Sarahbeth Caplin's Blog, page 63
December 10, 2013
The Jewish Girl Who Dreamed of Saints
The following poem is an excerpt from my upcoming book (more like a chapbook, since I anticipate it being less than 100 pages) of poetry, currently titled Sorting Myself. The title isn't set in stone, though. I had a really catchy title that came to me in the middle of the night, and I stupidly thought I'd remember it by morning...I didn't. So until it's recovered from my mental oblivion, or unless I come with something new, Sorting Myself stands. Reader suggestions welcome!
Most of the poems are already written, just scattered in various journals, and several years old. This one is pretty recent. Not sure when I'll release it, but definitely next year. Before the snow melts.
The Jewish Girl Who Dreamed of Saints (potentially autobiographical):
Don’t let the quietness fool you –
she’s a heroine in her own right.
Her life is defined by choice:
The right to fight for her own identity,
because the one she was born with didn’t fit.
She and convention were destined to be enemies.
It started with the storybooks about saints
wedged between Doctor Seuss and There’s No Such Thing as a Hanukkah Bush,
Sandy Goldstein.
Other girls played MASH at recess,
while she day-dreamed about Joan of Arc.
She wondered what it must have felt like,
about to be burned for her beliefs,
and if it ever crossed the future saint’s mind
that 20th-century Jewish girls
would hope to be half as brave as she was someday.
As she grew older,
the girl lost her verve for sainthood.
She struggled with ordinary temptations.
Couldn’t decide if she was still a virgin.
Couldn’t allow herself the simple courtesy of being human.
The best books often get bent.
Even Saint Joan had to be vulnerable and lonely.
Most of the poems are already written, just scattered in various journals, and several years old. This one is pretty recent. Not sure when I'll release it, but definitely next year. Before the snow melts.
The Jewish Girl Who Dreamed of Saints (potentially autobiographical):
Don’t let the quietness fool you –
she’s a heroine in her own right.
Her life is defined by choice:
The right to fight for her own identity,
because the one she was born with didn’t fit.
She and convention were destined to be enemies.
It started with the storybooks about saints
wedged between Doctor Seuss and There’s No Such Thing as a Hanukkah Bush,
Sandy Goldstein.
Other girls played MASH at recess,
while she day-dreamed about Joan of Arc.
She wondered what it must have felt like,
about to be burned for her beliefs,
and if it ever crossed the future saint’s mind
that 20th-century Jewish girls
would hope to be half as brave as she was someday.
As she grew older,
the girl lost her verve for sainthood.
She struggled with ordinary temptations.
Couldn’t decide if she was still a virgin.
Couldn’t allow herself the simple courtesy of being human.
The best books often get bent.
Even Saint Joan had to be vulnerable and lonely.
November 22, 2013
Final preview of "Public," chapter 10
Alas my friends, this is the final free preview selection of
Public Displays of Convention
. Hope you have enjoyed these excerpts! You can read them all in order
here
.
Happy reading!
“Good morning, ladies,” chirps an unusually perky Julia. “Meet Zach, your new co-worker.” Eryn, Morgan, and I all look up in unison – a male employee? No wonder the boss is happy this morning; she’s probably thinking this will be better for business, since most of our clientele are women, but the fact that he is – hate to say it, but it’s true – good-lookingis definitely a bonus for all of us. Not that I care, or am looking to date again. At any rate, Zach will be a nice distraction from Eryn and her Curly Head of Opinions. “Hello,” he says softly. I detect a slight southern twang in his voice, which is a perfect lead for Eryn to introduce her loud, obnoxious self. “You don’t sound like you’re from here,” she says brashly. “Did you just move here or something?” And then, as if she could subconsciously hear her mother nagging about manners, she coyly added “I’m Eryn, by the way.” “I did just move here,” Zach answers. Would it be cheesy to say that his voice is somewhat musical? Well, his voice is somewhat musical. “From Mississippi.” “Oh yeah? What for?” His gaze drops suddenly. “It’s kind of a long story.” Eryn laughs. “Well you’ll notice we have very long, empty shifts here. What’s the story?” “’Long and empty’? Don’t believe her,” interrupts Julia. “There’s alwayssomething to do around here. Eryn, if you’d like to go run your mouth to the woman who’s been meandering through the self-help section for the last twenty minutes, I’d greatly appreciate it.” With a devious grin and notorious clang of her giant hoop earrings, Eryn saunters off. I have to hand it to Julia: she comes off as a little spacey most of the time, but she does know how to handle Eryn well. But with what I’ve heard Eryn say in her presence, I’m honestly surprised she hasn’t been fired. Then again, it’s not like there’s much competition for a job like this. As Julia explains the lay of the land to Zach, I hear a bell ringing, indicating that someone has entered the store. I have yet to see Morgan greet anybody – I doubt anyone would hear her if she did – so I walk to the front with my prepared speech. “Welcome to Book Nook, can I help you find –” I stop short, realizing I already know this customer. “Well hey there, Anna-Kate,” Collin says. “How ya been?” I have never been Anna-Kate to him before. He must really be pissed that his advances were rebuffed; this is the first time I’ve seen him in over a week. “I’ve been just fine. How are you?” Why have you all of a sudden stopped talking to me? “I’ve been great. I didn’t know you worked here.” Knowing his gift for finding me anywhere, I somehow doubt this, even if Book Nook is cornered in the only shopping center this area has to offer. Collin coming here couldbe just a coincidence. I refuse to speculate. “Are you looking for anything in particular?” A book of scenes from The Lion King, perhaps? Given that ridiculous tattoo? “Nothing really, AK. Just browsing for now. But thank you so much for asking.” Using my initials is somewhat of a relief; so we’re not total strangers after all. Yet the lack of “47” following them is not what I’m used to from him, and I’m embarrassed by how much it disappoints me that he didn’t say it. He walks away from me, but then turns awkwardly to add “Nice hair, by the way.” I’m pretty sure that is not a compliment. Tess doesn’t know anything about Collin. I guess I was afraid to mention him, as if doing so would be prophetic and turn our situation into something bigger than it is. Which is ridiculous, because he never intended for anything concrete to happen: he proved that when he told me he only wanted to “have fun” when he almost kissed me. It’s still creepy to imagine what more might have transpired if he had. Returning behind the cash register, I watch Collin as he wanders over to Fiction, where Morgan is stocking a new shipment of New York Times best sellers. Fifty Shades of Grey just happens to be sitting on the shelf above her head, and I watch, incredulously, as Collin picks up a copy and appears to ask her about it. His back is facing me, so I can’t tell what he’s saying, though if I know anything about that man, it’s probably something snarky. Morgan, on the other hand, lights up like a Christmas display, and giggles incessantly. Why on earth would she be giggling about anything that has to do with Fifty Shades of Grey? It wasn’t too long ago when she made it perfectly clear to Eryn that the series was – how did she put it? – glorified sadomasochistic abuse. Yes, that’s quite a humorous subject. He continues to talk to her, nodding every once in a while, and Morgan is still smiling. Good grief, it looks like Collin is flirting with her! Poor girl, this may be the longest conversation she’s ever had with someone who’s not her boss or fellow employee. Okay, that was mean. Whatever the reason for Morgan’s extreme introversion, she seems like she’s genuinely enjoying her conversation with Collin. I wonder if he’s come up with a clever nickname for her yet (“Mousy Morgan,” perhaps? No, again, that’s unnecessarily mean). Her face has softened into an expression I’ve never seen on her before, but I know it well. It’s probably how I looked when Collin first started flirting with me.
