? Put on a faithful face and hope to “fake it till I make it”? Pretend to understand and agree even if I don’t?

I’ve heard plenty of sermons about “choosing to believe,” but is that really what we mean? I’d love to choose the belief that the majority of Christians have an accurate handle on what these “clobber verses” mean: that gays are an abomination, that homosexuality can be prayed away. The problem is, Christianity (and all religions in general) has not been as static as we’d like to think. History has shown us where we’ve erred in our interpretations. I can’t help but wonder about the future of this faith: if fifty years from now, we will still be teaching the same things.

It seems to me that the one static thing about Christianity since its inception is the teaching of Jesus as the one source of salvation, but viewpoints change as technology and science mature to reveal new things about the human body and mind. Every generation develops tools for knowledge that were not available to their predecessors. It has been commonly taught that suicide is a sin, for example, but knowledge of depression as a serious mental illness has changed some of that thinking. If science can one day prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that people are born homosexual or transgendered, will our teachings update, or remain the same?

Filed under: Religion Tagged: Christian culture, Christianity, Controversy, evangelicals, Homosexuality

SHADES OF DOUBT: excerpt

So remember that new book I’m working on? I’m finally jumping back in after a month-long hiatus. Adelaide Scott is a 25-year-old magazine columnist for a a Cosmopolitan-style women’s magazine. Her new boyfriend, Jordan, is a photographer for a sports magazine, and is quite well-known and respected in his field. Until one of his ex girlfriends publicly accuses him of rape. Jordan swears he’s innocent, and Addie wants to believe him. So Jordan gives her a list of all his recent exes for Addie to ‘interview’ to prove he’s telling the truth. Addie will find out the truth…but it’s nothing like she expects.

Read the excerpt from Chapter 1 here, and if you’re curious as to why I’m writing another book about rape, check out this and this.

No release date yet, but stay tuned!

*****

     Jordan is already waiting at the bar when I get there. I try not to look too eager as I set my bag on the counter and take the chair next to him. Be cool. Be Stunning. “What are you drinking?” I ask.

“Coffee-flavored stout,” he answers. “Wanna try?”

He pushes the bottle toward me. I exhale before I try a sip, because it’s a stout, so I already know I’ll hate it. I don’t like beers that are thick enough to be a meal.

“It’s good,” I tell him, and signal the bartender. “I’ll have what he’s having, please.”

“So,” Jordan says, turning to face me. “There’s someone I want you to meet. She’ll be here shortly.”

My stomach instantly clenches at the word she. His next hookup partner? A secret girlfriend? I suppose either possibility was inevitable, since it’s not like he ever promised me anything serious. And I realize I’m acting a bit paranoid. Still, it would have been nice to get a heads up before sprinting this new woman on me, completely out of the blue.

In fact, I’m suddenly so furious, I open my mouth to rip him a new one, but I’m interrupted.

“Hi,” interrupts a female voice. We both look down, and I want to kick myself for being so paranoid. It belongs to the toddler from the photo in his wallet.

“Zoe!” Jordan immediately scoops her up, which she seems to love judging by her breakout smile. “Where’s your mom? You’re too little to be in here by yourself.”

“Potty,” Zoe answers.

“Ahh. Okay. Well I guess you can chill with us while we wait for her to come back. Addie?” Jordan settles her in his lap rests his chin on the girl’s head. “Meet my niece, Zoe. My favorite person in the whole world.”

“Hey there,” I say. I have to stop myself from extending my hand, as if toddlers know how to handshake. I’m not the best with kids, but it’s adorable how much Jordan clearly adores her. My uterus almost skips a beat.

Before long, the woman I presume to be Jordan’s sister shows up. “Do you mind watching her for a few minutes, Jordy? I’m so behind on this research paper, I just need maybe twenty minutes to look some things over. Your next drink will be on me, I promise.”

“You know you don’t need to bribe me to hang out with this girl,” Jordan responds, bouncing Zoe on his lap, which makes her laugh and laugh. I almost can’t handle this cuteness. “Hey, this is my girlfriend Addie, by the way.”

Girlfriend Addie?? What the hell? I’m as shocked as I am honored.

“Oh, wow, hey. Sorry, I’m so rude. Nice to meet you Addie, I’m Elise. I’d love to stay and chat, but I have so much homework. We’ll talk later?” She disappears to a table across the bar before I can respond “Nice to meet you” back.

