A Day In the Life

  So, I have now been in Africa for almost two weeks, and I am really beginning to feel at home here. Of course, there has been an adjustment period. It's strange to have very little personal space and limited access to the outside world. Our power goes out at least once a week, and the water goes out almost daily.

Our first power outage turned out to be one of our better nights in Africa.

 It is also somewhat unenjoyable to have to wear the same 10 pieces of clothing over, and over, and over again. I miss real Amer'kin ketchup, Nutella, and country fried chicken (which no one here had even heard of). And, naturally, I really miss my expansive collection of nail polish and makeup. (I mean, I miss my family and friends too, but I REALLY miss my cosmetics and beauty products.)

  Even though there are certainly things that I miss about the great state of Texas, I'm starting to fall into a routine here that makes me more happy and fulfilled than I have been in a long time. So, for the tens of people who are interested, here is what an average day in Tanzania is like:

  I wake up around 7:15 or 7:30. Anyone who knows me well will understand what a huge adjustment this was for me. I get dressed and try to make myself look fairly presentable (though most days I still look like I crawled out from under a bridge).
  
   I go downstairs and have breakfast, which usually consists of fresh fruit and some kind of fried bread, like Mandazi, which is basically a funnel cake or beignet without the powdered sugar. I also usually start my day with a hot cup a AfriCafe Coffee, which is a far cry from Starbucks, but it still gets the job done.
  
   Around 8:10 I take the dala dala to my placement. Not the most comfortable method of transport, but it costs $.25 for a 15 minute ride. Can't beat that.

....3-4 more people could definitely fit in this one.

  I get to my placement at Hope Center around 8:30. Hope is both an orphanage and a day care for kids of all ages, but the kids I work with are between the ages of 3 and 5. Some of the kids live there full time, and others just come in during the day for play and lessons.

This is where the kids and I play every day.

The outside of the building. All the kids are lined up for their daily porridge.

  The first two hours at the orphanage is spent working on basic pre-school lessons like counting, the alphabet, colors, basic English and tracing. 

   Once again, anyone who knows me will understand what a huge transition was for me. Last year I was teaching my (adult) students about the long-term implications of the rise of the Christian Right, and now I'm teaching babies how to trace their "1"s. I would say teaching undergrads is a lot easier than teaching three year olds. The lessons are made even harder by the fact that I don't speak Swahili, so I have no idea what the hell my kids are saying to me.

  After the kids finish their work, they can go outside for playtime. As soon as I step out of the classroom for playtime, I immediately have 2-5 kids hanging on every limb of my body, looking at my watch (because they love to hear it beep), playing with my hair, and asking me to pick them up or swing them around. Sometimes we play games or go on the swings, and on really special days, we get out the parachute. (Don't act like you aren't jealous).

My baby girl Doreen. She's a little terror, but she's so stinkin' cute.

  Watching the kids play is incredible, because they have so little, and yet they make the most of what they have available to them. Old wooden boxes and bicycle tires become coveted play things, and under-inflated soccer balls are the most exciting thing on the playground. The kids' appreciation and excitement for their small luxuries is an incredible thing to watch.

  At 11:30, my babies get released to go home, so I walk them to the main road and help them cross, and then catch the dala dala back to my house.

  Once home, I eat lunch, and then do any number of fairly mundane things: Do my wash (Which I do by hand. Achievement Unlocked.), hang out with my roommates (who are all awesome, fun, hilarious people), get on the internet, or take the oh so luxurious African bucket shower.

  Several times a week we also go into town, which is always chaotic and fantastic. There are dala dalas and boda bodas (moterbikes) everywhere, and people yell from all different directions, calling us "mzungu" or "white person". In town there is a coffee shop with free wifi, a Shoprite grocery store, and several cool restaurants and shops.

My coffee and cake at Fifi's, one of the better coffee shops in the area.

  At night we either do one of two things: Stay at the house and listen to music while playing card games, or go out to any one of the bars or clubs in the area.

In the cab on the way home with our favorite driver, Jimmy.

  Overall, life here is pretty awesome. Things move slower here, despite the frantic movement in the city. For the most part, the people are kind and welcoming, though, of course, there are a fair share of ass clowns here too, but that's true of any country. The food is a lot better than I was expecting, and the beer is also much better than anticipated.

