Sarahbeth Caplin's Blog, page 55

What Christians get wrong about love

Throughout my participation in Campus Crusade for Christ, I heard this message countless times in sermons, bible studies, and prayer groups: There is no such thing as real love outside of Jesus.

I was new to Christianity then. It still had this shiny, new toy appeal to it. So I swallowed that line without thinking about it too critically. But this was also the time when Dad’s cancer began to return with increasing aggression, and started adding severe limitations to his life: he could no longer run, lift weights, or play golf – all activities that he loved.

I imagine this also put a great deal of strain on my parents’ marriage. At the same time, it also highlighted the strength of their commitment to each other. Imagine that: my non-Christian parents demonstrating gritty, at times intensely unflattering, but ultimately genuine, gut-wrenching real love.

“We promised ‘for better or for worse, in sickness and in health,’ and we meant it,” is what they told me.

You only had to spend a day, or maybe even an hour, in my house to see just how much they meant it.

In the final weeks of Dad’s life, Mom slept on a reclining chair at his bedside, despite her dire need for a hip replacement (which she postponed in order to continue caring for him). She decided to delay receiving her PhD by a couple months so she could be a full-time caregiver, even though she’d been studying furiously all summer. That deep, unwavering love enabled her to help empty his colostomy bag, change bandages, and wake up in the graveyard hours of the night to give him his pain medication.

You simply cannot look at that devotion and say it isn’t real because Jesus isn’t in the center of it. You just can’t. I think back to those semesters I was active in Cru and feel so ashamed by my sheep-like acceptance of that falsehood. I did not think to challenge the people who said those things. I did not ask them to show me where in the Bible it said that non-Christians don’t experience real love. I just smiled, nodded, and went on with life.

If it’s true that God is good – the creator of all good things – maybe it stands to reason that romantic love and satisfying marriages are included in that package. If all good things in this world are the mark of God’s handiwork, one need not be Christian or religious in any form to enjoy them.

When I think about my parents, I think of how they set a high bar for my own upcoming marriage (in T-minus 66 days, not that I’m counting or anything). I realize more than ever how fleeting feelings can be, and how dangerous and unrealistic it is to rely on a “spark” to sustain you every day.

There will certainly be no sparks or fireworks if I end up in my mom’s place someday, caring for Joshua in his last days of hospice care (God forbid). I will have to rely on far deeper things to get through each day: Commitment. Devotion. Fulfilling my promises, knowing my spouse would do the same for me.

For people to insist that kind of love is exclusive to people of a certain religion is offensive as it is untrue.

Filed under: Religion Tagged: Campus Crusade for Christ, cancer, Christian culture, Christianity, grief, marriage

Confessions of an Uncensored Childhood

In honor of Banned Books Week, I’d like to offer a few thoughts about what it was like growing up with parents who let me read (almost) anything I wanted (take them at face value).

I have what you may call “liberal parents,” politically and intellectually. This isn’t to say I was raised without limits, but when it came to literature, the doors were pretty wide open.

This factoid should surprise no one, but I was raised to be a reader. From fairy tales at bedtime to abridged children’s classics, it’s safe to say that literature is what shaped me. Not only was I encouraged to read, I was encouraged to ask questions. In the waiting room at the doctor’s office, for example, mom read me Little Bear. I vividly remember asking her, “How come Little Bear’s parents wore clothes, but he doesn’t?” Mom’s response: “I don’t know. Maybe his parents were just negligent. You should write your own version where he asks that question.” And you know what? I did. Among many other stories.

My brother, on the other hand, was more of a history and movie buff. He was watching war films like Saving Private Ryan at an age when many parents would still forbid PG-13 rated movies. I think for my parents, the historic content and possibility for education outweighed the rating (and in case you’re wondering, they didn’t allow either of us to watch whatever films we wanted. Movies weren’t automatically disallowed by their ratings alone, but rather why they earned those ratings. We weren’t allowed to watch mindless smut-fests like American Pie). This mindset continued to apply to my own reading material – some I picked on my own, like Grapes of Wrath, and others were required for English class, like All Quiet on the Western Front.

I should also mention that when you grow up Jewish, the Holocaust becomes an essential part of early education. And, by extension, history lessons about World War II in general. So questions about why Little Bear was allowed to run around naked, and the sexual content of Judy Blume books really didn’t seem like that big of a deal.