What just happened here?

While Jordan orders a scone for Zoe, I nurse my drink and try to think of what to say. “So…girlfriend, huh?” is all I can come up with. Not too eager, not too emotional. I hope.

“Well, yeah,” remarks Jordan, as he breaks up the scone into smaller bites for his niece. “What did you think?”

“I don’t know,” I shrug. “You just made it seem like we were…”

“Well maybe that’s how it started.” He reaches for my hand with his free one, as the other gently holds his niece. “But I like you. I assumed you felt the same.”

     Keep calm, Adelaide. I force myself to take another swig of beer. “Of course.” As much as I’d love to know when he realized I was a keeper, and not just a fling, I switch to another topic instead. “So Elise seems nice.”

“Yeah, she is. Just constantly tired and overworked. She finally decided to go back to school after she had Zoe, and she’s determined to graduate within a year. Not bad for a single mom.”

My next question–assuming I could have found a tactful way to put it–was going to be about Zoe’s dad, since I noticed Elise didn’t have any rings on her left hand. I’m grateful he covered that for me. “You must be very proud of her.”

“I am. I’m proud of both my sisters. Emma is a junior in high school and did better on the ACT than I did. And she kicks my ass in chess.” Suddenly mindful of the impressionable girl in his lap, whose face is covered in scone crumbs, Jordan coos, “I mean, butt. Don’t say ‘ass,’ Zo-Zo. Uncle Jordy has a potty mouth.”

“Potty mouf!” Zoe cries, releasing a spray of crumbs. Jordan shakes his head. “What can I do? I’m her favorite babysitter, but also her worst influence.”

It’s hard for me to reconcile these two sides of him: Jordan, the high-profile photographer with a girlfriend list as long as my arm, and goofy Uncle Jordy, fun-loving family man. Charmer of adult women and two-year-olds.

I’m about to say, “I highly doubt that’s true,” but my thoughts are interrupted by a frail, redheaded woman who just entered the bar, and is staring directly at us. I only noticed her because of the fiery brightness of that hair – the eyes that instantly locked into mine were an unexpected spook. I jerk my head back to Jordan, eyes cast down into my drink. “How long can you go before teaching her your dirtiest jokes?” I ask.

“Hmm…” Continuing to hold Zoe with one arm, he grabs his beer and takes a big gulp, pretending to ponder. “Those will have to wait until she’s much older. Like kindergarten.”

“Will Elise approve of that?”

“Elise will be grateful to have someone else to blame so people don’t think she’s the one who corrupted her.”

My laugh, though genuine, is louder than I anticipated, as the red-haired girl’s intense stare continues to freak me out. Now she’s locked her eyes on Jordan. It’s hard not to un-notice, but Jordan’s back is facing her, so he has no idea. “So you come from a family of potty mouths, I take it?”

“I wouldn’t say that, exactly. My parents…well, let’s just say, we try to hide that side of ourselves when we’re around them.”

“I see…” My voice trails off as the girl starts walking toward us. Her eyes continue steadily boring holes in Jordan’s back, but her steps are wobbly. Is she drunk? No, more like…nervous.

“Hey.” Squeezing Jordan’s knee, I jerk my head slightly in what’s-her-face’s direction. “You know that girl?”

By the time Jordan turns around, there she is directly in front of us, eyes wild and face flaming like her hair.

“Jordan Johnson?” she asks timidly. “Is that you?”

Jordan’s forehead creases every so slightly as he stares her down. Almost cautiously. There’s a flash of recognition in his eyes, mixed with surprise and dread. He knows her. And however he knows her, it looks like he wishes he didn’t. “Um, yeah. What are you doing here, Sam? I thought you moved out of the city?”

This Sam girl is so thin and short statured, with a baby-looking face to match, she could almost pass for a high school senior. Her eyes dart around wildly like a spooked horse as shakes her head. “You,” she exclaims, voice shaking and pointed finger trembling. “You…”

“Look, Sam, I’d love to catch up sometime, but I’m kind of with my new girlfriend here–”

I relish the fact that this is the second time in the same hour that I’ve been referred to as Jordan’s girlfriend. But the euphoria doesn’t last long, because the next words out of Sam’s mouth are piercing and unforgettable:

“You raped me.”