 I also love that I spend a large portion of my day outdoors, and, unlike in the States, I actually walk places, which I really enjoy.

  Being here has already changed my perspective on how I live my life in the States, and it has also changed the way I see the world around me. And, interestingly, it has completely changed my opinions on international aid. But that's a whole other post. 

The Never-ending Battle of an Incurable Introvert

   I've been an introvert my whole life. I hate small talk, I mean, HATE small talk. If I haven't seen you since high school, I'm really not that interested in your new baby or your breast reduction. I don't care that you switched to a paleo diet and now shop only at places that sell fair-trade, local, organic, sustainable produce. And, I'd bet you're not that interested in "what I've been up to" either. To be honest, I'm probably more interested in the distant struggles of dead people from the 1940s than I am in most living, breathing people.

  I love being alone in movie theaters, restaurants, and shopping malls. I hate birthday parties (for myself). They stress me out because people are focused on me, and I don't like the attention or gifts. (But I love finding and giving gifts to other people).


  I also hate group work. I don't understand the point and I don't understand why "pedogologically speaking" group work is always encouraged as the ideal way to teach. No. It isn't. It's awkward and alienating, and I always end up doing all the work (with one recent documentary project as a pleasant outlier).

  Additionally, I have debilitating social anxiety. (Which, according to the DSM-IV, is a legit personality disorder.) If I sort-of know you and you come into the restaurant where I work, I will probably do my best to avoid eye contact with you (to avoid the aforementioned small talk). If I see you in a grocery store, I will camp out among the deli meats until I am sure we won't run into each other. It's not that I don't like you, it's just that I don't like surprise social interactions that I'm unprepared for. Similarly, when my friends introduce me to new people, my pulse quickens, my knees begin to shake, and my palms get disgustingly sweaty, which makes the obligatory introductory handshake even more awkward. And when the new acquaintance is an attractive, bearded male, I will likely just pass out immediately. 

  Do you want to be friends with me yet?

  I love it when plans get cancelled, because it means I can spend the night reading books and surfing Reddit. When I go places, I observe the people around me more than I engage them. I take mental notes all the time. A lot of times I feel like Renton from Trainspotting or Nick Carraway from The Great Gatsby: Always observing, but not really the main actor in the story.

  The thing is, this is just the way I am. I've tried to change it. I try to be more involved and less socially awkward (until I inevitably drop something, break something, trip over my own feet, accidentally injure someone, or say something so inflammatory that people lose all interest in speaking to me), but I simply can't change the way I am hard-wired, which makes me more concerned with my own thoughts than the external world. At any given time, I have 6 million thoughts and observations running through my head and I'm only able to express about .05% of them. (See diagram 1A for a visual)

Diagram 1A

  According to Google, which, as we all know is our silent omnipotent overlord, "Introvert" is defined as: A shy, reticent, and typically self-centered person. Ouch, Google, you cut me real deep just now. Meanwhile, "Extrovert" is defined as: An outgoing, overtly expressive person. The difference in definition alone demonstrates a significant flaw in our society. Extroverts are glorified and praised while introverts get labeled as "shy" and "awkward" and "quiet".

  At what point did our society begin to elevate the outspoken and ignore those who simply have no interest in being the center of attention? 

  My introversion has led to insecurity all my life, mostly because I am surrounded by wonderful, fun ambiverts (yeah, it's a thing) and extroverts. My dad can approach strangers and literally talk to then for hours. (Just ask the Jehovah's witnesses and Mormons who have the misfortune of knocking on our door.) And I have a best friend whose first actual sentence to a new acquaintance was, "So, your parents got divorced, huh? That must have been hard. Tell me about that." (They ended up dating for almost a year). One of my other best friends literally knows every local politician, school board member, and upper-middle class white lady/pseudo-activist in the Humble-Atascocita-Kingwood area, and can spark a conversation about just about anything.

These are my friends:

This is me:

I'll never understand why I'm still single.

