I met, actually *met* the man in the tan coat. It's almost a hundred degrees outside right now, so he wasn't actually wearing the coat.
It started last month during the state-wide food drive. Our secretary who's friends with some of the workers upstairs was asked to judge the final day of the drive where the employees were to "sculpt" the collected items into works of art as part of an interoffice contest. The sec couldn't make it and asked me to fill in.
There he was...behind the castle of green beans and corn complete with a toy dragon and maiden in distress. He's one of maybe two men in the 20-person office. His teammates were making the finishing touches on the pasta draw bridge and he smiled genuinely at me, but with a dash of chagrin.
Remember, I don't have romantic crush on this man -- it's a friendship crush. I'm desperate for someone unrelated to me to hang out with. But, I'm so afraid of even friendship-rejection that it takes a lot of courage for me to initiate a conversation with a stranger.
A few weeks later, the man was in the local cafe and chose a table behind me. As I was leaving, I swung around and said, "hey, don't you work upstairs from me?" And we chatted briefly about our jobs and what we do. He slightly rolled his eyes at his supervisor for having a different theme each day during food drive week and at the easy clique formation and free-flowing gossip, the latter opinion being something we definitely have in common.
Several days later, it was his turn to initiate when I sat on the couch by his table and devoured the local news story about our building being renovated and my office being asked to sign a long-term lease. He asked if anybody told us about the new developments in the never-ending saga of where to put the social services office so that we can be united in one location instead of the current split in two. I lamented that no one ever tells us anything and as I stood there chatting, invited myself to join him when my order was up at the counter.
Yesterday, I was walking back to the office as he was walking away from it, large suitcase in hand. He seemed to be in good spirits, said hello, and remarked that at least it's only one bag today!
This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship...that is unless I take the job I may be offered in another town. Le sigh.
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
Monday, August 06, 2007
They will know us by our love (and the Baha'is, and the Wiccans, and the Jains...)
Alright, I think I've got it figured out. The question friends have been asking me as I get sucked further and further into the life of the Church: Why am I a Christian?
Not because of the promise of eternal life. Not because I think that Christianity has got it all figured out and they are on the inside track with the one true God. Not because I heard the voice of Jesus in my head and I became saved one tearful and cathartic night.
I am a Christian because I see it as one of many paths to truth in community. Right now, the fact is Christianity is the only method of journeying together in community towards truth that I see accessible to me in this place. To be on a faith journey, which I feel called to travel, I need to be with others during this time of spiritual, philisophical, and ethical discernment. And, I value this community over always agreeing with doctrine, polity, or the other members of this community all of the time. And really, United Methodists are pretty progressive. I don't often have to hear hate-language or radical-right propoganda in the circles I run in.
Why am I a Christian....? Because I ain't got nothin' better to do.
Not because of the promise of eternal life. Not because I think that Christianity has got it all figured out and they are on the inside track with the one true God. Not because I heard the voice of Jesus in my head and I became saved one tearful and cathartic night.
I am a Christian because I see it as one of many paths to truth in community. Right now, the fact is Christianity is the only method of journeying together in community towards truth that I see accessible to me in this place. To be on a faith journey, which I feel called to travel, I need to be with others during this time of spiritual, philisophical, and ethical discernment. And, I value this community over always agreeing with doctrine, polity, or the other members of this community all of the time. And really, United Methodists are pretty progressive. I don't often have to hear hate-language or radical-right propoganda in the circles I run in.
Why am I a Christian....? Because I ain't got nothin' better to do.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Restlessing with the will of God
Work has been sooo sloooow lately. My coworkers seem to be keeping busy, but I just don't seem to be getting very many applications. I don't know if they are all just good at appearing busy, or if there's some cosmic event that keeps people with last names beginning with G-L from applying for public assistance. It's given me a lot of free time to websurf (and blog!) and read books. I wonder if this restless feeling in my soul -- to do something radical and different with my life -- is due to not feeling very busy at work or if it is its own completely independent stirring.