“Good morning, ladies,” chirps an unusually perky Julia. “Meet Zach, your new co-worker.” Eryn, Morgan, and I all look up in unison – a male employee? No wonder the boss is happy this morning; she’s probably thinking this will be better for business, since most of our clientele are women, but the fact that he is – hate to say it, but it’s true – good-lookingis definitely a bonus for all of us. Not that I care, or am looking to date again. At any rate, Zach will be a nice distraction from Eryn and her Curly Head of Opinions. “Hello,” he says softly. I detect a slight southern twang in his voice, which is a perfect lead for Eryn to introduce her loud, obnoxious self. “You don’t sound like you’re from here,” she says brashly. “Did you just move here or something?” And then, as if she could subconsciously hear her mother nagging about manners, she coyly added “I’m Eryn, by the way.” “I did just move here,” Zach answers. Would it be cheesy to say that his voice is somewhat musical? Well, his voice is somewhat musical. “From Mississippi.” “Oh yeah? What for?” His gaze drops suddenly. “It’s kind of a long story.” Eryn laughs. “Well you’ll notice we have very long, empty shifts here. What’s the story?” “’Long and empty’? Don’t believe her,” interrupts Julia. “There’s alwayssomething to do around here. Eryn, if you’d like to go run your mouth to the woman who’s been meandering through the self-help section for the last twenty minutes, I’d greatly appreciate it.” With a devious grin and notorious clang of her giant hoop earrings, Eryn saunters off. I have to hand it to Julia: she comes off as a little spacey most of the time, but she does know how to handle Eryn well. But with what I’ve heard Eryn say in her presence, I’m honestly surprised she hasn’t been fired. Then again, it’s not like there’s much competition for a job like this. As Julia explains the lay of the land to Zach, I hear a bell ringing, indicating that someone has entered the store. I have yet to see Morgan greet anybody – I doubt anyone would hear her if she did – so I walk to the front with my prepared speech. “Welcome to Book Nook, can I help you find –” I stop short, realizing I already know this customer. “Well hey there, Anna-Kate,” Collin says. “How ya been?” I have never been Anna-Kate to him before. He must really be pissed that his advances were rebuffed; this is the first time I’ve seen him in over a week. “I’ve been just fine. How are you?” Why have you all of a sudden stopped talking to me? “I’ve been great. I didn’t know you worked here.” Knowing his gift for finding me anywhere, I somehow doubt this, even if Book Nook is cornered in the only shopping center this area has to offer. Collin coming here couldbe just a coincidence. I refuse to speculate. “Are you looking for anything in particular?” A book of scenes from The Lion King, perhaps? Given that ridiculous tattoo? “Nothing really, AK. Just browsing for now. But thank you so much for asking.” Using my initials is somewhat of a relief; so we’re not total strangers after all. Yet the lack of “47” following them is not what I’m used to from him, and I’m embarrassed by how much it disappoints me that he didn’t say it. He walks away from me, but then turns awkwardly to add “Nice hair, by the way.” I’m pretty sure that is not a compliment. Tess doesn’t know anything about Collin. I guess I was afraid to mention him, as if doing so would be prophetic and turn our situation into something bigger than it is. Which is ridiculous, because he never intended for anything concrete to happen: he proved that when he told me he only wanted to “have fun” when he almost kissed me. It’s still creepy to imagine what more might have transpired if he had. Returning behind the cash register, I watch Collin as he wanders over to Fiction, where Morgan is stocking a new shipment of New York Times best sellers. Fifty Shades of Grey just happens to be sitting on the shelf above her head, and I watch, incredulously, as Collin picks up a copy and appears to ask her about it. His back is facing me, so I can’t tell what he’s saying, though if I know anything about that man, it’s probably something snarky. Morgan, on the other hand, lights up like a Christmas display, and giggles incessantly. Why on earth would she be giggling about anything that has to do with Fifty Shades of Grey? It wasn’t too long ago when she made it perfectly clear to Eryn that the series was – how did she put it? – glorified sadomasochistic abuse. Yes, that’s quite a humorous subject. He continues to talk to her, nodding every once in a while, and Morgan is still smiling. Good grief, it looks like Collin is flirting with her! Poor girl, this may be the longest conversation she’s ever had with someone who’s not her boss or fellow employee. Okay, that was mean. Whatever the reason for Morgan’s extreme introversion, she seems like she’s genuinely enjoying her conversation with Collin. I wonder if he’s come up with a clever nickname for her yet (“Mousy Morgan,” perhaps? No, again, that’s unnecessarily mean). Her face has softened into an expression I’ve never seen on her before, but I know it well. It’s probably how I looked when Collin first started flirting with me.
November 18, 2013
A love-hate relationship with popular TV
I cannot keep silent about this anymore. Enough is enough! I must speak my mind, before I start to go stir-crazy.
*Ahem*
My name is Sarahbeth (no middle name) Caplin, and I am the only person I know who hates the popular show, "New Girl." Or, is the only person brave enough to admit it.
Even more confusing, some of my friends, whose judgment I wholly trust, have claimed to love this show. So that just begs the question, what is the matter with me??
I finally took my dilemma to Facebook: "Does this show get any better? Because I'm halfway through the first season, and I find it horrible." Man, some people were truly shocked that I could find any fault with this show. I admit, some episodes (or rather, a few lines per every other episode) are hilarious. But ultimately they aren't enough to hook me.
For whatever my not-so-humble opinion is worth, shock-value sex ruins good TV. What's truly upsetting about this show in particular is how great a premise it had. Talk about a show that I should, by description alone, fall instantly in love with: a twenty-something woman figuring out who she is, with a quirky set of roommates. But that hopeful premise fell flat when a date told Zooey's character Jess "I don't care about you, you don't have to care about me. We can still tear each other UP." And she...accepts?
I am a budding feminist and I cannot see this as entertaining.
This is far from the only show I've watched that doesn't line up with my values, and that alone is not enough reason for me to quit watching. What is it about this show in particular that bothers me so much? I guess I have a hard time appreciating it because I disagree with the idea that sex is something casual. I really think these shows are lying to me if they don't present the whole truth. They tell me I can jump from bed to bed as easily as switching brands of Kleenex. I've never heard of a real-life relationship starting with casual sex and leading to love...or ending without the slightest twinge of disappointment.
I honestly don't think I'm that much of a prude when it comes to entertainment. Curse words and sex scenes don't automatically ruin TV shows for me. The difference, I think, is context. If it's relevant to the story, or a character's development, then I can watch it. If there are other jokes and plot devices to round things out, then I consider it a decent show. I don't feel any compulsion to replicate the choices of characters I like. But if a show falls apart when you take the sex stuff out, then there's a problem.
My fellow author friend Kaitlyn and I have had an ongoing discussion about the placement of sex scenes in YA novels, and the same reasoning applies to TV shows too: a cleverly-written love scene can enhance the plot, but shock value is always going to be shock value, and ultimately it's not memorable. It's not original. It's just a desperate grab at ratings.
Bottom line: I tried to like this show. I really did. The characters are people I probably wouldn't hang out with in real life, which makes my potential fan-ship feel dishonest...but for every episode that makes me feel gross and in need of a shower, Schmidt has to say something that makes me pee my pants, and I keep watching. It may take me a while to break this apparent addiction, but I just had to get these feelings off my chest.
Whew! I feel better now. Thanks for listening. Now let the judgments roll ;)
*Ahem*
My name is Sarahbeth (no middle name) Caplin, and I am the only person I know who hates the popular show, "New Girl." Or, is the only person brave enough to admit it.
Even more confusing, some of my friends, whose judgment I wholly trust, have claimed to love this show. So that just begs the question, what is the matter with me??
I finally took my dilemma to Facebook: "Does this show get any better? Because I'm halfway through the first season, and I find it horrible." Man, some people were truly shocked that I could find any fault with this show. I admit, some episodes (or rather, a few lines per every other episode) are hilarious. But ultimately they aren't enough to hook me.
For whatever my not-so-humble opinion is worth, shock-value sex ruins good TV. What's truly upsetting about this show in particular is how great a premise it had. Talk about a show that I should, by description alone, fall instantly in love with: a twenty-something woman figuring out who she is, with a quirky set of roommates. But that hopeful premise fell flat when a date told Zooey's character Jess "I don't care about you, you don't have to care about me. We can still tear each other UP." And she...accepts?