Filed under: Rape Culture, Writing & Publishing Tagged: Author Sarahbeth Caplin, rape culture, self-publishing, Writing

What a doctor’s visit revealed about my Jewish identity

The other day I went to a brand new doctor to renew a prescription. If you’ve ever moved out of your home state, you know what a royal pain it is to find brand new doctors, and having to fill out family history forms all over again. I’m sure these questionnaires are more or less the same at most doctor’s offices, but this one had one question I wasn’t expecting, and have rarely seen before:

Does your family have any Ashkenazi Jewish background?

I hesitated, but I’m not sure why; my beliefs are irrelevant as far as family history is concerned, and I’m already aware that the Jewish community is more at risk for certain cancers and other medical conditions than others. So I checked ‘yes.’

Funny how I was there to discuss a completely unrelated medication, yet for most of the visit, I sat at the mercy of the doctor who handed me pamphlet after pamphlet about genetic testing, and seemed horrified that I had never been tested for these cancer genes before. I tried to laugh it off by saying, “Well, I didn’t see a point if I’m not having kids, I’m fine with having cats as kids for now,” but he failed to understand or acknowledge my humor. What I really felt like saying was, Yes doctor, I am already aware that my family is genetically fucked. The mood continued to go south when the doctor asked about the deaths of my paternal grandparents – both from cancer – and then about my father’s health. As you can imagine, I tensed up rather quickly before responding, “He died of cancer too.”

All that just to renew my birth control. Geez Louise. Should have inquired about Xanax while I was at it.

What is the point of writing about this? Because it all started by checking off “Jewish” on the medical intake form, reminding me that regardless of what I believe spiritually, one cannot take the biological Judaism out of a person.

I always found it strange that my family religion has both spiritual and ethnic components, and most Jews (in America, at least) identify with Judaism on more of a cultural level. I’d say that’s definitely true in my case – cultural Judaism remains a strong and critical part of my identity as a person, if not my spiritual identity. Jewish-isms were the language of my mother and maternal grandmother growing up, and it always makes my heart sink a little when I have to explain the meaning of “chutzpah” or “schlepping” to a gentile, or why my “Jewish Penicillin” soup bowl is so funny.

But more than that, it’s telling how I had to embark on this roundabout journey through Christianity in order to understand that the things that bothered me most about Judaism are the same things I miss most about it today. It used to frustrate me that Judaism couldn’t seem to make up its mind on issues such as whether there’s an afterlife (and who gets to go where), and even social issues such as abortion and premarital sex. The continuum of liberal and conservative Judaism is quite long and diverse; there are, quite frankly, as many answers to those questions as there are Jews.

But it’s hard not to respect a faith that has learned to embrace mystery and uncertainty. You would be hard-pressed to find people like that in evangelical Christianity, and if they are out there, they are likely in the closet for fear of being outed as heretics.

I’ll come out and say it for added emphasis: I miss Judaism. I miss being Jewish. I don’t know what this means for me, though, as I doubt I’ll ever walk away from Jesus, even if I walk away from church and other Christians. The people I know who identify as “both” are from interfaith families whose parents compromised by having a Christmas tree and a menorah coexist in the same living room. The other “both” group is Messianic Judaism, a movement that simply isn’t for me. Spiritually speaking, it is impossible for one to be “both,” as these two religions teach very different things. But as far as the culture is concerned; the history, the medical aspects…those are my last and only straws.

I don’t mean to imply that Judaism is a back-up plan if Christianity doesn’t work out. Still, it is comforting to know that while I may feel like a spiritual orphan at times, I’ll never be spiritually homeless. I will always belong somewhere.

Filed under: Religion Tagged: cancer, Christian culture, Christianity, hell, Judaism

Shifting faith and understanding grace

I’ve never blogged through a book before, but I’m considering doing that with Faith Shift by Kathy Escobar. I’ve been looking forward to reading it for a long time, but as a devout bookworm with OCD, I not only couldn’t set aside the book(s) I was currently reading to start this one, I had to read all my new books in exactly the order I bought them (otherwise I’d just hurt their feelings).

FINALLY, the time has come for me to read this, and I can tell it’s going to be good because I’m only twenty pages in and had to set it down as my brain started swimming with blog ideas.