Because work isn't that busy and I have a semi-private office and internet access, I've been able to do a lot more reading, listen to NPR podcasts of new music, interviews, and stories, and start to research graduate school. I try to tell myself that this is sweet deal: I get to maintain a warm fuzzy feeling from helping people by providing excellent customer service in a human services field, I'm not completely stressed out by an unmanageable work load, I get recreation time for half the day to read, chat, and listen to the radio, all with a compensation package that meets my needs. How could I possibly be so restless and frustrated?
I need a shift in perspective. This is a sweet gig, I insist to myself, don't take it for granted. Remember the days when you used to come home and sob because the powers that be had totally unreasonable expectations of what you could accomplish each month. Yet, with all this free time to think, how can I help but recognize that I'm meant for more. For something "radical and different," like I told my pastor this past weekend. I don't have the details all worked out, but I have a calling... where it goes from here, God only knows.
The thought that this abundant time for thinking and exploring is a gift from God starts to creep into my rational mind. I've maintained that the ease with which I got this job after a heart-breaking struggle to find anything besides my last job was partly because God called me to this place. That's one of the ways I convinced myself that moving to Forgotonia was the thing to do right now. For now, I abate the restlessness with researching grad school and reading dog-help books.
Because work isn't that busy and I have a semi-private office and internet access, I've been able to do a lot more reading, listen to NPR podcasts of new music, interviews, and stories, and start to research graduate school. I try to tell myself that this is sweet deal: I get to maintain a warm fuzzy feeling from helping people by providing excellent customer service in a human services field, I'm not completely stressed out by an unmanageable work load, I get recreation time for half the day to read, chat, and listen to the radio, all with a compensation package that meets my needs. How could I possibly be so restless and frustrated?
I need a shift in perspective. This is a sweet gig, I insist to myself, don't take it for granted. Remember the days when you used to come home and sob because the powers that be had totally unreasonable expectations of what you could accomplish each month. Yet, with all this free time to think, how can I help but recognize that I'm meant for more. For something "radical and different," like I told my pastor this past weekend. I don't have the details all worked out, but I have a calling... where it goes from here, God only knows.
The thought that this abundant time for thinking and exploring is a gift from God starts to creep into my rational mind. I've maintained that the ease with which I got this job after a heart-breaking struggle to find anything besides my last job was partly because God called me to this place. That's one of the ways I convinced myself that moving to Forgotonia was the thing to do right now. For now, I abate the restlessness with researching grad school and reading dog-help books.
Friday, June 15, 2007
Monday, April 02, 2007
Cigars...? Cigarettes...?
I recently switched doctors and I had to fill out the usual reams of paper forms. You know that little section they ask you if you drink or smoke? Usually I just check "no," write "socially," and move on. But lately I've been making sure to be really honest just in case. Maybe knowing that I smoke a couple cigarettes (no, not a couple packs -- individuals cigarettes) a year might be helpful in diagnosing a medical condition. I feel like I have too many medical issues for such a young person, I want to make sure my doctors have all the information available to them.
Today, when the doc came in to talk about my issues, she asked about my response to the smoking question and then made sure to note that I was a non-smoker. She reported that a friend was recently labeled a smoker by her insurance company because she responded similarly on a form at a doctor's office. Now, I'm not an advocate of lying to insurance companies. But be warned that apparently if you're too honest you could be labeled by your life or health insurance companies and pay higher premiums.
What kind of line can be drawn between a smoker and non-smoker? How long do you have to have gone without smoking before you're a non-smoker again? Is it not like Alcoholics Anonymous where you're just always a smoker? According to insurance.com's article, "if you enjoy a good cigar from time to time or smoke just two cigarettes per year, you are a smoker by insurance standards." Also, they suggest five years as a time period for detoxing.
Thinking about myself, it's probably been about that long for me. The last time I remember smoking was sitting in a folding char by the garden in my Ames backyard after a particularly frustrating day with my boss and various clients. Who knew... I'm an ex-smoker! Congratulate me!