I am a budding feminist and I cannot see this as entertaining.
This is far from the only show I've watched that doesn't line up with my values, and that alone is not enough reason for me to quit watching. What is it about this show in particular that bothers me so much? I guess I have a hard time appreciating it because I disagree with the idea that sex is something casual. I really think these shows are lying to me if they don't present the whole truth. They tell me I can jump from bed to bed as easily as switching brands of Kleenex. I've never heard of a real-life relationship starting with casual sex and leading to love...or ending without the slightest twinge of disappointment.
I honestly don't think I'm that much of a prude when it comes to entertainment. Curse words and sex scenes don't automatically ruin TV shows for me. The difference, I think, is context. If it's relevant to the story, or a character's development, then I can watch it. If there are other jokes and plot devices to round things out, then I consider it a decent show. I don't feel any compulsion to replicate the choices of characters I like. But if a show falls apart when you take the sex stuff out, then there's a problem.
My fellow author friend Kaitlyn and I have had an ongoing discussion about the placement of sex scenes in YA novels, and the same reasoning applies to TV shows too: a cleverly-written love scene can enhance the plot, but shock value is always going to be shock value, and ultimately it's not memorable. It's not original. It's just a desperate grab at ratings.
Bottom line: I tried to like this show. I really did. The characters are people I probably wouldn't hang out with in real life, which makes my potential fan-ship feel dishonest...but for every episode that makes me feel gross and in need of a shower, Schmidt has to say something that makes me pee my pants, and I keep watching. It may take me a while to break this apparent addiction, but I just had to get these feelings off my chest.
Whew! I feel better now. Thanks for listening. Now let the judgments roll ;)
A love-hate relationship with my TV
I cannot keep silent about this anymore. Enough is enough! I must speak my mind, before I start to go stir-crazy.
*Ahem*
My name is Sarahbeth (no middle name) Caplin, and I am the only person I know who hates the popular show, "New Girl." Or, is the only person brave enough to admit it.
Even more confusing, some of my friends, whose judgment I wholly trust, have claimed to love this show. So that just begs the question, what is the matter with me??
I finally took my dilemma to Facebook: "Does this show get any better? Because I'm halfway through the first season, and I find it horrible." Man, some people were truly shocked that I could find any fault with this show. I admit, some episodes (or rather, a few lines per every other episode) are hilarious. But ultimately they aren't enough to hook me.
For whatever my not-so-humble opinion is worth, shock-value sex ruins good TV. What's truly upsetting about this show in particular is how great a premise it had. Talk about a show that I should, by description alone, fall instantly in love with: a twenty-something woman figuring out who she is, with a quirky set of roommates. But that hopeful premise fell flat when a date told Zooey's character Jess "I don't care about you, you don't have to care about me. We can still tear each other UP." And she...accepts?
I am a budding feminist and I cannot see this as entertaining.
This is far from the only show I've watched that doesn't line up with my values, and that alone is not enough reason for me to quit watching. What is it about this show in particular that bothers me so much? I guess I have a hard time appreciating it because I disagree with the idea that sex is something casual. I really think these shows are lying to me if they don't present the whole truth. They tell me I can jump from bed to bed as easily as switching brands of Kleenex. I've never heard of a real-life relationship starting with casual sex and leading to love...or ending without the slightest twinge of disappointment.
I honestly don't think I'm that much of a prude when it comes to entertainment. Curse words and sex scenes don't automatically ruin TV shows for me. The difference, I think, is context. If it's relevant to the story, or a character's development, then I can watch it. If there are other jokes and plot devices to round things out, then I consider it a decent show. I don't feel any compulsion to replicate the choices of characters I like. But if a show falls apart when you take the sex stuff out, then there's a problem.
My fellow author friend Kaitlyn and I have had an ongoing discussion about the placement of sex scenes in YA novels, and the same reasoning applies to TV shows too: a cleverly-written love scene can enhance the plot, but shock value is always going to be shock value, and ultimately it's not memorable. It's not original. It's just a desperate grab at ratings.
Bottom line: I tried to like this show. I really did. The characters are people I probably wouldn't hang out with in real life, which makes my potential fan-ship feel dishonest...but for every episode that makes me feel gross and in need of a shower, Schmidt has to say something that makes me pee my pants, and I keep watching. It may take me a while to break this apparent addiction, but I just had to get these feelings off my chest.
Whew! I feel better now. Thanks for listening. Now let the judgments roll ;)
*Ahem*
My name is Sarahbeth (no middle name) Caplin, and I am the only person I know who hates the popular show, "New Girl." Or, is the only person brave enough to admit it.
Even more confusing, some of my friends, whose judgment I wholly trust, have claimed to love this show. So that just begs the question, what is the matter with me??
I finally took my dilemma to Facebook: "Does this show get any better? Because I'm halfway through the first season, and I find it horrible." Man, some people were truly shocked that I could find any fault with this show. I admit, some episodes (or rather, a few lines per every other episode) are hilarious. But ultimately they aren't enough to hook me.
For whatever my not-so-humble opinion is worth, shock-value sex ruins good TV. What's truly upsetting about this show in particular is how great a premise it had. Talk about a show that I should, by description alone, fall instantly in love with: a twenty-something woman figuring out who she is, with a quirky set of roommates. But that hopeful premise fell flat when a date told Zooey's character Jess "I don't care about you, you don't have to care about me. We can still tear each other UP." And she...accepts?
I am a budding feminist and I cannot see this as entertaining.
This is far from the only show I've watched that doesn't line up with my values, and that alone is not enough reason for me to quit watching. What is it about this show in particular that bothers me so much? I guess I have a hard time appreciating it because I disagree with the idea that sex is something casual. I really think these shows are lying to me if they don't present the whole truth. They tell me I can jump from bed to bed as easily as switching brands of Kleenex. I've never heard of a real-life relationship starting with casual sex and leading to love...or ending without the slightest twinge of disappointment.
I honestly don't think I'm that much of a prude when it comes to entertainment. Curse words and sex scenes don't automatically ruin TV shows for me. The difference, I think, is context. If it's relevant to the story, or a character's development, then I can watch it. If there are other jokes and plot devices to round things out, then I consider it a decent show. I don't feel any compulsion to replicate the choices of characters I like. But if a show falls apart when you take the sex stuff out, then there's a problem.
My fellow author friend Kaitlyn and I have had an ongoing discussion about the placement of sex scenes in YA novels, and the same reasoning applies to TV shows too: a cleverly-written love scene can enhance the plot, but shock value is always going to be shock value, and ultimately it's not memorable. It's not original. It's just a desperate grab at ratings.
Bottom line: I tried to like this show. I really did. The characters are people I probably wouldn't hang out with in real life, which makes my potential fan-ship feel dishonest...but for every episode that makes me feel gross and in need of a shower, Schmidt has to say something that makes me pee my pants, and I keep watching. It may take me a while to break this apparent addiction, but I just had to get these feelings off my chest.
Whew! I feel better now. Thanks for listening. Now let the judgments roll ;)
November 15, 2013
"Public Displays of Convention," chapter 9
Only one more free chapter left to preview for
Public Displays of Convention
! This week it's only 99 cents to download on Kindle. Starting next week it will go up to $1.99, and then return to its normal cost of $2.99. Get it cheap while you can, and enjoy reading chapter 9 (previous chapters found
here
).