By not hiding the facts of the “real world” from us, my parents made it possible for my brother and I to be free to ask questions: why is there evil in the world? What do I do if my friends at school ask me if I want a cigarette? Why haven’t I gotten my period yet? What parent wouldn’t want their kids to be comfortable asking them these questions?

Because books related to these “hard topics” were available to me, I grew up finding solace in literature. I also began the hellish years of middle school with a realistic awareness that social life was about to get difficult, and sure enough it did: my dad was diagnosed with cancer for the first time. A classmate committed suicide. Insecurities about my body plagued me on an almost daily basis.

I sincerely believe that my access to ‘worldly’ literature prepared me for these things, rather than ruin my innocence. For that, I owe my parents nothing but gratitude. And when I read articles like these, where parents go to ridiculous lengths to purify their kids’ literature, I can’t help but feel sorry for those kids whenever they enter the ‘real world’ and discover it’s not as sanitized as mom made it seem. And, furthermore, will they have the right tools to defend their values if they have only read books that reinforced, rather than challenged what they were taught to believe?

What religious converts don’t always tell you

For Dorothy Gale, a literal whirlwind trip to a place called Oz was enough for her to appreciate the value of Kansas.

A less windy excursion into Christianity was enough for me to appreciate the things I took for granted in Judaism–mainly, the freedom to doubt and ask questions. Christianity isn’t anti-doubt and anti-questions, but Judaism, I’ve discovered, has a more accepting attitude to living with doubts and questions. There’s less pressure to have it all figured out, just in case you find someone holding a gun to your head (or threatening to burn you alive), pre­paring to make you martyr by asking what you believe.

You should only convert once in your lifetime, if you can help it. A person’s religion is more than a building to worship in–more than a social gathering, club, or community of like-minded people. Religion influences the way you vote, how you spend your money, how you devote your time, how you view your fellow man, the purpose of life altogether, and the most productive way to live it.

Religion, simply put, is a lifestyle. Ask any con­vert and I’m quite confident they will tell you: you lose a piece of yourself when you change religions, even if the identity you gain feels like a better fit. Changing religions is like sharing custody of children with your ex-spouse: the interaction may be stiff and uncomfortable, but there is still a bond that can never be severed because of what you shared.

Christians still like to encourage me that I can have it both ways: they tell me I’m a “completed Jew.” Such terminology shows how completely uninformed the evangelical culture is at large about Judaism: maybe Christianity should have been the fulfillment of the Jewish religion, but that’s not how the history plays out. It’s irrelevant to me that Jesus didn’t intend to create another religion when he started his ministry. Judaism and Christianity evolved in separate directions anyway, and that is the reality we must work with.

It’s not enough to convince a Jewish person that Jesus is the real Messiah: the doctrinal differences are so deep, having been developed hundreds of years before the Immaculate Conception. From the begin­ning, Judaism has viewed the origin of sin, the nature of good and evil, and the importance of the afterlife differently than its brother-from-another-mother, Christianity. Jewish and Christian biblical scholars still battle over how to correctly interpret the original Hebrew manuscripts.

As for me, the former rabbi wannabe, I’m still struggling to interpret the Sermon on the Mount, much less the correct implications of yom, meaning “day,” and whether it constitutes twenty-four literal hours in the creation story of Genesis, or if Isaiah 53 is prophetically referring to the suffering of Jesus or the suffering of Israel on its beaten path to statehood.

Theology–any theology–is messy, but combining two religions as one is even messier.

I don’t claim to be a scholar or an expert in any­thing. I’m only a pilgrim looking to marry my past to my present in a peaceful way so they don’t bicker; a sojourner searching for middle ground between two profoundly different—and profoundly similar—faiths without ending up so infuriated by the follow­ers of both that I toss them both out.

Excerpted from Confessions of a Prodigal Daughter

Keep calm and quit being your worst critic

Shortly after the revised edition of my memoir was published, I was holding the paperback in my hands, with that newfound sense of awe and accomplishment that comes with every book I publish. Flipping through the pages, I noticed what was written on the copyright page: This novel is a work of fiction…

Naturally, I was horrified. How many people had seen this?! It was such an embarrassing gaffe; such a stupid mistake, but luckily not difficult to fix. I did, however, have to go back to The Learned Owl Bookshop to replace the copy with the misprint. I copy-paste the copyright notice from my previous books (those are fiction), and change the title and year of publication. I probably made a mental note to go back and change the wording later, and just forgot. Obviously.