  I've always compared myself to the people close to me, wondering why I can't just act like a "normal person". but I've recently come to realize that I am a fairly normal person, and maybe my introversion isn't such a bad thing. According to Susan Caine's book Quiet, something like one third to one half of Americans are introverts, and though society does not fully appreciate them, they make a valuable contribution to society. They are good listeners and writers. They care deeply about the people close to them. They tend to be creative and are more emotionally sensitive to both beauty and tragedy. They tend to be focused and unmaterialistic. They enjoy deep, lengthy conversations with close friends and they try to avoid conflict. Some of the greatest people in history have been introverts: Rosa Parks, Vincent Van Gogh, Sir Isaac Newton, Albert Einstein, Dr. Seuss, The Great Stephen Spielberg, and my hero J.K. Rowling. So, I'm definitely in good company.

  A lot of introverts try to cover up their quiet demeanor because in business and social interactions, the "Type-A" personalities seem to be preferable. I'm definitely guilty of this. But it doesn't seem fair that introverts have to downplay their natural predisposition for being cerebral and introspective.

  So what do we do now? Let's be real, society isn't going to change. The charismatic, outspoken people will get a lot of the glory and accolades in this world, and I'd wager that most introverts are fully okay with that, but maybe we need to do a better job of respecting people who are not the vocal, engaging, "people-person" types. Additionally, it's time for people to start learning how to appropriately handle their interactions with introverted people, and to stop expecting them to approach life with the same extroverted attitude. (See Diagram for details).

  I still struggle with embracing my introspective personality, but at least I'm learning that I do have a place, and I'm not abnormal, and my strengths and skills are equally as valuable as those of CEOs and public speakers, and for now, that's good enough for me.
  

Sink or Swim

  Yesterday I turned in the first draft of my thesis. To be entirely honest, the stress of writing as well as the time-consuming nature of grad school has largely deprived me of the time and will to deeply get into the Scriptures. Today, however, in my glorious, albeit temporary, calm before the storm of revisions, I had the time to return to in-depth prayer and Bible Study. I've been reading through the book of Matthew, and, for the most part, it feels like more of a recap than anything. Growing up in a very, very active Christian household, it's easy to feel like we've heard all the stories a million times, and that there isn't much more to learn from them.

  But today, one of the most familiar stories stuck out to me, because I feel it directly correlates to my life as I move into the next phase of it. It was the story of Peter walking on water. I've heard the story a million times as a cautionary tale about having a lack of faith. So, the story goes like this: The disciples are hanging out on the lake in a boat, as people did in the days of yore. It's sometime between 3:00 and 6:00 in the morning, so either the guys are 1.) Up way too late, 2.) Nocturnal, 3.) Partying it up Hebrew style, or 4.) Hella tired. They look out across the lake and they see Jesus walking on the water towards them, and they're like, "What the deuce? This is a little strange." And then this happens:

²⁶ When the disciples saw him walking on the lake, they were terrified. “It’s a ghost,” they said, and cried out in fear.²⁷ But Jesus immediately said to them: “Take courage! It is I. Don’t be afraid.”
²⁸ “Lord, if it’s you,” Peter replied, “tell me to come to you on the water.”²⁹ “Come,” he said.Then Peter got down out of the boat, walked on the water and came toward Jesus. ³⁰ But when he saw the wind, he was afraid and, beginning to sink, cried out, “Lord, save me!”³¹ Immediately Jesus reached out his hand and caught him. “You of little faith,” he said, “why did you doubt?”

So here are the things that struck me about the story that I hadn't really noticed before.

1.) The disciples are scared. And, I think they were certainly justified in their reaction. But as he always does, Jesus says "Do not be afraid." Now this phrase isn't exactly a new command in the Bible. The Bible tells people not to be afraid no less than 365 times. 365. Hmmm. That number is kind of important.  That's one reminder to not be afraid for each day of the year. (And some scholars argue that it is said 366 times, so leap years are covered too.) So, obviously, this is something that is close to the heart of God. Fear is unnecessary in the life of a Christian, and really in the life of anyone.

2.) Peter is the only disciple to respond to Jesus. The passage says, "The disciples." So that means there are other guys watching this happen. But Peter is the only one to say anything. And not only does he talk to the mysterious man across the water, but he says, "Hey. Let me come join you." Meanwhile, the other guys are still hanging out in the boat, apparently just watching this whole thing unfold. Now, keep in mind, these are the guys who have at this point seen Jesus feed the five thousand; they heard the Sermon on the Mount. He has healed paralytics and pretty much raised people from the dead, so these guys know what's up. They've seen what this guy can do. And yet they stay in the boat.