It rained on the day of graduation, but I let my hair down and wore a strapless dress anyway. I don’t know why I was shaking in the moments before my name was called to walk across the stage – this is, after all, the moment I’ve been waiting for. My diploma is my ticket to freedom. Limited finances notwithstanding, my opportunities are endless now. The thought of going anywhere, pursuing anything, without being tied down by another person is liberating and frightening all at the same time. It’s sad to admit, but if he were still in the picture, I might have agreed to stay in this dead-end town for as long as Jared would be in it. But that’s not an option anymore. When I think of the opportunities that await, my longing for a relationship almost pales in comparison. Almost. Do I need to belong in anyone’s arms to be somebody important? Believing this is one thing. Livingit is quite another. On her last day before heading off to India, Tess helps me pack up my little box of a dormitory and prepare to move in the spare bedroom left by her previous roommate. I feel bad that we’ve barely talked about her excitement for this upcoming trip; she seems to be more concerned about how I’ll handle the next few months without my best friend, still knee-deep in the muck of post-relationship insecurity. “You’re still hurting, aren’t you?” she asks carefully. I don’t cringe, even though it still feels raw to talk about it. For the first time in weeks, my expression is completely blank, even if my words are not: “It kills me every day,” I tell her. “You’ve taken your grief out on your hair, I see.” I touch a piece of newly dyed reddish-black hair: quite a contrast from my natural dishwater blonde. “Yeah, well, I decided to start over, and be as unrecognizable as possible.” Tess looks somewhat shocked, so I hastily add, “Unrecognizable from the codependent woman I was with Jared, I mean.” “I’m worried about you,” Tess says plainly. “Are you sure…are you sure you’ll be okay?” “Tess.” Setting down the pants I was folding, I walk across the room to where she’s sitting on my bed, and hug her tightly. “You’re going to go to India and not worry about me. Promise.” She looks unconvinced. “I just need some distraction,” I continue. “Working full-time at the bookstore and getting to know my co-workers will do just that. And when I’m not working, I’ll be filling out other job applications, maybe to teach writing courses somewhere.” Tess’ face softens. “Well that’s good, but you can’t just heal from something like this overnight –” Sigh. “I know that, Tess.” “All right then.” We resume folding clothes, and I bite my tongue to keep from saying what I’m really thinking: You don’t think I’m stable enough to handle being alone.
It rained on the day of graduation, but I let my hair down and wore a strapless dress anyway. I don’t know why I was shaking in the moments before my name was called to walk across the stage – this is, after all, the moment I’ve been waiting for. My diploma is my ticket to freedom. Limited finances notwithstanding, my opportunities are endless now. The thought of going anywhere, pursuing anything, without being tied down by another person is liberating and frightening all at the same time. It’s sad to admit, but if he were still in the picture, I might have agreed to stay in this dead-end town for as long as Jared would be in it. But that’s not an option anymore. When I think of the opportunities that await, my longing for a relationship almost pales in comparison. Almost. Do I need to belong in anyone’s arms to be somebody important? Believing this is one thing. Livingit is quite another. On her last day before heading off to India, Tess helps me pack up my little box of a dormitory and prepare to move in the spare bedroom left by her previous roommate. I feel bad that we’ve barely talked about her excitement for this upcoming trip; she seems to be more concerned about how I’ll handle the next few months without my best friend, still knee-deep in the muck of post-relationship insecurity. “You’re still hurting, aren’t you?” she asks carefully. I don’t cringe, even though it still feels raw to talk about it. For the first time in weeks, my expression is completely blank, even if my words are not: “It kills me every day,” I tell her. “You’ve taken your grief out on your hair, I see.” I touch a piece of newly dyed reddish-black hair: quite a contrast from my natural dishwater blonde. “Yeah, well, I decided to start over, and be as unrecognizable as possible.” Tess looks somewhat shocked, so I hastily add, “Unrecognizable from the codependent woman I was with Jared, I mean.” “I’m worried about you,” Tess says plainly. “Are you sure…are you sure you’ll be okay?” “Tess.” Setting down the pants I was folding, I walk across the room to where she’s sitting on my bed, and hug her tightly. “You’re going to go to India and not worry about me. Promise.” She looks unconvinced. “I just need some distraction,” I continue. “Working full-time at the bookstore and getting to know my co-workers will do just that. And when I’m not working, I’ll be filling out other job applications, maybe to teach writing courses somewhere.” Tess’ face softens. “Well that’s good, but you can’t just heal from something like this overnight –” Sigh. “I know that, Tess.” “All right then.” We resume folding clothes, and I bite my tongue to keep from saying what I’m really thinking: You don’t think I’m stable enough to handle being alone.
November 8, 2013
This former seminarian life
What a crazy week it's been...I have completely re-routed my life plans for the next few years. It feels slightly insane, but I also have a strange, unfamiliar sense of peace now that has been sorely missing in my life for the last several months.
It has occurred to me that maybe I'm not supposed to be a counselor after all, and that I definitely should not have pursued that degree at a conservative Christian seminary. In the same way that it's never a good idea to make drastic changes to your hair while experiencing depression and anxiety, it's probably not a good idea to pack up your life, move 3000 miles away, and start a degree that you never expressed interest in before, at a school you know next to nothing about. The lesson I learned? Look before you leap. And be willing to let the people who know you best help direct you. They are often able to see things that you can't.
I have some nagging feelings regarding the fact that I will probably live the rest of my life with "just" a bachelor's degree. But where is that guilt coming from? It's pressure I put on myself, mingled with a skewed idea that somehow my intelligence is measured by the initials after my name. Well, deep down I know that's not true. And I don't have "just" a bachelor's degree; I worked my ass off for it, and I enjoyed doing it. I gave grad school a try for a year, and it wasn't for me. There is no failure in that. There is also a lot less debt to pay off, and that's a huge plus!
I have learned something else about myself, too: I do not thrive well in bubbles. Christian bubbles, political bubbles, any kind of restrictive environment where everyone around you shares basic core beliefs, and you find your worldview shrinking, not growing. Not every Christian is cut out for seminary. What was unique about my experience at Kent State was how challenging my environment was. I was surrounded by peers who were burned out on church because they were only exposed to negative examples of Christianity. This motivated me to try and live more authentically, especially when I decided to write a conservative column for my campus newspaper. There was a definite sense of being "watched." And it convicted me in the best possible way.
My on-campus church group met twice a week, and that is where I felt "fed." That was where I grew. The key, I think, was having a healthy balance of church life and secular life. That was non-existent at seminary, when most of my time was spent in the library writing exegetical papers, and in class, wanting to beat my head against my desk listening to other students talk about "the lost," and how we as Christians have all the answers.
I can honestly say that seminary brought up way more questions than answers. That's not a bad thing. Most importantly, it was as if someone was holding up a mirror of my old self, the one who thought all the answers to the world's ills were tucked neatly in Scripture. Obviously, it's not nearly as simple as that. I wish I hadn't had to pay (read: borrow) $20,000 to learn that lesson, but I'm not sorry I did. Education is never a waste.
Thanks to a few searches on Google, I learned that spiritual burnout is a real issue. It can make devoted Christians jaded at best; atheists at worst. I'm nowhere near relinquishing my faith completely, but I definitely feel burned out. Jesus is someone to know, not someone to study. When seminary schooling reduces him to merely a homework assignment, when Bible verses are used as platitudes in times of real struggle, and when I'm feeling frustrated and wondering what attracted me to Christianity in the first place, then the right thing -- the only thing -- to do is leave seminary. Because my faith matters to me still. I need to spend time with God on my own terms again. Spiritual discipline is not "homework," and I don't think it's fair to be graded for it.
So what will I do now? Well, I do have an English degree. Maybe I'll look into publishing or editing positions. I wish I were the kind of person who could see this new road as another new adventure, but I have way too much OCD for that. In the mean time, there is a stack of books in my bedroom calling my name -- books I haven't had time to read because I've been swamped to my ears in books about Freud and Pauline epistles. And they seem to be saying,
Welcome home, SB!
It has occurred to me that maybe I'm not supposed to be a counselor after all, and that I definitely should not have pursued that degree at a conservative Christian seminary. In the same way that it's never a good idea to make drastic changes to your hair while experiencing depression and anxiety, it's probably not a good idea to pack up your life, move 3000 miles away, and start a degree that you never expressed interest in before, at a school you know next to nothing about. The lesson I learned? Look before you leap. And be willing to let the people who know you best help direct you. They are often able to see things that you can't.