If you couldn’t guess by the title, Faith Shift is a book for people going through transition. It’s not a Christian-y ‘self help’ book or 200-page sermon disguised as a devotional. Escobar wastes no time by asking on page 4: “Do you feel tired and frustrated when you go to church or read your bible? Have you experienced a significant shift in your theology and lost some relationships because of it?” That’s just the beginning; by page 5 I itched to start writing, but forced myself to at least finish the chapter first.

By the end of the chapter I realized something important: while there’s some merit in going through the motions of religion even if your heart isn’t in it, it’s just not healthy to do that for an extended period of time. “Keep calm and faith on” only works so much, and I’ve reached a point where my empty expressions of faith aren’t fooling God. It almost feels disrespectful to keep acting as if I am.

So I put down my Bible. Closed my prayer journal. It’s been months since I’ve cracked open either one. This is not permanent (at least I hope it’s not) but all my pages of complaining made me feel more stressed and anxious, not less. If that’s what “laying your problems at the foot of the cross” is supposed to look like, I guess I wasn’t doing it right.

In addition, I hid the Facebook updates of acquaintances who praised God for cheap cars and lowered gas prices. I withdrew from closer friends whose strong faith I once admired, but now discouraged and disillusioned me; at times even threatened me.

It’s hard to pinpoint exactly when this started, but I’m going to say it was somewhere during my “gap year” between college and grad school, and I had this crazy idea that enrolling in seminary would help strengthen my faith. One year and $30,000 later, I dropped out, and that’s sort of where Confessions of a Prodigal Daughter leaves off.

At the time of publication, I wasn’t in a place to begin sorting through the confusion and frustration of being in small groups with Bible Belt-ers who spoke as if they had never interacted with anyone outside their faith before; people who sincerely believed depression was an excuse to sin. I also wasn’t in a place to deal with the harassment from another student who didn’t know how to take “no” for an answer (which is enough of a trigger by itself), and later called me a heretic for expressing doubts about the meaning of a particular bible verse. In the middle of a lecture, no less.

I hesitate to call the entire seminary experience a mistake, because through it I did make a few genuine, solid friendships. But whatever it was, it was awfully expensive, and something I probably wouldn’t have tried if I had the foresight of how it would end. But that’s how life often works; what can you do?

From there, if you’ve kept up with this blog for the last few months, you know my father died of cancer. Within a month, my childhood pet was gone, too. Two months later I got married. Roller coaster much? Definitely. Through all that muck there were friends who reminded me how much they loved me, and I’m so grateful for them. But there were also people who revealed a side I had never seen before that caused a break of trust: people who didn’t seem to care much about my emotional well-being, but only wanted to know if my father was “saved.” I turned away from those people, even if their intentions came from a good place. It just seemed to me that hell wasn’t reserved for after death – it was happening right in my living room. I couldn’t stand to be reminded of it anymore.

If you’ve read Confessions, you know that redemption – God making new and beautiful things out of broken pieces – was a big part of what attracted me to Christianity in the first place. It’s a different kind of philosophy than “everything happens for a reason.”

I’m also enchanted by the notion that one need not be Christian, or even religious, to be used by God. One of Dad’s last requests was to use some of his life insurance money to help my brother and I pay off our student loans. The biblical parallel is not lost on me: with Dad’s literal death he gave us (financial) freedom. Christians are familiar with this idea of grace from reading Scripture, but not many experience it directly. I don’t want to sound self-righteous when I say this, but it makes me wonder if God is still trying to get my attention. If he’s still trying to tell me Hey, I’m still here. Your father’s death was devastating, but I won’t let it go to waste.

Of course, I question the type of God who allows these awful things to happen in the first place. But that’s another subject for another post: one that I hope Escobar will address in a later chapter.

Filed under: Religion Tagged: Author Sarahbeth Caplin, cancer, Christian culture, Christianity, Confessions of a Prodigal Daughter, depression, Facebook, grief, hell

A Year in Review (of books)

With less than a week left of 2014, it’s time to review 1% of the year’s favorite books and authors to watch. But let’s be honest: a review of every book I read and liked this year would be another book in itself, so I painstakingly narrowed this list down to a Top Five.

5) THE CHOICE by AJ Adwen

THE CHOICE is a gut-wrenching story of a teenage girl who finds herself in a dark place that no young woman should ever know. At the same time, it’s also a love story, with a message of redemption for those who have been hurt by life and don’t know whether they can trust anyone again.