3.) Peter begins to sink "when he saw the wind". When things got a little rough, when things got a little scary, he begins to struggle. But Jesus pulls him out of the water, and reminds him, "Why didn't you believe me? Why didn't you trust me? I got this, remember?"

  I feel like the story of Peter is the story of a lot of us, myself included. The disciples were in a state of fear. Fear is a normal response to things that are out of the ordinary. But Peter didn't let his fear encumber him. He stepped out of the boat, at 3 AM no less into a very dark, very deep lake, not entirely positive what's going to happen. But at least he got off the boat. At least he took the step. None of the other disciples did that. They stayed where it was safe. Where it was familiar. Where there was little likelihood of being harmed. A lot of times we let fear keep us trapped on our own boats. We move through this life surrounded by a sea of uncertainty, and it's easier to remain in our comfort zones than to risk braving new waters. But Peter did. 

  It's also important to note that even an apostle can sink when life gets rough. And, let's be honest, we all sink sometimes. Either through overwhelming stress, or painful experiences, or lack of faith in our own strength and abilities, it's easy to be overcome by the tide. (I realize lakes like the one in the story don't have tides, but it's a metaphor, okay?) But notice that Jesus pulls him out. Jesus doesn't let him sink completely. Jesus takes over and says, "I got this. I always did. Why did you doubt me? I'm not gonna just watch you sink. That's not my style."

  I'll be honest, I've been sinking lately. Stress of grad school as well as a complete uncertainty about my future have me feeling like I'm not walking on stable ground anymore. But at least I'm trying to step out of the boat. I've still got a lot of fear and doubt to overcome, and some days it's hard to believe that God is going to take care of it. But hopefully, I can just follow Peter's example and dive right in.

Worst Case Scenarios and Hidden Blessings: AHA 2013

 I wise woman once said, "Life has a funny way of helping you out when you think everything's gone wrong and everything blows up in your face." The last 4 days of my life have proven the absolute truth of that statement.

  My friend Stephanie and I went to New Orleans to attend the annual American Historical Association conference. We rented a hotel room and hit the road, not knowing what ridiculous events were in store for us.

  The first few days of the trip were peppered with an interesting assortment of experiences, both good and bad. We went on a ghost tour, got hundreds of dollars in free books, stopped in the most racist city in Texas, hit a car while attempting to parallel park, drank on Bourbon and Frenchman Streets, got followed home by creepers, and met some incredibly big deal historians who have decisively shaped their fields. Additionally, we bumped into an old professor of mine who is the dean of the liberal arts department at Lone Star - Kingwood, who told us to come interview once we graduate. Win. 

   We also accidentally stumbled upon the best soul food we've ever had because our first choice restaurant was too crowded. It ended up being the best decision we ever made. Everyone should go to the Praline Connection on Frenchman Street. Amazing.

  It wasn't until Saturday, the third day of our stay in New Orleans, that the wheels began to fall off. It started when Stephanie lost her ID. We called everywhere to find it: The Mariott, the AHA office, Harrah's (where we were parked), and nobody had it. It also wasn't in the room or the car. We knew we had to find it if we wanted to go to bars or casinos, so we were slightly concerned. As we frantically searched through all of our things, I told Stephanie about a wonderful book I'd read that says:

   "Take the worst case scenario. Asking yourself, 'What's the absolute worst thing that could happen?' if something goes wrong can be very empowering. It helps you put things in their proper perspective. To take it further, you can also ask, 'Will the world end if this does not go the way I expect?' Shockingly, I've found that the answer is usually 'no'."

   We realized that, worst case scenario, we apply for a new driver's license online and spend the rest of the weekend eating and exploring rather than drinking and gambling. Definitely not a crisis. Definitely fixable. Definitely not worth freaking out over.

  After putting the situation into the proper context, we decided to head to Harrah's, even though Stephanie had no way to prove she was 21. Because we were parked at the casino, we were required to gamble for at least 30 minutes, so we decided that we would try to get in without having our IDs checked. Our brilliant plan was pretty much "If they ask for our IDs, just keep walking." We arrived at the casino and made our move to sneak past security.....and failed. (Note to self: never try to sneak backstage at a concert or infiltrate an enemy outpost. You're not as much of a ninja as you think you are.) 