But a mistake like that caused a miniature anxiety attack that I’m sure many authors face: what if there are other mistakes in my book I don’t know about? What if there’s some major flaw that no one – not the editor, not any of my six beta readers – picked up on?

A better question: would I have these same fears if all my books were traditionally published?

I think I would. Not just because I have found typos and slight grammar goofs in traditionally published novels before – they are made by humans, after all – but because it’s still my work. I am harsher on myself than any 1-star review from a Goodreads troll. I will always ask myself, no matter how many positive reviews I get: Did I really give it my all? Did I wait long enough before publishing? Did I get enough opinions from readers who enjoy this genre? Did I…?

I know there’s no such thing as a universally pleasing book. There may not even be such a thing as a “perfect” book. But assuming every required task was checked off the list before publishing, there has to come a point when you rest in knowing that you gave it your best shot.

No, not everyone who reads your work will love it. Some might even hate it. But I firmly believe that if you invest your time, your emotions, and your heart in every book, the readers you are trying to reach will be able to tell. One misplaced comma that went overlooked by a hundred beta readers and five different editors/proofreaders will not ruin your entire book, or underscore all that hard work (it kind of pains me to say that, being a perfectionist with OCD, but how can I hold that standard for other people’s books and not my own?).

Of course, it’s much easier to type this out as a motivational blog post than to truly believe it. But as long as I continue giving my best effort, there’s nothing left to do except hold these paperbacks proudly, and not be afraid to admit Yeah, I made these.

This post is part of the Indie Author Life series.

In defense of doubt

There’s a lot about my Christian faith that I don’t understand. I can’t conceive of a loving God allowing his children to suffer in hell for eternity because they never heard of Jesus, were repulsed by the actions of those who claimed to represent Jesus, or just didn’t find substantial evidence to back up God’s existence.

I don’t fully understand prayer. Is it about changing myself, or getting what I want? If I ask God for something and don’t get it, isn’t that treating him like a genie? If God already has a plan mapped out, is prayer supposed to change his mind?

And that’s just the beginning of my laundry list of questions. Why bother calling myself a Christian at all, then?

Because there’s something inherently attractive about a religion where God came to meet us, rather than requiring humans to work their way up a moral ladder (provided you already believe a God exists).

Because Jesus said to love our enemies. As much as I find that notion ridiculous, I also find it fascinating and want to learn more.

But of everything else about Christianity that’s complicated, this obligation to “share my faith” is especially puzzling.

I know what it’s like to be on the receiving end of a polished, rehearsed, and coldly delivered “faith pitch” that utterly lacks sincerity and a desire to know the person you’re speaking to. I’ve resolved never to speak about my beliefs like that. Because if what you believe makes up who you are, it’s something that will eventually uncover itself when you talk to people. When you love someone, you make him or her known. It’s something we do without realizing it, when that kind of devotion is so tightly woven into our lives. And people notice a difference.

My goal has always to strive for authenticity. I fumble and stumble around for honest answers, not theological constructs. I try to make a point of asking, “What are your beliefs, if you’re comfortable sharing?”

I don’t try and hide the fact that I struggle. I envy the Christians who seem to have it all figured out, who calmly state that the answers to all their questions were found in the very same verses that give me trouble. I’ve wondered if there’s something wrong with me for not being as persuasive as they are.

But I think there’s something inspiring about the persistence to understand something that’s bigger than us. There are plenty of times when this faith thing seems like a fool’s errand, and maybe it is. I wonder sometimes if maybe that’s the point. If a spiritual realm exists, it’s impossible to think we can fully understand it using the resources of a material world.

There’s something more inviting about a person who says, “I’m on a journey to find wisdom, wanna join?” as opposed to “My beliefs are solid and unchangeable, here’s why.”

My fear is having a small, easily shakable faith that falls apart by asking a single question, losing a certain debate, or reading a particular book. But to only surround myself with other Christians, only read Christian books, only listen to Christian music…I fear that even more.

When I flip through my Bible, I see beauty in the verses that provide hope to people lying in hospital beds, courage to men and women on the battlefield. But I also look through the Bible and see horror: verses that have been used to justify the worst crimes against humanity, the most dangerous kinds of intolerance.

I’ve been the accuser of heresy before. I’ve also been the one accused. But in reality, all of us are both.