There are no easy answers or heavy-handed morals, which I prefer in books that tackle difficult topics. It’s rare for me to read a book that explores a dark subject like rape so realistically and responsibly, without getting unnecessarily graphic. That’s not to say I wasn’t somewhat triggered by the content, but that’s a testament to the power and beauty of Adwen’s writing.

4) WISHING WELL by Kaitlyn Oruska

Kaitlyn Oruska tackles the issue of substance abuse, and the friends and family members struggling to understand it, with wisdom and grace. The characters are flawed, yet believable. There are so many questions implicitly asked of readers: how do you love someone when you don’t fully understand what they are going through? When they aren’t acting very lovable? When you wonder why you should still remain involved in their lives? Do you run away, or do you stay? And how far would you go to remain loyal, even if it turns your own life upside down?

3) THE BIBLE TELLS ME SO by Peter Enns

I have great respect for Christians – scholars, no less – who openly wrestle with doubt, and are unafraid to address the difficult questions that many would prefer to sweep under the rug. Questions like why God permits and even orders genocide, and why the Scriptures seem full of contradictions. At the same time, if the Bible is a series of documents inspired by God, it does not require a human defense. Rather, it can stand on its own merit.

While I appreciate the honesty of this book, I wasn’t completely satisfied by Enns’ answers (not that I expected there to be any, considering the vast number of scholars who have wrestled with the same texts throughout the last two thousand years and still can’t seem to make up their minds). Still, this is a great book for discussion, and I wish I read through it with a small group instead of on my own. Perhaps one day.

2) QUIET by Susan Cain

I’m generally skeptical of ‘blockbuster books’ – the kind that every media outlet is talking about, that are displayed front and center at every grocery store and airport newsstand. But it was hard to resist a book addressing a commonly misunderstood demographic that I fall into – introverts – so I had to pick it up. And I’m glad I did.

This a book I wish was available years ago, when I struggled to maintain a ‘people presence’ while working in retail under a boss who kept telling me I wasn’t smiley, perky, or talky enough (and I was genuinely trying my hardest to be that way), and while volunteering for the ‘meet and greet’ team at church to get out of my comfort zone. I’ve wondered if something was wrong with me for having a fear of talking to strangers (usually businesses) over the phone, hating to be the first to introduce myself, and feeling worn out after being around large groups of people for too long.

At the same time, I’m fairly decent at public speaking (in limited amounts) which Cain says is not uncommon for a lot of introverts. In fact, some of the most famous actors and creative types – people who make a living performing in front of other people – are introverted. In a world that tends to favor the extroverted personality, this is a necessary book that everyone should read.

1) THE CREATION OF ANNE BOLEYN by Susan Bordo

I guess it goes without saying that Anne Boleyn is one of my favorite historical figures: mysterious, controversial, ambitious, and woefully misunderstood. This book addresses the ways that Anne has essentially been ‘recreated’ depending on the bias of whomever is telling her story: historical fiction novelists, TV producers, playwrights. She is someone who can be painted in a number of ways: martyr, whore, victim, feminist icon, ‘mean girl,’ and more. How can you not be intrigued by someone like that?

This book is not so much a biography as it is a cultural history, and it’s a conversational, at times even humorous read – not like a textbook.

So, have you read any of these? What are some of your favorite books from 2014?

Filed under: Feminism, Other stuff, Rape Culture, Religion, Writing & Publishing Tagged: Christian culture, Christianity, Controversy, Feminism

Is it selfish, or is it self-care?

On the third night of our honeymoon, we discovered a piano bar at the resort. We could request songs, sip daiquiris, and just enjoy the fact that we could stay out as late as we wanted, sleep in as late as we wanted, and not have to worry about work for a while.

I was somewhere around my third daiquiri when the couple next to us requested Fix You by Coldplay…and that’s when the fun sort of crashed. I associate songs with many experiences in life, positive and negative, and Fix You is one of those songs that never fails to trigger me: And the tears come streaming down your face/When you lose something you can’t replace/When you love someone but it goes to waste/Could it be worse?

It was a song I played on repeat almost every night this past summer, because the lyrics are so spot-on, yet vague enough to fit almost any situation.

In my case, it perfectly described how I felt about losing Dad. A gorgeous song, to be sure, but I had to wonder why someone would request it at a Sandals resort. Sad songs do not belong on vacation! I felt genuinely happy on our trip – a feeling I’ve struggled very much to recover – but that song? I couldn’t listen to it. Not then.