I have some nagging feelings regarding the fact that I will probably live the rest of my life with "just" a bachelor's degree. But where is that guilt coming from? It's pressure I put on myself, mingled with a skewed idea that somehow my intelligence is measured by the initials after my name. Well, deep down I know that's not true. And I don't have "just" a bachelor's degree; I worked my ass off for it, and I enjoyed doing it. I gave grad school a try for a year, and it wasn't for me. There is no failure in that. There is also a lot less debt to pay off, and that's a huge plus!
I have learned something else about myself, too: I do not thrive well in bubbles. Christian bubbles, political bubbles, any kind of restrictive environment where everyone around you shares basic core beliefs, and you find your worldview shrinking, not growing. Not every Christian is cut out for seminary. What was unique about my experience at Kent State was how challenging my environment was. I was surrounded by peers who were burned out on church because they were only exposed to negative examples of Christianity. This motivated me to try and live more authentically, especially when I decided to write a conservative column for my campus newspaper. There was a definite sense of being "watched." And it convicted me in the best possible way.
My on-campus church group met twice a week, and that is where I felt "fed." That was where I grew. The key, I think, was having a healthy balance of church life and secular life. That was non-existent at seminary, when most of my time was spent in the library writing exegetical papers, and in class, wanting to beat my head against my desk listening to other students talk about "the lost," and how we as Christians have all the answers.
I can honestly say that seminary brought up way more questions than answers. That's not a bad thing. Most importantly, it was as if someone was holding up a mirror of my old self, the one who thought all the answers to the world's ills were tucked neatly in Scripture. Obviously, it's not nearly as simple as that. I wish I hadn't had to pay (read: borrow) $20,000 to learn that lesson, but I'm not sorry I did. Education is never a waste.
Thanks to a few searches on Google, I learned that spiritual burnout is a real issue. It can make devoted Christians jaded at best; atheists at worst. I'm nowhere near relinquishing my faith completely, but I definitely feel burned out. Jesus is someone to know, not someone to study. When seminary schooling reduces him to merely a homework assignment, when Bible verses are used as platitudes in times of real struggle, and when I'm feeling frustrated and wondering what attracted me to Christianity in the first place, then the right thing -- the only thing -- to do is leave seminary. Because my faith matters to me still. I need to spend time with God on my own terms again. Spiritual discipline is not "homework," and I don't think it's fair to be graded for it.
So what will I do now? Well, I do have an English degree. Maybe I'll look into publishing or editing positions. I wish I were the kind of person who could see this new road as another new adventure, but I have way too much OCD for that. In the mean time, there is a stack of books in my bedroom calling my name -- books I haven't had time to read because I've been swamped to my ears in books about Freud and Pauline epistles. And they seem to be saying,
Welcome home, SB!
November 1, 2013
"Public Displays of Convention," chapter 8
Chapter 8 of
Public Displays of Convention
. Only two preview chapters left! Catch up on previous chapters
here
.
There are several ways to tell it’s officially spring: the crocuses peeking out of the ground, the leaves growing back on the trees, and the flurry of engagements of people who have never been anything more than acquaintances to me. Somehow, I end up clicking through dozens of Facebook photos of rings, hundreds of congratulatory messages…and I feel increasingly pathetic with every wasted minute of envying others’ happiness, but once I start, I don’t know how to stop. Luckily, graduation is just three weeks away. I have no idea where this new season of life will take me, but Tess’ roommate is graduating too and moving back with her family, so I’ll be taking her place once I sign away my little box of a dorm room. I’ve always preferred to live alone, but I can’t afford a full month’s rent by myself, and Tess is the only logical roommate choice. Just one step closer to growing up, however small the step may be. At Book Nook today I helped a rare male customer who was looking for a gift for his girlfriend’s birthday. He proved to be the most difficult customer I’ve helped yet. It wasn’t him that was the problem – he was polite, cordial, smiled a lot – it was the fact that the girlfriend, whoever she is, had literary interests so similar to my own; it was like helping Jared shop for a gift. My heart splintered when he purchased My Sister’s Keeper, another one of my favorites. It was all I could do to fight back tears as I handed back his change. “Hey, Weepy,” interrupts Eryn. I swear that woman has a gift for speaking up at all the wrong moments. “It’s all right, really. We only sold one copy of Twilight today!” I laugh, in spite of myself. “Well thank God for that. It’s just so hard, you know? All those young minds being corrupted by poorly-written literature –” “At least it wasn’t Fifty Shades of Grey,” pipes Morgan, and we both turn around, shocked: it’s the most I’ve heard her say since I started working here. “Hey now,” Eryn retorts. “At least Christian Grey is a real man who doesn’t sparkle, for goodness sake.” “There ought to be to parental advisory warnings on some of these shelves,” Morgan continues. I don’t know what’s more surprising: Morgan actually talking, or instigating a debate with Eryn. It’s not that I’m afraid of her, but Eryn definitely comes across as someone who doesn’t believe in censoring her opinions, no matter what the context. Personally I’d rather steer clear of her than challenge her. “I’ll admit they’re not the most well-written books I’ve ever read,” replies Eryn, “But I give props to the author for trying to normalize taboo –” “You mean sadomasochistic abuse.” “It’s not abuse if she wants it!” I can’t believe I’m hearing this. The only other time I can remember wanting to crawl beneath the floor boards and hibernate was when I fell asleep watching a movie with Jared, and woke up to find I’d drooled all over his sleeve. “What do you think, Anna-Kate?” I pretend I’m so immersed in the act of stapling receipts: anything to avoid eye contact with Eryn. “I’m sorry, what?” “Morgan seems to think the S&M activity in Fifty Shades of Grey is misogynistic and abusive; I say whatever floats your boat is fine as long as everyone’s cool with it. What do YOU think?” My throat feels lined with sandpaper. “I haven’t read that book, so I really can’t say.” This seems to be the answer Eryn expected to hear. “Well, in my experience –” “No one wants to hear about your experiences, Eryn.” Dang, where is Morgan’s fire coming from all of a sudden? She must only speak when she’s really irritated about something. “Oh, that’s right. I forgot I was speaking to virgin ears.” She says virgin like it’s a dirty word, too scandalous even for someone with Eryn’s brazenness. Her hoop earrings, so large I can probably fit my hand through them, clang as she shakes her head; a move that seems to summarize the personality I’ve come to expect from her. Turning to me again, she asks, “Do you have a boyfriend, Anna-Kate?” Because this workday just hasn’t been awkward enough. “No,” I say, teeth clenched. “I don’t.” “It’s a lot easier not to. It’s nice not to be tied down, you know?” Curiously, I turn to look at Morgan, whose face now looks like mine did when I was helping that guy pick out a present for his girlfriend. Eryn must have triggered something in her, as she’s retreated back to her usual mouse-like self, and scurries back into the fiction section. Interestingly, now that it’s over I’m almost grateful for Eryn’s brashness today, for no other reason except to show me a possible ally in my shy co-worker. I wonder if Morgan has always been quiet, or if she’s harboring a secret devastation like I am. Maybe this is the gateway for us to be friends.