  Stephanie tried to sweet talk her way into the casino, but the security attendant wouldn't have any of it...until she noticed a Michigan driver's license sitting on the desk in front of her. Turns out that the very security desk we were attempting to bypass coincidentally had Stephanie's ID. Thank goodness we failed at our attempt to sneak in, or we never would have recovered it. (And, for the record, she did not lose it. The casino took it to validate our parking and never gave it back to us.)

   Elated, we hit the penny slots, requested our drinks, and proceeded to have a great time. And by "have a great time" I mean that Stephanie and I downed 3 long island iced teas and 4 gin and tonics, respectively, within an hour's time. FO' FREE! Gotta love casinos.

Our winnings from "the corn game" penny slot. Show me the corn. I want da corn.

   After leaving the casino we had a few hours to kill before we had to meet up with friends, so we decided that we would get some wine and a Domino's pizza and be fat kids in our hotel room while watching trainwreck reality television, but fate had other plans for us.

   When we approached our hotel we saw that there were about 4 fire trucks and a news crew outside. Our response was something like:

We didn't grab no shoes or nothing, Jesus.

   Turns out that there was 4 alarm fire on the 4th floor and the whole hotel had to be evacuated. The Hilton hotel across the street was kind enough to set up an area where all the displaced persons could stay, so we spent then next hour or so in what was effectively a very, very nice refugee camp. Undaunted, Stephanie and I popped a squat on the floor and proceeded to eat our pizza and drink our wine.

"Kristen, don't throw away the floor pizza. We may want it later."

 Eventually we were told that we could get our luggage, but that we would have to move to another hotel. In our slightly inebriated minds, Stephanie and I decided that we would exact our revenge on the hotel by stealing every complimentary item we could find, including coffee, slippers, toiletries, a sewing kit, styrofoam cups, and toilet paper. That'll show 'em.

   When we got back down to the lobby, we were met with chaos and pandemonium, but we eventually found out that we were going to be moved to the Crowne Plaza a few blocks away, so we dragged all of our stuff, including the bags full of books that we had acquired earlier that day, to the new hotel. At eleven o'clock at night.

   Thankfully, the two of us laughed our way through the whole thing. Though slightly inconvenienced, our night was by no means ruined. Nobody was hurt in the fire and the damage was minimal. We had a fun little adventure and we got moved to a hotel that was actually in a more central location than the other one had been. Additionally, we got our last night's accommodations comped, so we saved money too.

   In the end, the trip turned out to be amazing and fun and full of hidden blessings. We couldn't go to dinner where we wanted and ended up having the best fried chicken we've ever tasted. Stephanie's ID was lost, but we happened to wander to exactly where it was. Our hotel caught on fire, but we got a discount and had an adventure. We both learned that worst case scenarios are never as dire as they seem and that humor and flexibility can make a crappy situation into a fun, positive experience.

  AHA 2012 will definitely go down as one of the better road trips we've ever had, not because things went perfectly and smoothly, but because we made the best out of every ridiculous, problematic moment and allowed ourselves to enjoy the ride rather than encumbering ourselves with unnecessary worry and frustration.

An Open Letter to Christians

   The presidential election season is always difficult for Christians. Every fourth November the Facebook posts start flowing in, telling us how "X" party is communist, socialist, Muslim, anti-Christian, etc. We get the bad chain emails from our crazy uncles telling us how gay marriage is going to be the downfall of America and how biblical prophesies prove that Obama is the Anti-Christ.


   While our friends and fellow church-goers start to advocate for "The Christian Party," the CNN articles begin to surface. You know the ones I'm talking about. From Todd Akin's poorly worded statement that women won't get pregnant from a "legitimate rape." Or Arkansas rep Jon Hubbard saying that slavery may have been a good thing. Or Richard Mourdock saying that pregnancy from rape is "something God intended." 

And we wonder why people think that Christians are a bunch of hateful bigots, racists, and homophobes?

  This is the party of God? This is the message that supposed Christians are sending to voters? It's no wonder that people hate the church and are antagonistic to The Gospel. We can't blame them. We are literally driving people away by turning the Bible into a political pundit.