I guess sometimes a cigar is not just a cigar...
Today, when the doc came in to talk about my issues, she asked about my response to the smoking question and then made sure to note that I was a non-smoker. She reported that a friend was recently labeled a smoker by her insurance company because she responded similarly on a form at a doctor's office. Now, I'm not an advocate of lying to insurance companies. But be warned that apparently if you're too honest you could be labeled by your life or health insurance companies and pay higher premiums.
What kind of line can be drawn between a smoker and non-smoker? How long do you have to have gone without smoking before you're a non-smoker again? Is it not like Alcoholics Anonymous where you're just always a smoker? According to insurance.com's article, "if you enjoy a good cigar from time to time or smoke just two cigarettes per year, you are a smoker by insurance standards." Also, they suggest five years as a time period for detoxing.
Thinking about myself, it's probably been about that long for me. The last time I remember smoking was sitting in a folding char by the garden in my Ames backyard after a particularly frustrating day with my boss and various clients. Who knew... I'm an ex-smoker! Congratulate me!
I guess sometimes a cigar is not just a cigar...
Heart of the Matter
Another response to my pastor about a sermon on Palm Sunday.
Your sermon yesterday got me thinking. It's easy for people to say that Christ died for our sins. But what does that mean? The phrase has never really had that much meaning for me. I think sometimes Christians have the perspective that Jesus was sacrificed in the same way that a lamb was sacrificed in the Old Testament...that we have to suffer and give up things we love because that is somehow pleasing to God...that Christ died so that we can live on in heaven. This attempt at logic and faith just doesn't cut it for me. I'm left asking, "why?" I'm not saying that's what I got from your Palm Sunday message. I'm just saying these ideas seem to be prevalent in Christian culture in general and your sermon got me thinking about it.
The thing that resonated with me about your message was the part about forgiveness...
Jesus didn't just die. He was murdered. And we did it. It wasn't the Jews, the heathens, the unsaved, "those people" who didn't know what they were doing that killed him. We did it. We killed him and we continue to kill him. I'm finding that one thing we need to learn from the Crucifixion is that we are every bit capable of doing it again. We need to explore the part of ourselves that has that capability, seek to understand it, so that maybe someday we can control it. Maybe someday we can stand up for those who are being slowly, systematically, distantly, painfully crucified every day by starvation, by violence, by disease. God's children, the hands and feet of Jesus, are still suffering with us today.
The thing I remember the most about Palm Sunday in the Catholic church (at least the one I went to) was that the whole congregation was involved. We were the crowd waving palms. But then... we were the crowd proclaiming "Crucify him!" The liturgy involved reenacting the last supper with communion, but also going through the Crucifixion. And I remember asking my step-mom when I was about 7 years old why we were saying crucify him, when Jesus was good. She tried to explain that it was so that we could remember that even Jesus' friends turned on him and so that we remember that we might have done the same thing...that just everyday people went along with it even though it was wrong.
And God let it happen, willed it to happen, made it happen? How confusing. But the thing that clicked with me yesterday is that this allows us to see the abundant grace of God. The fact that we tortured God's only son and killed him and then we are forgiven? Forgiven! Would we ever forgive someone that did that to one of our children? Jesus died and yet God forgives us for the sin and to, in a sense, prove that we will always be forgiven and to leave us with the task of trying to understand a love so great that allows that to happen. Knowing that I am forgiven allows me to forgive. That may be the greatest love that we will ever know.
Your sermon yesterday got me thinking. It's easy for people to say that Christ died for our sins. But what does that mean? The phrase has never really had that much meaning for me. I think sometimes Christians have the perspective that Jesus was sacrificed in the same way that a lamb was sacrificed in the Old Testament...that we have to suffer and give up things we love because that is somehow pleasing to God...that Christ died so that we can live on in heaven. This attempt at logic and faith just doesn't cut it for me. I'm left asking, "why?" I'm not saying that's what I got from your Palm Sunday message. I'm just saying these ideas seem to be prevalent in Christian culture in general and your sermon got me thinking about it.