There are several ways to tell it’s officially spring: the crocuses peeking out of the ground, the leaves growing back on the trees, and the flurry of engagements of people who have never been anything more than acquaintances to me. Somehow, I end up clicking through dozens of Facebook photos of rings, hundreds of congratulatory messages…and I feel increasingly pathetic with every wasted minute of envying others’ happiness, but once I start, I don’t know how to stop. Luckily, graduation is just three weeks away. I have no idea where this new season of life will take me, but Tess’ roommate is graduating too and moving back with her family, so I’ll be taking her place once I sign away my little box of a dorm room. I’ve always preferred to live alone, but I can’t afford a full month’s rent by myself, and Tess is the only logical roommate choice. Just one step closer to growing up, however small the step may be. At Book Nook today I helped a rare male customer who was looking for a gift for his girlfriend’s birthday. He proved to be the most difficult customer I’ve helped yet. It wasn’t him that was the problem – he was polite, cordial, smiled a lot – it was the fact that the girlfriend, whoever she is, had literary interests so similar to my own; it was like helping Jared shop for a gift. My heart splintered when he purchased My Sister’s Keeper, another one of my favorites. It was all I could do to fight back tears as I handed back his change. “Hey, Weepy,” interrupts Eryn. I swear that woman has a gift for speaking up at all the wrong moments. “It’s all right, really. We only sold one copy of Twilight today!” I laugh, in spite of myself. “Well thank God for that. It’s just so hard, you know? All those young minds being corrupted by poorly-written literature –” “At least it wasn’t Fifty Shades of Grey,” pipes Morgan, and we both turn around, shocked: it’s the most I’ve heard her say since I started working here. “Hey now,” Eryn retorts. “At least Christian Grey is a real man who doesn’t sparkle, for goodness sake.” “There ought to be to parental advisory warnings on some of these shelves,” Morgan continues. I don’t know what’s more surprising: Morgan actually talking, or instigating a debate with Eryn. It’s not that I’m afraid of her, but Eryn definitely comes across as someone who doesn’t believe in censoring her opinions, no matter what the context. Personally I’d rather steer clear of her than challenge her. “I’ll admit they’re not the most well-written books I’ve ever read,” replies Eryn, “But I give props to the author for trying to normalize taboo –” “You mean sadomasochistic abuse.” “It’s not abuse if she wants it!” I can’t believe I’m hearing this. The only other time I can remember wanting to crawl beneath the floor boards and hibernate was when I fell asleep watching a movie with Jared, and woke up to find I’d drooled all over his sleeve. “What do you think, Anna-Kate?” I pretend I’m so immersed in the act of stapling receipts: anything to avoid eye contact with Eryn. “I’m sorry, what?” “Morgan seems to think the S&M activity in Fifty Shades of Grey is misogynistic and abusive; I say whatever floats your boat is fine as long as everyone’s cool with it. What do YOU think?” My throat feels lined with sandpaper. “I haven’t read that book, so I really can’t say.” This seems to be the answer Eryn expected to hear. “Well, in my experience –” “No one wants to hear about your experiences, Eryn.” Dang, where is Morgan’s fire coming from all of a sudden? She must only speak when she’s really irritated about something. “Oh, that’s right. I forgot I was speaking to virgin ears.” She says virgin like it’s a dirty word, too scandalous even for someone with Eryn’s brazenness. Her hoop earrings, so large I can probably fit my hand through them, clang as she shakes her head; a move that seems to summarize the personality I’ve come to expect from her. Turning to me again, she asks, “Do you have a boyfriend, Anna-Kate?” Because this workday just hasn’t been awkward enough. “No,” I say, teeth clenched. “I don’t.” “It’s a lot easier not to. It’s nice not to be tied down, you know?” Curiously, I turn to look at Morgan, whose face now looks like mine did when I was helping that guy pick out a present for his girlfriend. Eryn must have triggered something in her, as she’s retreated back to her usual mouse-like self, and scurries back into the fiction section. Interestingly, now that it’s over I’m almost grateful for Eryn’s brashness today, for no other reason except to show me a possible ally in my shy co-worker. I wonder if Morgan has always been quiet, or if she’s harboring a secret devastation like I am. Maybe this is the gateway for us to be friends.
October 29, 2013
Voices matter
In the last seven days since my
Big Speech
, I've received a flood of emails and, for the first time in forever, genuine dialogue in my blog comments! Not all of them agree with me, but that's okay; people are talking. There's never a shortage of words, never a true end to the discussion of something as heavy and provocative as rape culture. One week later, the dialogue is still continuing. I'm so grateful. I hope it lasts.
I never thought I'd be comfortable talking about this. Writing a book, and having my words filtered through a fictional character is one thing; talking about rape culture in relation to my own life is quite another. When I think about the bare facts, it's easy to get depressed once again. But if I can't press charges, if my vindictive-laced attempts at justice are failing, then my story is all I have left to fight with.
About 30 people showed up, mostly women I didn't recognize. My friends from my writing group were there, and a handful of classmates. The responses afterward were so incredible. And you know what I realized? I have a definite bias I need to overcome: a bias against men being redeemed. There is nothing to gain by turning the entire male species into an enemy. I have only one enemy, besides the devil -- my greatest enemy is myself. I am my biggest roadblock to recovery. I don't need my ex to apologize, and I don't need to appeal to God with the hope of triggering some kind of spell that will make him repent. That's not what healing is.
Healing is taking my story to a wider audience, because I realize how much it matters. Most importantly, I matter. My voice matters too much to keep silent.
It also helps that the more Josh and I talk about our future as husband and wife, the memory of the person who hurt me fades a bit. His influence matters less. That's not to say that I'll ever be able to forget. But it gets better.
I still struggle to believe these words as I write them. But they came to me somehow, so they must resonate somewhere.
I don't know if I'll end up a rape crisis counselor. I don't need to seek that profession in order to still care. It may have been a grief-motivated decision, not a genuine "calling." Anyone who knows me will tell you I am meant to be a writer. All six copies of Someone You Already Know were autographed and sold, and several business cards given away. So maybe, just maybe, that means something.
A very wise friend of mine told me that we don't get to choose our story sometimes, and we might hate it, but it's ours, and we're stuck with it. We can ignore it, stifle it, or tell it, and see what happens. The first two options made me crazy(er), so let's see what happens with the third.
I never thought I'd be comfortable talking about this. Writing a book, and having my words filtered through a fictional character is one thing; talking about rape culture in relation to my own life is quite another. When I think about the bare facts, it's easy to get depressed once again. But if I can't press charges, if my vindictive-laced attempts at justice are failing, then my story is all I have left to fight with.
About 30 people showed up, mostly women I didn't recognize. My friends from my writing group were there, and a handful of classmates. The responses afterward were so incredible. And you know what I realized? I have a definite bias I need to overcome: a bias against men being redeemed. There is nothing to gain by turning the entire male species into an enemy. I have only one enemy, besides the devil -- my greatest enemy is myself. I am my biggest roadblock to recovery. I don't need my ex to apologize, and I don't need to appeal to God with the hope of triggering some kind of spell that will make him repent. That's not what healing is.
Healing is taking my story to a wider audience, because I realize how much it matters. Most importantly, I matter. My voice matters too much to keep silent.
It also helps that the more Josh and I talk about our future as husband and wife, the memory of the person who hurt me fades a bit. His influence matters less. That's not to say that I'll ever be able to forget. But it gets better.
I still struggle to believe these words as I write them. But they came to me somehow, so they must resonate somewhere.
I don't know if I'll end up a rape crisis counselor. I don't need to seek that profession in order to still care. It may have been a grief-motivated decision, not a genuine "calling." Anyone who knows me will tell you I am meant to be a writer. All six copies of Someone You Already Know were autographed and sold, and several business cards given away. So maybe, just maybe, that means something.
A very wise friend of mine told me that we don't get to choose our story sometimes, and we might hate it, but it's ours, and we're stuck with it. We can ignore it, stifle it, or tell it, and see what happens. The first two options made me crazy(er), so let's see what happens with the third.
October 23, 2013
Christians for Biblical Equality presents: Rape Culture in the Church
The following post is what I talked about during my presentation on rape culture for Christians for Biblical Equality. Delivered the entire message without tearing up, throwing up, or tripping in my heels. AND I got to sign some books. Success!