   For the record, I am by no means "pro-abortion." I, personally, would never end the life of an organism that is living inside me. And I, personally, have no plans on entering into a homosexual relationship anytime soon....or ever, but I will never, ever alienate or denigrate a person who does.

   Why? Because I am broken. I have failed. I have committed every sin in the book. And I have been loved. I have been loved by friends, Christian and non-Christian, gay and straight, who have stood by me when I didn't deserve it. And despite all of the stupid things I have done, I have been showed grace. And if I fail to pass that grace on to others, I am a hypocrite.

  I believe that I have one calling as a Christian, and that is to love broken people. In the book of Romans, Paul tells us:

"There is no one righteous, not even one." - Romans 3:10

and in the book of Matthew, Jesus tells his disciples:

"Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother’s eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye?" -Matthew 7:3

...and what about the book of Luke where Christ says,

" Judge not, and you will not be judged; condemn not, and you will not be condemned; forgive, and you will be forgiven " - Luke 6:37

...or in the book of Romans where Paul says,

"Accept him whose faith is weak, without passing judgment on his disputable matters."

 - Romans 14:1

   At what point did Christians forget these commands? At what point did we start preaching a gospel of legalism and condescension, and, more importantly, at which point did Jesus pick up a picket sign telling his followers to vote for the more "conservative" Caesar? Jesus never asked us to legislate morality. Jesus never told us to build Christian beliefs into the Constitution. He called us to love. He called us to show grace, even to people who are different than us. And he called us to recognize our own flaws before calling out others for theirs.

  I have heard too many Christians complaining about Obama's reelection, and, to be honest, it makes me sick. Firstly, because the Bible makes it clear that we are "aliens and strangers in this world." (1 Peter 2:11). And we are to "Give to Caesar what is Caesar's and to God what is God's." (Mark 12:17). We are not called to define ourselves by our party affiliation, because politics are ephemeral. Eventually everything fades, so to attach our faith so staunchly to a worldly institution is a waste of time. I am not a democrat. I am a Christian. My goal is to make believers of all nations, and I believe that I can do that regardless of who is in office or what legislation comes to congress.

  Secondly, we have to remember that there are Biblical principles being reflected in both parties. The Republicans, for the most part, are well intentioned people who are trying to make a positive impact in the world. But they by no means are the only ones trying to encourage Christian principles. The people you see wearing the "Christians for Obama" pins are not voting against their faith. 

Jesus was very clear that we are to:

"Sell your possessions and give to the poor. Provide purses for yourselves that will not wear out, a treasure in heaven that will never fail, where no thief comes near and no moth destroys."

- Luke 12:33

God makes it clear that all of our blessings come from him. They do not belong to us. At no point does The Bible say, "Keep all of your money because you earned it."

  Pastor Rob Bell sums things up very well in his book Jesus Wants to Save Christians:

"Exile is when you fail to convert your blessings into blessings for others...God doesn't have a problem with eating and drinking and owning things. It's when those things come at the expense of others having their basic needs met - that's when the passionate rants of the prophets really kick in." (p. 45-46)

He also reminds us that:

"Jesus was a Middle Eastern man who lived in an occupied country and was killed by the superpower of his day. The Roman Empire, which put Jesus on an execution stake, insisted that it was bringing peace to the world through it's massive military might, and anybody who didn't see it this way just might be put in a cross." (p 17 -18)

"In an empire of indifference, as it becomes harder and harder to understand the perspective of others, it becomes easier and easier to confuse blessing with entitlement. Entitlement leads to immunity from the suffering of others, because 'I got what I deserve" and so, apparently, did they." (p. 124)

It is time to end the empire of indifference. And I truly believe that the current administration is attempting to do that.

  I can't claim to speak for God. And trust me, I don't have it all figured out. And I realize that my human nature makes it impossible to know the surpassing grace and brilliance of the Lord. But I know one thing: God doesn't believe in American Exceptionalism. And I can almost guarantee that Jesus didn't cast a vote yesterday. So maybe it's time for us to stop attaching our politics to our faith, because they're dragging it down.