I’m sure it’s only because of the daiquiris that I opened my big mouth and blurted, “Why that song?” The woman who made the request stared at me blankly. “You don’t like it?” she asked, dumbfounded.

“No, I love that song,” I responded. “I just don’t feel like slitting my wrists on my honeymoon.” And that was the point where Josh whisked me away and said, “You know, maybe Tipsy Beth shouldn’t be allowed out in public.”

And he had a point – not about being tipsy in public, which I never do (it was an all-inclusive resort, in my defense), but about taking my issues out on unsuspecting people who don’t need to be subjected to my inner baggage. I have been depressed, angry, and grieving deeply, all the while knowing that there comes a point when those problems can no longer be used as an excuse to turn off my mental filter. There’s an unspoken “grace period” for people going through hard times, when the bereaved are more likely to be forgiven for saying stupid things, but that grace period can’t last forever.

I’ve been around people who let their grief consume them; who act as if they are the only ones to ever experience a certain kind of tragedy. I have also been that person. I’m slowly coming to terms with the fact that loss is part of the human experience, and while I’ve been extremely blessed for most of my life, I’m not immune to suffering (and yes, I am aware of how much that statement exposes my utmost privilege). I’m fortunate to have had only a couple big losses in 26 years.

As I prepare to leave my Hermit Hole and re-enter the world again, I find myself asking the following question: Is this action selfish, or is it self-care? If it’s the former, I’m grateful to have people on the inside, like my husband and a few close friends, who know me well enough to keep me straight and use tough love if necessary.

The piano guy did play that song. I ended up leaving the bar and pacing outside in circles while looking at wedding pictures on my phone to help stay present. I probably should have apologized to that couple, but they were gone by the time I came back. They will never know that my outburst wasn’t because I’m a rude person all around, but because of trouble getting on a train out of Trigger Town.

Filed under: Other stuff Tagged: cancer, depression, grief

Blessings, gratitude, and exposed privilege

I want all substance and no filler in my church small groups. It’s just awkward when it’s your first time visiting, you know absolutely no one, and the question on the projector screen reads, “When was a time you thought God had forgotten about you, and how did he come through for you in the end?”

I can’t answer that, I realized. I’m still in that moment.

Josh broke the ice first by talking about his job search. I remember that period well: in that eight-month stretch of unemployment, I wondered if I might have to move back to Ohio, where the cost of living is cheaper and we could stay with our parents until we figured things out.

Others nodded in understanding, while I considered talking about my own job struggles. How I wish I could be a better-selling author. Except that wouldn’t be genuine at all, because I know a writing career requires hard work, strategy, and talent. I don’t resent God for not making it all happen before my next rent payment is due.

Some of the other shared stories were familiar: health struggles, yearning for relationships, coping with losses. The common thread was God coming through somehow with a cure; a spouse; a sign from heaven that things were okay. Keep calm, faith on, and God will come through. I used to share stories like those as living proof that God is real, he is still active, and he cares. I’d like to still believe that. Only…

Can I really complain about my job not paying enough when I’ve never had to worry where my next meal is coming from? I’ve been provided for my whole life; first by my parents, and now by my husband, who did end up finding a good job, and we were able to stay in Colorado. But what about the thousands of people living below the poverty line in America alone? How many of them have prayed for an ounce of prosperity? How many of their children still go to bed hungry despite those prayers?

And I really didn’t want to get started on the medical miracle bandwagon. That’s a new one that’s still quite raw, and I may never let it go. It’s truly wonderful when someone’s illness just disappears, despite a doctor’s well-calculated prognosis. I still believe miracles can happen. But I can’t shake the unrest I feel when someone praises God for healing someone of the same disease that killed my father. It makes me want to snarl, what’s so damn special about your relative that God cured him over mine?

There is gratitude, and then there is arrogance. The line drawn between the two is sometimes hard to see. I’m certainly not opposed to giving thanks to God for blessings, but it’s important to understand that sometimes the way we phrase that gratitude reeks of privilege. God healed your loved one, yes. But in all likelihood, he did so via doctors and advanced medical care. If your sick relative lived on the other side of the world, the outcome may have been very different.