You may be wondering what is meant by the title “Rape culture in the church.” To start, let me just explain what “rape culture” is, for those who have never heard that term before. Rape culture is living in a society that excuses rape by placing the blame on the victim. Rape culture is perpetuating a cycle of irresponsibility for rapists who are in relationships with their victims, which is more common than you think. We often tell women that because they consented to sex before, they can’t say no, now. We teach men that sex is a right, and one that is theirs for the taking, especially in a marriage where a man is considered the head of the household, according to Christian tradition. Rape culture is also making jokes about rape. When I was a freshman in college, it was an inside joke in my sorority to say “It’s not rape if you call pin rank” (“Pin rank” referring to the order in which the pledges were initiated). This wasn’t referring to actual rape, but was used as an extreme expression to show the amount of power and authority the older pledges had on the newer ones. To my knowledge, no one thought anything of it, and I laughed along as much as everyone else did.This topic is very personal to me, because I myself am a statistic of rape. Rather than beat myself up, I channeled my anger and grief into my self-published book, Someone You Already Know , which tells the story of two teenage victims and their efforts to understand each other. One character was raped by her boyfriend; the other by a stranger. It wasn’t written as a Christian book, but I intended for it to be a teaching tool for classrooms and churches. Now you’re probably wondering, what does this have to do with the church? If you’re active on Facebook and other forms of social media like I am, you may be familiar with a certain blog post regarding female modesty that went viral this summer. It was written by a woman named Kim Hall, and in her post she talks about looking through her sons’ Facebook friends’ lists. She is writing to their female friends asking them to “cover up” so her sons don’t stumble. She writes, “Once my boys see a suggestive photo of you, they can’t un-see it.” To be fair, this woman’s intentions were good: modesty is a forgotten virtue in our culture that must be brought back. But Kim Hall is not the only Christian going about this important subject in a way that shames women. We Christians care a great deal about modesty, but we teach it in a way that is completely backwards.
I want to tell you that it is not a woman’s responsibility to prevent men from lusting. Not to mention, telling women to “cover up” for the sake of helping out their brothers in Christ is demeaning to both sexes. First, it implies that women’s bodies are shameful and something to be hidden, which they’re not! Remember that Adam and Eve were originally naked in Eden. It was after the Fall that the body was viewed through corrupt lenses; but there is nothing inherently shameful about our bodies to begin with. Secondly, this mindset implies that men are barbaric beasts who are slaves to their hormones. It implies they have no self-control, and need to rely on women to take responsibility for them. Men, I don’t know about you, but I’m highly offended by the implication that your brain is next to your balls. If men become animals and lose all self-control at the sight of a suggestively-dressed woman, and seemingly have no ‘choice’ but to either lust after her, or assault her, then what we’re saying is that the default status of all men is "rapist."Think about it this way: we all know better than to take things that don’t belong to us. We know better than to trespass onto someone else’s property. Such actions have serious consequences, and rarely do we tell the person whose car was broken into that it’s their fault for not hiding the GPS under the seat, or in the dash. But when it comes to rape, there is something unique about this crime where it’s easier to excuse the perpetrator. We blame the woman’s skirt. We blame the fact that she was drinking. We insist she should have known better. Why her, and not the rapist?So now, you may be thinking: okay, rape culture is a problem, but what does this have to do with the church? The answer is simple: the line between “She caused him to stumble” is not a far cry from “She was asking for it.” The reality is, women are just as likely to be raped in burquas as they are in string bikinis. This happens every day in the Middle East, especially right now in Syria. I’ve had well-intentioned Christian friends preach modesty during Bible study, in a way that suggests “Only you can keep your boyfriends’ minds in check.” Well, my ex-boyfriend raped me when I was wearing sweatpants: not my first choice of ‘asking for it’ clothes. So clearly, sinful behavior is a deliberate choice. It’s not something one ‘stumbles’ into by accident. The relationship began when I was 17, an age where I thought I knew everything, and it ended when I was 22. He was a leader in the young adult group at his church; if you knew him, you probably looked up to him, as I did. He told me he was “making me into a woman,” and because he was a leader in his church, this raised an important question for me: what kind of womanhood is expected of me as a Christian?It’s time the church starts taking responsibility for one another by changing the way we see each other. We are created in God’s image, meaning we are creatures with inborn dignity. Men AND women should care about modesty out of respect for their own bodies, a vessel that should not be revealed to just anyone. What would it look like if we taught our sons and daughters to view each other as dignified human beings, instead of ‘stumbling blocks’?When we teach our daughters to cover up to prevent men from lusting, we are telling them that their bodies are shameful. And when we tell men that the control of their hormones are a woman’s responsibility from the way we dress, we are teaching them to view women as temptresses, not human beings. Attitudes like these are further traumatizing for rape victims in particular, who may already blame themselves for what they endured. That’s what society does, but the church is called to be different. The church is called to set an example. According to RAINN, the Rape, Abuse, and Incest National Network, approximately 28% of victims already know the person who raped them. These victims are often sitting next to you in church, and are further shamed into silence by their pastors and fellow congregants, who ignorantly promote a view that modesty is about preventing men from lusting; and should they fail, then rape is not only excusable, but asked for. How can we better address this issue in the church?
You may be wondering what is meant by the title “Rape culture in the church.” To start, let me just explain what “rape culture” is, for those who have never heard that term before. Rape culture is living in a society that excuses rape by placing the blame on the victim. Rape culture is perpetuating a cycle of irresponsibility for rapists who are in relationships with their victims, which is more common than you think. We often tell women that because they consented to sex before, they can’t say no, now. We teach men that sex is a right, and one that is theirs for the taking, especially in a marriage where a man is considered the head of the household, according to Christian tradition. Rape culture is also making jokes about rape. When I was a freshman in college, it was an inside joke in my sorority to say “It’s not rape if you call pin rank” (“Pin rank” referring to the order in which the pledges were initiated). This wasn’t referring to actual rape, but was used as an extreme expression to show the amount of power and authority the older pledges had on the newer ones. To my knowledge, no one thought anything of it, and I laughed along as much as everyone else did.This topic is very personal to me, because I myself am a statistic of rape. Rather than beat myself up, I channeled my anger and grief into my self-published book, Someone You Already Know , which tells the story of two teenage victims and their efforts to understand each other. One character was raped by her boyfriend; the other by a stranger. It wasn’t written as a Christian book, but I intended for it to be a teaching tool for classrooms and churches. Now you’re probably wondering, what does this have to do with the church? If you’re active on Facebook and other forms of social media like I am, you may be familiar with a certain blog post regarding female modesty that went viral this summer. It was written by a woman named Kim Hall, and in her post she talks about looking through her sons’ Facebook friends’ lists. She is writing to their female friends asking them to “cover up” so her sons don’t stumble. She writes, “Once my boys see a suggestive photo of you, they can’t un-see it.” To be fair, this woman’s intentions were good: modesty is a forgotten virtue in our culture that must be brought back. But Kim Hall is not the only Christian going about this important subject in a way that shames women. We Christians care a great deal about modesty, but we teach it in a way that is completely backwards.