   In C.S. Lewis' book the Screwtape Letters, the main character, a high ranking demon, tells his nephew, a lower ranking demon, about the dangers of religion and politics. He says:

"Let him begin by treating Patriotism as part of his religion. Then let him, under the influence of partisan spirit, come to regard it as the most important part. Then quietly and gradually nurse him on to the state at which the religion becomes merely a part of the “cause,” in which Christianity is valued chiefly because of the excellent argument it can produce….Once you have made the World an end, and faith a means, you have almost won your man, and it makes very little difference what kind of worldly end he is pursuing." (p. 53)

Politics, when given priority, can kill a man's faith.

   I am insanely, wonderfully blessed to live in a nation where I can participate in the political process. I am so lucky that I have the right to voice my opinion. I am thankful that I am able to openly and fervently practice my religion without fear of persecution. And I am grateful that we have the right to discuss, debate, and challenge one another. And I am thankful for my Republican friends and family who force me to deeply evaluate my beliefs. 

   So, Christians, if we really want to fulfill our calling to make disciples of all nations, maybe we should drop the picket signs, pick up our crosses together, and show love instead of judgment. We are all in this together. We were all made by the same Creator. So perhaps it's time to stop the partisan squabbling and start living The Gospel like we were told to.

I leave you with two of my favorite songs:

"Give Me Your Eyes" By Brandon Heath

"Give me your eyes for just one second,

Give me your eyes so I can see,

Everything that I've been missing,

Give me your love for humanity."

"Let us love like we were children,

Let us feel like we're still living

in a world I know is burning to the ground."

Swing, Swing

   I've never really considered myself to be an adult. I feel that maturity is generally a waste of time, and I fully plan to maintain a child-like, spontaneous, goofy, free-spirited approach to life for as long as I possibly can. Perhaps it was that sense of juvenile excitement that drove me to the swing set at River Grove Park.

   I went to the park for admirable reasons: go running in the nice weather, hang out with my family, take the dogs out for some exercise and play time. Sounds like a safe and wholesome good time, right? Wrong.

   Within 2 minutes of arriving one of the people in our party (I won't say which one), tripped in a cleverly camouflaged hole in the ground, twisting her ankle. Then, about 10 minutes later, one of the dogs started mysteriously bleeding. We never did find out how or why, but let me tell you, it's terrifying seeing a border collie whose mouth and nose are drenched in fresh blood.

   However, we made the best of it. I pushed forward and had a lovely run through the woods, (Which invariably makes me feel like I'm fulfilling my childhood dream of being Max from Where the Wild Things Are.)

"Let the wild rumpus begin!!!"

  After my run, I met up with my family at the kids' area of the park which has a jungle gym, parallel bars, and a swing set. Well, no better way to cool down after a workout than by playing on the playground, right? So, like any logical grown-up, I got onto the swings. Now, to be honest, I've had issues with swings in the past. I have a tendency to over-commit and I generally end up losing my balance, jumping off too early, and landing so hard that it makes my shins feel like they've shattered into 1,000 pieces.

  Today was no different. I had pretty much reached terminal velocity and an altitude of 35,000 feet when I realized that, perhaps, I hadn't thought this idea through. I tried to slow myself down by dragging my feet along the ground, but in the process, I displaced my weight and felt myself sliding forward. I leaned back, attempting to correct my weight distribution, but apparently I over-corrected, causing me to fall out of the swing. I fell out of a swing. That happened. You win again, gravity.

   I wish I could say that I was alone when this happened. But I definitely wasn't. There were people around. A lot of people. For a brief second I thought that maybe nobody had seen me until I heard a five year old kid yell, "SHE FELL OFF THE SWING!!!" Thank you, dear child. Sadly, I'm sure your swinging skills are far more advanced than mine.

  I took stock of my situation, still laying on the ground. There was sand in some uncomfortable and inconvenient places. My hand hurt like hell, and...yep...I definitely broke a finger. (When I got home I realized that I also strained my shoulder) So, I got up, dusted myself off, and faced the awaiting judgment from my family and onlookers, at which point, my beautiful mother said, "I think it's time to go." Uhhh. Yeah.

  Unfortunately, this is fairly typical of my life. Self-inflicted injuries are a normal fixture in my daily routine.