“Fear your perceived enemies and drive them out of your country,” said Jesus never

In addition to Sunday School and Bat Mitzvah training, my Jewish childhood was spotted with history lessons about the Holocaust. My bookshelves held the typical ‘90s girlhood titles, like The Babysitter’s Club series, plus The Diary of Anne Frank and Elie Wiesel’s Night. I read the latter two while still in elementary school. “Never Forget” was one of the biggest lessons I took from my Jewish education. It’s the refrain that helped shape the activist I am today.

What’s more horrifying to me than the photographic evidence of emaciated bodies from starvation, and testimonies of unspeakable torture, is the thought of entire countries turning their backs to the suffering of innocents; of ordinary people with families and children of their own being so quick to believe stereotypes and outright lies from the soapbox of a powerful, charismatic leader. It’s not just that Hitler was so engaging with the public and a gifted speaker: he provided a convenient scapegoat for a nation that was already fearful and paranoid about its future.

Why am I talking about this? Because fear and paranoia is what I’m seeing more of lately, pertaining to Muslims and their “infiltration” of America. The fear of ISIS and what its members are capable of is more than valid, but since that’s happening “over there” in the Middle Eats, what can be done about it from here in the States? How about blaming all Muslims and advocate driving them out, as advocated in an editorial from Charisma News, written by a preacher named Gary Cass (that editorial has, mercifully, been taken down after a mass outrage on Twitter)? Yeah, that’s an ideal “solution.”

This should sound dangerously familiar!

I made the mistake of reading some of the comments on the original article. There are plenty of people calling themselves “Christian” who agree with him. Your skin should start to crawl now.

As someone who was raised with awareness of what fear can do, we cannot allow this fear to shape our view of all Muslims. This is how the fires of history’s most tragic persecutions and genocides get started.

I’m sad that this needs to be pointed out. I’m sad that this lesson bears repeating. But the anti-Muslim vitriol I’m seeing posted on Facebook and Twitter, some of it coming from my brothers and sisters in Christ, makes it necessary. I have to wonder if many of them have ever met a practicing Muslim before. Where are they getting their lessons from? The media? Or from flesh-and-blood people who practice Islam?

Christians: remember that we get it wrong, too. Our history is stained by inquisitions, witch burnings, and persecutions. Today, we insist those held responsible weren’t really followers of Jesus; they were followers of some other agenda. So why are we so quick to paint all Muslims as terrorists?

I’ve seen plenty of posts advocating grace for abusive preachers like Mark Driscoll, whose hateful, misogynistic views on women and homosexuals have sunk his ministry. I’ve seen posts that are quick to point out “That’s not what Jesus would do” when the Westboro Baptists picket another funeral with their angry “God Hates Fags” signs. Our Muslims neighbors should be shown the same grace.

Please, do not let your fear get in the way of your good judgment. Do not let your paranoia get in the way of considering “what Jesus would do.”

“You shall fear your perceived enemies and drive them out of your country” is something Jesus never said.

From ‘sex positive’ to ‘willingly oppressed': a gradual assimilation

It happens so often it’s sadly predictable: every new Disney kid grows up to be a raunchy pop star.

Well, I say “raunchy.” Others might say “sexually empowered.”

But did you know that majority of explicit songs on Ariana Grande’s new album – songs that ask men to prove themselves sexually in order to date her, songs about staying with men (some verbally abusive) who cheat because it’s better than having no man at all – were written by men?

I don’t know if that’s relevant. It just seemed worth mentioning.

Because the above link comes from Wikipedia, it stands to reason that some sources may be listed incorrectly. Still, that’s an overwhelming number of male influences who, I’m going to assume, are probably older than Ariana, who is in her early twenties.

I don’t know about you, but I’m slightly creeped out by that.

Just forget, for one moment, that Ariana chooses to sing these songs. While that may be enough to satisfy the sex-positive crowd, it still disturbs me that this is part of the package of cementing the transition from Child Star to Adult Artist. And we, the listeners, may never know if it creeps Ariana out to sing this stuff, or if she ever gives it a second thought because it’s propelling her to stardom. It’s paying her bills. It’s making her an idol.