I want to tell you that it is not a woman’s responsibility to prevent men from lusting. Not to mention, telling women to “cover up” for the sake of helping out their brothers in Christ is demeaning to both sexes. First, it implies that women’s bodies are shameful and something to be hidden, which they’re not! Remember that Adam and Eve were originally naked in Eden. It was after the Fall that the body was viewed through corrupt lenses; but there is nothing inherently shameful about our bodies to begin with. Secondly, this mindset implies that men are barbaric beasts who are slaves to their hormones. It implies they have no self-control, and need to rely on women to take responsibility for them. Men, I don’t know about you, but I’m highly offended by the implication that your brain is next to your balls. If men become animals and lose all self-control at the sight of a suggestively-dressed woman, and seemingly have no ‘choice’ but to either lust after her, or assault her, then what we’re saying is that the default status of all men is "rapist."Think about it this way: we all know better than to take things that don’t belong to us. We know better than to trespass onto someone else’s property. Such actions have serious consequences, and rarely do we tell the person whose car was broken into that it’s their fault for not hiding the GPS under the seat, or in the dash. But when it comes to rape, there is something unique about this crime where it’s easier to excuse the perpetrator. We blame the woman’s skirt. We blame the fact that she was drinking. We insist she should have known better. Why her, and not the rapist?So now, you may be thinking: okay, rape culture is a problem, but what does this have to do with the church? The answer is simple: the line between “She caused him to stumble” is not a far cry from “She was asking for it.” The reality is, women are just as likely to be raped in burquas as they are in string bikinis. This happens every day in the Middle East, especially right now in Syria. I’ve had well-intentioned Christian friends preach modesty during Bible study, in a way that suggests “Only you can keep your boyfriends’ minds in check.” Well, my ex-boyfriend raped me when I was wearing sweatpants: not my first choice of ‘asking for it’ clothes. So clearly, sinful behavior is a deliberate choice. It’s not something one ‘stumbles’ into by accident. The relationship began when I was 17, an age where I thought I knew everything, and it ended when I was 22. He was a leader in the young adult group at his church; if you knew him, you probably looked up to him, as I did. He told me he was “making me into a woman,” and because he was a leader in his church, this raised an important question for me: what kind of womanhood is expected of me as a Christian?It’s time the church starts taking responsibility for one another by changing the way we see each other. We are created in God’s image, meaning we are creatures with inborn dignity. Men AND women should care about modesty out of respect for their own bodies, a vessel that should not be revealed to just anyone. What would it look like if we taught our sons and daughters to view each other as dignified human beings, instead of ‘stumbling blocks’?When we teach our daughters to cover up to prevent men from lusting, we are telling them that their bodies are shameful. And when we tell men that the control of their hormones are a woman’s responsibility from the way we dress, we are teaching them to view women as temptresses, not human beings. Attitudes like these are further traumatizing for rape victims in particular, who may already blame themselves for what they endured. That’s what society does, but the church is called to be different. The church is called to set an example. According to RAINN, the Rape, Abuse, and Incest National Network, approximately 28% of victims already know the person who raped them. These victims are often sitting next to you in church, and are further shamed into silence by their pastors and fellow congregants, who ignorantly promote a view that modesty is about preventing men from lusting; and should they fail, then rape is not only excusable, but asked for. How can we better address this issue in the church?
October 20, 2013
On breaking up with Christian Culture
Life is getting a little intense here in Seminary Land.
If you know me in real life, and have known me since my early college days, you may have been very concerned about the way I'd be influenced at a conservative Christian seminary. It is, after all, a complete 180 from Kent-read-Kent-write-Kent-remember-what-I-did-last-night Kent State. Of all the places in the world to find faith, when so many of my peers finally had the freedom to leave it!
But that's what I did. And I remember quite clearly, in the midst of cold-sweated fear of what my family and friends would think, the excitement of jumping head-first into a brand new world. It was exciting and terrifying like the first day of school. There were many things I embraced, or tried to, back then that I find very uncomfortable now. Ironically, going to seminary for the last year has done a lot to flip my faith inside out, and cause me to wonder what I thought was so appealing about it in the first place.
My theology hasn't changed much; the Gospel message never changes. But my view of church has. And other Christians I'm supposed to be in community with. Church culture as a whole.
Maybe I'm using the wrong words. I don't know if "Christian culture" is what I should be criticizing, or rather, Christian stereotypes. Can one really embrace a religion without its culture? The real problem may be that Christian culture is fine as it is; the flaws I find within it are a result of comparing it to the Jewish culture I grew up with, and miss dearly (is it obvious I still have soul-searching to do?).
I keep forgetting that belief in the Gospel is what makes one a Christian. Nothing else. But the Christian culture thing is problematic: something I find myself rebelling against, because I realize how much pretending is involved on my part. How much fakery and pretension. See, I'm not and never have been the happy-clappy, hand-holding, Christian-ese speaking kind of Christian. I've written before about my distaste for church groups that seem to imply worship music is the only kind of worship, period, and being forced to lead prayers as an introvert...or sit and listen to someone else pray them over me, because I'm too nice to say "I'm sorry, but that makes me uncomfortable. I appreciate the offer, though."
I've endured awkwardness many times in church settings, telling myself it will get better as time goes on. It never occurred to me until recently that it may not be a sin after all to speak up and be honest, but polite, about things I'm not comfortable doing. Things like praying out loud that contradict my personality and the ways I relate to God. Doesn't the beauty of community include diverse worship practices?
I hope the answer is yes. If not, then Church Culture and I may need to go our separate ways, because I am not growing. I am not learning. Instead, I sit pretending to be just as moved as everyone else, but inside I'm wondering what is wrong with me. In the end, I can't pretend to be something I'm not, just because that's what other people expect. That's not authenticity. That's wasting my time. Furthermore, it doesn't allow anyone else the chance of really getting to know me (I'm worth knowing, aren't I???).
I don't know what the ideal solution to this dilemma will be. But, while everyone else is standing and holding up their arms while the worship band is playing, doing what comes naturally to them, I'm doing what comes naturally to me: sitting, and writing in my prayer journal. Because worship goes beyond the bounds of Christian culture stereotypes. Worship is authentic, or nothing.
I am either an authentic Christian, or no Christian at all.
With thanks to the chutzpah of Rachel Held Evans for tackling subjects that many "good Christians" sweep under the rug, thus giving me courage to write a few of my own.
If you know me in real life, and have known me since my early college days, you may have been very concerned about the way I'd be influenced at a conservative Christian seminary. It is, after all, a complete 180 from Kent-read-Kent-write-Kent-remember-what-I-did-last-night Kent State. Of all the places in the world to find faith, when so many of my peers finally had the freedom to leave it!
But that's what I did. And I remember quite clearly, in the midst of cold-sweated fear of what my family and friends would think, the excitement of jumping head-first into a brand new world. It was exciting and terrifying like the first day of school. There were many things I embraced, or tried to, back then that I find very uncomfortable now. Ironically, going to seminary for the last year has done a lot to flip my faith inside out, and cause me to wonder what I thought was so appealing about it in the first place.
My theology hasn't changed much; the Gospel message never changes. But my view of church has. And other Christians I'm supposed to be in community with. Church culture as a whole.
Maybe I'm using the wrong words. I don't know if "Christian culture" is what I should be criticizing, or rather, Christian stereotypes. Can one really embrace a religion without its culture? The real problem may be that Christian culture is fine as it is; the flaws I find within it are a result of comparing it to the Jewish culture I grew up with, and miss dearly (is it obvious I still have soul-searching to do?).
I keep forgetting that belief in the Gospel is what makes one a Christian. Nothing else. But the Christian culture thing is problematic: something I find myself rebelling against, because I realize how much pretending is involved on my part. How much fakery and pretension. See, I'm not and never have been the happy-clappy, hand-holding, Christian-ese speaking kind of Christian. I've written before about my distaste for church groups that seem to imply worship music is the only kind of worship, period, and being forced to lead prayers as an introvert...or sit and listen to someone else pray them over me, because I'm too nice to say "I'm sorry, but that makes me uncomfortable. I appreciate the offer, though."
I've endured awkwardness many times in church settings, telling myself it will get better as time goes on. It never occurred to me until recently that it may not be a sin after all to speak up and be honest, but polite, about things I'm not comfortable doing. Things like praying out loud that contradict my personality and the ways I relate to God. Doesn't the beauty of community include diverse worship practices?
I hope the answer is yes. If not, then Church Culture and I may need to go our separate ways, because I am not growing. I am not learning. Instead, I sit pretending to be just as moved as everyone else, but inside I'm wondering what is wrong with me. In the end, I can't pretend to be something I'm not, just because that's what other people expect. That's not authenticity. That's wasting my time. Furthermore, it doesn't allow anyone else the chance of really getting to know me (I'm worth knowing, aren't I???).
I don't know what the ideal solution to this dilemma will be. But, while everyone else is standing and holding up their arms while the worship band is playing, doing what comes naturally to them, I'm doing what comes naturally to me: sitting, and writing in my prayer journal. Because worship goes beyond the bounds of Christian culture stereotypes. Worship is authentic, or nothing.
I am either an authentic Christian, or no Christian at all.
With thanks to the chutzpah of Rachel Held Evans for tackling subjects that many "good Christians" sweep under the rug, thus giving me courage to write a few of my own.