I never thought I’d struggle with how to express gratitude for my blessings and privileges, but I do. I’m too keenly aware of how gratitude can be a stumbling block for someone else who isn’t blessed in the same way. The last thing I’d want to do is put out an air that says I’m more special, more favored, more holy, and that is why I’ve been given this thing – a job, a cure, a spouse – and you’re none of those things, so you’re out in the cold.

But I don’t ever want to stop giving thanks. I want to believe in a God who allows good things to happen because he himself is good, regardless of how sincere one’s faith might be.

Filed under: Religion Tagged: Author Sarahbeth Caplin, cancer, Christian culture, Christianity, Controversy, First World Problems

Becoming Beth: a love story

Aside from being baptized, changing my name is one of the most biblical things I’ve ever done, following in the footsteps of Sarah (formerly Sarai), Abraham (formerly Avram), Paul (formerly Saul), and others. I’m weird, though – most people today don’t do that, and the people who lived in biblical times never had to deal with the hassle that is Social Security and the DMV.

Becoming Sarahbeth (from Sarah Elizabeth) was important to me. And I still am Sarahbeth, legally. But that’s the name I put down on job applications, doctor’s forms, and of course, book covers. Like the name I was born with, I sort of grew out of that one too. Well, that’s not entirely true – I did get tired of the “It’s Sarahbeth one word with an ‘h’ no space no hyphen lowercase ‘b’” dance when giving my name over the phone, and forget putting it on a Starbucks cup; it was always reduced to “Sarah” and then five other women would step forward and I’d never know if it was my drink order being called or not.

But I wanted to make it work. I’ve never met another Sarahbeth in person before (though I’ve stalked a few via Facebook) and I felt some degree of pride in having made it up. It’s my name, dammit! I would fight for it! And fight I did…until I met Joshua.

Actually that’s not the whole truth. We technically met in 2008, at Campus Crusade for Christ, but were both dating other people, so we never looked at each other “like that.” We were in the background of each other’s lives, casually saying “Hey” at bible study, but nothing deeper than that. By the time we ran into each other again in 2011, we were both single, though his breakup was somewhat anticipated. Mine came out of the blue and gutted me like a blunt knife soaked in saltwater.

Obviously, I was not in a very good place. So when he said, “Sarahbeth is too long, can I just call you Sarah?” my response was, “Hell no, you may not.” So he then said, “Okay…how about Beth?” My response was “That’s fine,” even though I had no intentions of going by that at the time. We just ran into each other after about two years of silence; I wasn’t going to see him again (so I thought), so it really didn’t matter what he called me.

Well, I was flat wrong – two weeks after that day, we started dating. Two and a half years later, he proposed, and nearly two weeks ago, we got married. After some debate, I decided to keep Sarahbeth, but with my last name being Stoneburner now, that is…um…a little long. And yes, I am aware I now have two names made up of two names. I am SB squared, with the initials SS (my Jewish family just loves that). Let the jokes begin.

On the outside, it may seem like I chose to embrace Beth because my boyfriend did. I hate those books where the main character completely reinvents herself for a boy, and I hate to think I followed in that same pattern, but I don’t think that’s the case. With Josh, the changes that took place in my life were necessary – I entered our relationship still hating myself and wanting to be made new. He gave me the chance to do that by helping me see why I might be worth dating, and eventually marrying. It wasn’t because of him that I reinvented myself, again, as a stronger, healthier woman, but with him. And I could have done that without him, but I’m glad I didn’t. He’s a perpetually optimistic person who deeply cares about others, and I need people like that in my life.

For what it’s worth, I’ve grown into a Beth now, if that makes sense. It’s a name that conjures up a picture of a dark-haired, bookish sort of girl with glasses (gee, sound familiar?). It’s a name that’s sorta common, but not too common, and has an aura of mystery around it: is it short for Elizabeth? Bethany? And most everyone can spell it. That makes my life a heck of a lot easier. Last but not least, Little Women, anyone?

This is not the conventional path of most people, I know. It makes me odd and maybe confusing, and I certainly don’t recommend changing your name more than once if you can help it. I hesitated to even take Josh’s last name because of the ridiculous paper trail that will be following me for the rest of my life. But this is part of a love story, after all, so concluding it as Beth Stoneburner just feels like the natural thing to do.

Filed under: Other stuff, Religion Tagged: Author Sarahbeth Caplin, Campus Crusade for Christ, Christian culture, Christianity, depression, grief, marriage