More than that, it pains me to know that there are people out there, men and women, who will say this is all perfectly fine. Feminists, too. We are declaring war on rape culture, on campuses that don’t take assaults seriously, on people who insist she ‘asked for it’ because her skirt was short and revealing, but we call material like this “empowering” simply because Ariana chooses to sing it. No one is forcing her to open her mouth for these lyrics – lyrics that romanticize verbal abuse and shitty behavior (from the song “Why Try”: “I’m loving the pain/ … Even when you’re yelling at me/I still think you’re beautiful”).

We’ve gone from trying to free women from oppression to celebrating women who glamorize oppression, simply because it’s their choice to do so? Am I the only one who sees a dangerous progression of assimilation here?

I call bullshit. Women deserve better than this. If feminism today is celebrating someone who is willingly oppressed, we have failed miserably. And don’t try to convince me for a second that a song about “loving pain” from an abusive partner is anything but oppression.

“My client pleads ‘not guilty’ because he doesn’t know what ‘assault’ is”

Many people have blogged about why it should be considered a sex crime, NOT a scandal, to steal someone’s nude photos and put them on the internet without their consent. I wholeheartedly agree, and don’t have much more to add. But what I’m curious about is the mindset of the hacker(s) and others like him/her: people, possibly sociopaths, who live with a dangerous sense of entitlement to others’ bodies and don’t consider themselves predators for misusing them.

Against my better judgment, I’ve read several tweets and article comments that clearly demonstrate we, as a society, don’t have a clear understanding of what a “sex crime” is. Of all the possible crimes that cause direct harm to a victim, we still have this idea that assault victims play a role in their victimization. She chose to take nude photos of herself and store them in her phone. She chose to put on a revealing outfit and go clubbing. Yet we don’t criticize someone nearly as much for hiding a spare key under their welcome mat and finding their home burglarized.

The average person who thinks nothing of looking at a stolen photo of a naked celebrity, or having sex with someone who’s too drunk to consent, may claim ignorance and plead “This is what guys do.” I, however, think they are more cunning than that. I think in cases like these, the foreknowledge that a victim will be held responsible is a prime motivator for would-be assailants. They are well aware of the stereotype that having an X and Y chromosome makes one a perv by default, and they use this to their advantage.

But is there a slim chance that some men are truly ignorant about the definition of assault? This is an idea I want to research for my next book:

Adelaide Scott, esteemed romance columnist for Stunning! Magazine, is smitten with her new boyfriend, Jordan Johnson…until one of his ex girlfriends accuses him of something unthinkable.

To prove his innocence, Jordan gives Addie a list of all his former girlfriends to ‘interview': to prove he’s the good man he claims to be.

Addie will find out the truth…but it’s nothing like she expected.

It may sound crazy, but this I didn’t know it was wrong! behavior is the most common form of sexual assault, and it deserves to be explored.

Why I Write About 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.

Because sexual abuse is such a complex, personal topic, I understand that not everyone will agree with my conclusions about what “counts,” or how victims “should 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 underreported 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.

Not knowing how to define abuse for myself, I kept away from words like “victim” and “survivor.” But to live productively in a world full of judgment and condemnation,  continuing to forge healthy relationships despite dealing with lingering damage, is indeed surviving something.

Excerpted from Someone You Already Know

Defining Your Writing Career

Today’s Indie Author Life post is featured on Pubslush! Here’s a sample:

People sometimes ask me, “What was the defining moment in your writing career when things really started taking off?”

First, I appreciate the use of the term “writing career” and not “writing hobby” (that’s not sarcasm). For the longest time, it felt like a hobby, and I treated it as one by assuming no one would ever read my work besides myself, and close friends. 

Over time, I started thinking more like a businessperson. To begin, I created my own domain: sbethcaplin.com. I also narrowed down my “pitch” for people who ask what exactly what I do for a living. It’s not enough to simply say “writer,” as this is very general and non-specific. My response now is brief but to the point: “I’m an independent author of young adult fiction, memoir, and poetry. I write about difficult social issues such as abuse, feminism, and religion, with guides for book club discussion in the back.” When you know who your target audience is, you will know who best to direct your pitch. For me, that includes women’s groups and churches.

I’m more on my way to a “writing career” today than I was six months ago, but I don’t think there’s any one technique or particular moment when I suddenly went from hobby writing to Career Writing. I’ve asked other authors this question, and they mostly agree: a writing career happens over a series of publications, marketing decisions, and just plain shooting in the dark, hoping something works. If there was one foolproof method out there for authors to get noticed and make money, we’d all be using it. You can only keep trying new things and stick to something that works for you.

Read the rest here.