The thing that resonated with me about your message was the part about forgiveness...
Jesus didn't just die. He was murdered. And we did it. It wasn't the Jews, the heathens, the unsaved, "those people" who didn't know what they were doing that killed him. We did it. We killed him and we continue to kill him. I'm finding that one thing we need to learn from the Crucifixion is that we are every bit capable of doing it again. We need to explore the part of ourselves that has that capability, seek to understand it, so that maybe someday we can control it. Maybe someday we can stand up for those who are being slowly, systematically, distantly, painfully crucified every day by starvation, by violence, by disease. God's children, the hands and feet of Jesus, are still suffering with us today.
The thing I remember the most about Palm Sunday in the Catholic church (at least the one I went to) was that the whole congregation was involved. We were the crowd waving palms. But then... we were the crowd proclaiming "Crucify him!" The liturgy involved reenacting the last supper with communion, but also going through the Crucifixion. And I remember asking my step-mom when I was about 7 years old why we were saying crucify him, when Jesus was good. She tried to explain that it was so that we could remember that even Jesus' friends turned on him and so that we remember that we might have done the same thing...that just everyday people went along with it even though it was wrong.
And God let it happen, willed it to happen, made it happen? How confusing. But the thing that clicked with me yesterday is that this allows us to see the abundant grace of God. The fact that we tortured God's only son and killed him and then we are forgiven? Forgiven! Would we ever forgive someone that did that to one of our children? Jesus died and yet God forgives us for the sin and to, in a sense, prove that we will always be forgiven and to leave us with the task of trying to understand a love so great that allows that to happen. Knowing that I am forgiven allows me to forgive. That may be the greatest love that we will ever know.
Monday, March 19, 2007
Here, Benji
On my lunch break today I saw a dog being walked...or something.
The river is only a few blocks from my office and at 58 degrees I grabbed some tunes and went for a stroll. On my way back to work, running towards me at a moderate but respectable pace, was a Benji-looking dog. Not the spriest dog you've ever seen, but one in good health. I looked around for who this dog might belong to, but didn't see anyone walking around on the path or the grass. There's a small road about 50 or so feet inland from the walking path that connects a couple parking lots, the marina, a restaurant, and the casino entrance. Creeping along on this drive was a silver sedan with a lone man in the driver seat. The dog glanced over at it now and again.
I looked at the dog running towards me, looked again for an owner. The dog sniffed at me briefly as it went past me and the man in the sedan went by me too. Could the driver have been "walking" his dog? The pair disappeared around the bend near the marina. A few minutes later as I was hiking up the bluff back into the world of trains and autos, the man and Benji were exiting the parking lot together in the silver car.
I don't know whether I should be impressed at his imagination or outraged at his laziness. He looked like a middle-aged man in good health. Shouldn't the dog get to run around at his natural pace without the guy getting all sweaty on his lunch break? How did they get into this routine in the first place? My dogs seem to know husband and I by our cars. At least, they don't typically bark when we pull in versus anyone else. I guess for Benji it's just like going for a walk with a really long invisible leash. Good dog.
On my lunch break today I saw a dog being walked...or something.
The river is only a few blocks from my office and at 58 degrees I grabbed some tunes and went for a stroll. On my way back to work, running towards me at a moderate but respectable pace, was a Benji-looking dog. Not the spriest dog you've ever seen, but one in good health. I looked around for who this dog might belong to, but didn't see anyone walking around on the path or the grass. There's a small road about 50 or so feet inland from the walking path that connects a couple parking lots, the marina, a restaurant, and the casino entrance. Creeping along on this drive was a silver sedan with a lone man in the driver seat. The dog glanced over at it now and again.
I looked at the dog running towards me, looked again for an owner. The dog sniffed at me briefly as it went past me and the man in the sedan went by me too. Could the driver have been "walking" his dog? The pair disappeared around the bend near the marina. A few minutes later as I was hiking up the bluff back into the world of trains and autos, the man and Benji were exiting the parking lot together in the silver car.