Some may recall "The Car Door Debacle of 2010":

Or the "I Was In a Hurry and Opened My Closet Door Into My Face Catastrophe of 2011"

Or the "I Flipped Headfirst Over My Handlebars Disaster of 2011"

Or the, "I Bruised a Bone in My Knee Coming Out of The Stairs At School Fiasco of 2012"

   So, sadly, this is nothing new for me. At this point my life is pretty much a series of awkward moments and humiliating demonstrations of my lack of coordination. But, you know what? I kind of like my penchant for falling, tripping, dropping things, and generally making an ass out of myself. Why? Because it has taught me how to laugh at myself, how to get back up even when my bones (or heart) are broken, and how to brush off people's judgment. But most importantly, I've learned not to be afraid of looking stupid, not to be afraid of making mistakes, and not to let past embarrassments and failures keep me from having a good time and trying again.

So, even though today was a disaster, I'm never going to stop swinging.

Packing My Bags and Giving the Academy a Raincheck

  Just over three months ago I was standing on a beach in Thailand. It was the last night of the most incredible journey of my life. After a little bit of wandering and more than a little bit of trespassing, my travel companions and I found ourselves standing at the foot of the Indian Ocean. It was nighttime and yet the full moon's reflection off the incoming tide lit up the beach, like the pillar of fire ready to guide us home. We all stood in silence, hyper-aware of the ephemeral nature of the moment. There was no need to talk. We all just stood there lost in our own thoughts and reflections.
  As I stood with my toes in the sand feeling the tide creep closer to my feet, I was struck with a sense of life, purpose, and clarity unlike anything I'd ever felt in my life. The ocean in all of its constant, powerful, ever-changing beauty seemed to wash away an old part of myself. And while I stood in wonder of the most vast and deep force on the planet, I was terrified. I wondered to myself, "Is this the best it's going to get?" I knew that when I got home I would be returning to classes, comps prep, dissertations, and a love life that could most accurately be described as a disastrous and painful clusterf**k.
  Then a voice came through my headphones telling me, "This is not the end, this is not the end of this. We will open our eyes wide, wider." Just in case you're interested, here's my full Thailand playlist.

 Later that night my beautiful, wonderful, brilliant travel companion slash best friend told me she had a similar experience. But, I mean, how could you not be moved when looking at this:

  The girl who stepped onto the plane in Phuket, Thailand was not the same girl who got onto the 777 to head to Europe and Southeast Asia. I had seen things like this:

...and this...

...and this...

  I had witnessed firsthand the fallen nature of humanity and all I wanted to do was to change things. To make them better. To help. To advocate. To cry for the tragedies that had gripped the world in both the past and present. And I didn't know what to do about it. Until I went on another trip.

  Go to Springfield for a conference, they said. It will be fun, they said. And, hey, why don't you take a car that's leaking transmission fluid? This is an awesome idea. NOT! Spoiler Alert: This is how the trip ended:

Pretty much a metaphor for my life: Stalled in an intersection not knowing which direction the rest of the journey was going to go.

  During what I would later deem "Murphy's Roadtrip" I got an email that said, and I'm paraphrasing here, "You need to go to your adviser and tell her the following things: When are you going to graduate? What are you writing your dissertation on? What do you want to do as a career? How many books are you going to publish? What are you going to do with your life?"

*insert panic attack here*

  And then I felt it. This wasn't what I wanted. I didn't want to spend the remainder of my twenties in graduate school. I didn't want the publications, the articles, the conferences. I wanted life. I wanted adventure. I wanted to help people.
  A terrible image flashed through my mind. I'm standing at the foot of the throne of God being called to account for my life. I look upon the glory of the Lord and I pull out a folded piece of paper that contains every tangible achievement in my life, and I say, "Here's my CV, God. Look at my books! Look at the conferences I went to! Look at my PhD, God!" I don't know if Heaven has crickets, but if it does, I'm pretty sure their chirping would be the only response to my life's work.  So I was faced with a choice: Continue on the path that I'm on or veer into the wilderness of The Great Unknown. One route offers security. The other offers...something else. The title of this blog should give you a hint as to which path I'm choosing.
  So I got home and immediately told my professors that I think I'm being called to switch to the master's program, to graduate in May, and then to serve people. Terrifying.
  I don't know where I'm headed. I have no idea what the next year is going to bring. But for the first time I feel at peace knowing that I have the chance to escape the rat race and to do something bigger. So it looks like, in the words of my future husband Andy McMahon, "I'm dropping out into the So Unknown" and I am excited as hell.