I don't know whether I should be impressed at his imagination or outraged at his laziness. He looked like a middle-aged man in good health. Shouldn't the dog get to run around at his natural pace without the guy getting all sweaty on his lunch break? How did they get into this routine in the first place? My dogs seem to know husband and I by our cars. At least, they don't typically bark when we pull in versus anyone else. I guess for Benji it's just like going for a walk with a really long invisible leash. Good dog.
Friday, March 02, 2007
Today your fortune will not come true because you are chicken
There's a man who works in one of the offices above mine. He wears a suit and tie and a tan trench-type coat every day; he's one of the very few people that enter our building dressed so formally. He's middle-aged with greying hair, but not bald. He reminds me of my Japanese teacher, but taller. I saw him a few weeks ago in the little natural food store a couple blocks from the office, shopping on his lunch break like me. I saw him walking back from somewhere downtown as I drove to the other side of town to buy a garbage can. This is striking because few people walk anywhere anymore and few people do anything downtown these days.
One evening last month we had a nasty ice storm and everyone was out furiously scraping the ice from their cars in the parking lot. As I was just getting some of the last chunks off of my windshield, I must have had a particularly venomous look on my face as I growled and swore under my breath at stubbing my fingers on the windshield wipers. The man in the tan coat jogged over and asked if I needed any help. Chagrined at how obviously my unmanaged anger was, I said no, I was just about done, but thanks, I appreciate it. I looked over at his car that wasn't quite clear -- he was offering to help me even before he had his own compact, non-sporty, surely, very fuel-efficient car taken care of.
I've been thinking about the man in the tan coat off and on recently. He seems like he must be like me -- socially conscious enough to drive a small car, walks to lunch and to the store, offers to help others, and works in human services. Why am I not friends with him? God knows I could use a friend or two around here. I asked the secretaries at work if they knew who he was. They said he might be a lawyer and not sure what office he works in. I want to introduce myself: "Hey, you drive a compact car and you walk places. That's more in common than I have with anyone else who works in this building. Want to be friends?" But, as I imagine how that conversation would play out in real life, it seems so awkward and forced. What if he isn't the kind of person I've boxed him in to be?
Today I slept through my alarm clock and got up late. I didn't have time to put together a lunch so I walked up to Mr. Moto's for yummy vegetarian food and a latte. Guess who was there... Mr. Tan Coat. He eats food without meat in it! Surely, he's a bleeding heart like me. I tried all lunch hour to get up the nerve to say hello, to introduce myself, to invite a friendship. All the times it might have been natural to say something, he was checking his voice mail, balancing his check book, or lacked an enthusiastic welcoming look in his eyes. Those are the same kind of things I do when I'm dining alone some where and I don't have anything to read. My brain went back and forth: say something and risk looking like a weirdo stalker, or just let it go. At Mr. Moto's every meal ends with a fortune cookie. There it was: You will get to know a coworker better today.
Still, I had no nerve. I lay on the couch near his table reading my book after I had finished my meal. He left and went down the block toward the post office. I headed back to work.
The feeling I have is similar to when I liked a boy. Giddy and nervous and chicken, "notice me!" silently screaming in my brain. Really, this time, I just want to be friends.
One evening last month we had a nasty ice storm and everyone was out furiously scraping the ice from their cars in the parking lot. As I was just getting some of the last chunks off of my windshield, I must have had a particularly venomous look on my face as I growled and swore under my breath at stubbing my fingers on the windshield wipers. The man in the tan coat jogged over and asked if I needed any help. Chagrined at how obviously my unmanaged anger was, I said no, I was just about done, but thanks, I appreciate it. I looked over at his car that wasn't quite clear -- he was offering to help me even before he had his own compact, non-sporty, surely, very fuel-efficient car taken care of.
I've been thinking about the man in the tan coat off and on recently. He seems like he must be like me -- socially conscious enough to drive a small car, walks to lunch and to the store, offers to help others, and works in human services. Why am I not friends with him? God knows I could use a friend or two around here. I asked the secretaries at work if they knew who he was. They said he might be a lawyer and not sure what office he works in. I want to introduce myself: "Hey, you drive a compact car and you walk places. That's more in common than I have with anyone else who works in this building. Want to be friends?" But, as I imagine how that conversation would play out in real life, it seems so awkward and forced. What if he isn't the kind of person I've boxed him in to be?
Today I slept through my alarm clock and got up late. I didn't have time to put together a lunch so I walked up to Mr. Moto's for yummy vegetarian food and a latte. Guess who was there... Mr. Tan Coat. He eats food without meat in it! Surely, he's a bleeding heart like me. I tried all lunch hour to get up the nerve to say hello, to introduce myself, to invite a friendship. All the times it might have been natural to say something, he was checking his voice mail, balancing his check book, or lacked an enthusiastic welcoming look in his eyes. Those are the same kind of things I do when I'm dining alone some where and I don't have anything to read. My brain went back and forth: say something and risk looking like a weirdo stalker, or just let it go. At Mr. Moto's every meal ends with a fortune cookie. There it was: You will get to know a coworker better today.
Still, I had no nerve. I lay on the couch near his table reading my book after I had finished my meal. He left and went down the block toward the post office. I headed back to work.
The feeling I have is similar to when I liked a boy. Giddy and nervous and chicken, "notice me!" silently screaming in my brain. Really, this time, I just want to be friends.
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
Taxes tax me
I have a little beekeeping operation. Nothing fancy, but I want to someday make a profit. I want to claim my start-up costs on my taxes as a loss so that when the day comes that I'm in the black, I'll feel better about paying taxes on it. Not that I'm against taxes, I just think people that actually make money should pay them and the record should show that I have none. Do I need to file a Schedule C for self-employment or F for farm income. Do I need to capitalize the purchases I made this year because they are mostly equipment that will be reused from year to year or do I qualify for the exception that allows me to simply deduct them. What the heck does capitalizing my assets even mean? The small business section of irs.gov is pretty helpful, but geez, can't a girl just have little bee keeping operation without it being so complicated?
Woo-ooh wooo-ooh
Last night was my first police stop in Hancock county. I was "verbally warned" to slow down. This was following a puzzled facial expression (which I could barely see with the flashlight in my face) and verbal question mark at my middle name. Good thing he doesn't know my in-laws. I wouldn't want papa-in-law to know I'm one of those speeders.
Last night was my first police stop in Hancock county. I was "verbally warned" to slow down. This was following a puzzled facial expression (which I could barely see with the flashlight in my face) and verbal question mark at my middle name. Good thing he doesn't know my in-laws. I wouldn't want papa-in-law to know I'm one of those speeders.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Stupid flash
There are many websites now that are using the Flash technology which, I'm guessing, allows more user interaction with the site. Some websites are completely inaccessible if you don't have Flash, such as Chaco's. I get a taunting message about how I don't have Flash and I need to simply "click here" to download and install it. I'm reassured that it's a quick and painless process and I have no doubt that it would be. Except, you see, my main internet access is on The Man's dime and The Man doesn't let me install even the smallest program on his computers.
I've been hoping that one day I will be prohibited from viewing some content relevant to my work at the Department due to not having Flash and I will be able to use this to convince The Man to install it. I have yet to come access any legitimately related website that I can use without this little tidbit of technology. Let me know if you come across something. Meanwhile, our receptionist continues to bother me about where she can call to order a Chaco catalog. I'm unarmed without access their website. All I can tell her is I got mine at Moosejaw in Chicago. No, you can't walk there from Union Station. Just go to their website...
There are many websites now that are using the Flash technology which, I'm guessing, allows more user interaction with the site. Some websites are completely inaccessible if you don't have Flash, such as Chaco's. I get a taunting message about how I don't have Flash and I need to simply "click here" to download and install it. I'm reassured that it's a quick and painless process and I have no doubt that it would be. Except, you see, my main internet access is on The Man's dime and The Man doesn't let me install even the smallest program on his computers.
I've been hoping that one day I will be prohibited from viewing some content relevant to my work at the Department due to not having Flash and I will be able to use this to convince The Man to install it. I have yet to come access any legitimately related website that I can use without this little tidbit of technology. Let me know if you come across something. Meanwhile, our receptionist continues to bother me about where she can call to order a Chaco catalog. I'm unarmed without access their website. All I can tell her is I got mine at Moosejaw in Chicago. No, you can't walk there from Union Station. Just go to their website...
Friday, January 12, 2007
MIA
I'm applying to be a Deaconess. On the application they have one of those standard sort of questions about what historical figure I most admire and why. Boring. I think my answer is valid. Hope they like it:
History is not one of my strengths, and I spent some time reading about various historical figures such as Eleanor Roosevelt, Margaret Sanger, Frida Kahlo, Mother Theresa and Mahavira, trying to come up with something inspired to say to you. While I enjoyed learning about these historical figures and do admire them, everyone had something that made me a little uncomfortable with writing about them. Roosevelt’s personal life was steeped in heartbreak, Sanger got a little mixed up in eugenics, and Mother Theresa at times argued for the maintenance of poverty as a fulfillment of the scriptures. Although I am an admirer of Kahlo’s work I couldn’t come up with enough to say. And, while I think Jainism is an incredible way of life, I’d be a poser if I tried to identify with it too much.
I imagine you might be tired of hearing about MLK, Jesus, Ghandi, and Suzanna/John Wesley, so I steered clear (though who can deny the abundance of admiration due there?). What I can do is speak to some commonalities that these folks all have that draw me to them.
The theme running through their stories is risking everything in the name of righteousness. They risked, and many experienced, bodily harm, denial of personal freedom and liberty, loss of material comforts and social acceptance in order to do what God (a higher power, their conscience, etc.) was calling them to do. I think fear directs our decision making so much as a culture that many people are paralyzed into inaction. Not to say that it’s not legitimate to be fearful in a world of secret military tribunals and unconstitutional surveillance where citizens can be indefinitely detained in lands far away from home.
The people that I admire the most understood that the results of their inaction were more unacceptable than risking personal harm. There must be some historical figures that were so promptly silenced following a period of righteous rebellion that they never even made it into the history books. Those are the people that I admire above all.
History is not one of my strengths, and I spent some time reading about various historical figures such as Eleanor Roosevelt, Margaret Sanger, Frida Kahlo, Mother Theresa and Mahavira, trying to come up with something inspired to say to you. While I enjoyed learning about these historical figures and do admire them, everyone had something that made me a little uncomfortable with writing about them. Roosevelt’s personal life was steeped in heartbreak, Sanger got a little mixed up in eugenics, and Mother Theresa at times argued for the maintenance of poverty as a fulfillment of the scriptures. Although I am an admirer of Kahlo’s work I couldn’t come up with enough to say. And, while I think Jainism is an incredible way of life, I’d be a poser if I tried to identify with it too much.
I imagine you might be tired of hearing about MLK, Jesus, Ghandi, and Suzanna/John Wesley, so I steered clear (though who can deny the abundance of admiration due there?). What I can do is speak to some commonalities that these folks all have that draw me to them.
The theme running through their stories is risking everything in the name of righteousness. They risked, and many experienced, bodily harm, denial of personal freedom and liberty, loss of material comforts and social acceptance in order to do what God (a higher power, their conscience, etc.) was calling them to do. I think fear directs our decision making so much as a culture that many people are paralyzed into inaction. Not to say that it’s not legitimate to be fearful in a world of secret military tribunals and unconstitutional surveillance where citizens can be indefinitely detained in lands far away from home.
The people that I admire the most understood that the results of their inaction were more unacceptable than risking personal harm. There must be some historical figures that were so promptly silenced following a period of righteous rebellion that they never even made it into the history books. Those are the people that I admire above all.
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