stronghold

This past week, I was involved in a mission trip. Towards the end of the week, a couple of us were working on the church grounds, weeding and throwing some anti-fire ant...powder stuff. I've never weeded before this past weekend-- growing up we never had a yard, we always lived in apartments. As this was a new experience for me, I didn't quite have a skilled hand at pulling out weeds and fell on my tush a couple of times. Guess it comes with the territory.

After we had finished the section, we walked the perimeter of the building, throwing anti-fire ant stuff that resembles cornmeal (you can tell I was getting hungry at this point). We threw it near the building and around pathways so that anthills wouldn't be formed and people would be safe from the barrage of fireants attacking exposed toes and unsuspecting heels. As I was tossing this powder and watching the wind take it further than I had tossed it, I had this mental image of an invisible wall being erected to protect against the devastation a fire ant colony could wreak. Then I was struck by the imagery and it's relevance to the Holy Spirit and prayer. I've never dedicated a plot of land or really gone on a specific prayer walk, but the physical act of tossing this powder, seeing it fall, knowing that it was working though it wouldn't be seen, gave me this beautiful image of what the Spirit does. I had this mental image where as a prayer is prayed, this impenetrable, glistening, glowing stronghold shoots up. Yet it's target is specific. It's the ultimate defense. Just like you and I and the neighbor's dog Scout can walk over and on this anti-fire ant powder and not be harmed, so too can we pass around and through uninhibited by the Stronghold. It does, however, act on fire ants and other agents of the Enemy's schemes. 

Also, the powder doesn't affect the plants that are already there. So flowers and shrubs and trees can continue growing. Which is why we weeded first--take out that which threatens the plants by competing for nutrients and ultimately killing the plants that were planted.  This I think can be metaphorical to the work of the Spirit in the process of purification. Rooting out the dangerous, harmful stuff. 

Anyway, these were just a few of my thoughts through the week. Hopefully as I process them some more, they will be more cohesive and meaningful.

I'll leave you with an image of some of the beautiful landscaping at the church, evidence of the arrival of spring.

race

What are you?

Out of context, this is a jarring, unexpected question. The first time I was asked this question, I was stunned into speechlessness, unsure how to answer it. Umm, a human? A woman? were the first thoughts that ran through my head. What exactly was this person asking? After a couple seconds of surprised silence, I figured that she was asking about my racial/ethnic background. Having my physical appearance send people into confusion for most of my life, it wasn't a huge leap to assume that the woman asking me this question was having the same dilemma. I had simply never been asked in this way before. Most people were a little more subtle, asking where I was from. Having been asked this question many times, I'm always curious to know where they think I'm from. I've gotten answers ranging from France to Russia to Mongolia to America.

The discussion of race in America is complex, with many nuances and perspectives. There can be no generalization of the experience of minorities. Each has a different history, and with that history, different feelings. However, there is no doubt. Being white has inherent privilege. Should we feel guilty about it? Although I may not have been the person who created the systems (slavery, segregation, general social discrimination, etc), I am a beneficiary of someone else's disadvantage, for white advantage came at the cost of another's loss. So what do I do about it now?

My professor calls it cultural labor. This basically means I need to work to reverse stereotypes. That I have to be intentional about entering the worlds of people different than I am, with the desire to learn. With the courage to admit my privilege. And yes, I am privileged. Though I am not only white, I don't stand out among whites, appearance-wise. In seeking a job in the corporate world, I have a white name. Of course, I strongly believe that my privilege extends much further than these two examples, but they are a start. After admitting privilege, I also admit that there are many things about other minority experience that I have no understanding of. Hopefully conversations can happen from this point.

After this conversation, what has changed? Have I and this other person suddenly eradicated institutional racism in one fell swoop? I wish. But hopefully from here, more conversations can come. Hopefully healing can begin. Hopefully these conversations will be occurring among the people who actually do have the power to enact legislation that can begin to fix this massive, unspoken (at least among white people) issue that perpetrates the entire nation.

These are some of my thoughts as I learn about what being white means in the US. In the world. I've started and restarted this post many times, but I wanted to get some beginning thoughts out. I heard an author once say that she hoped that we would be discussing race with our children just as you would discuss sex and drugs. I had never thought about this, but I totally agree. However, as I sit here thinking, I realize that is another sign of my privilege. Not having the issue of race be in my face everyday, not having to be aware of my race in every interaction. Many minorities are extremely conscious of their race and racial domination from an early age. These conversations probably happen at much higher frequencies among minority families--not so with white. I've gotten the sex/relationship talk, as well as the drug talk, but I never got the race talk.

Something to think about.

photogenic

Dogs, like people can be photogenic and not so photogenic. Take Barkley. He's a little bit of a rascal. Sometimes we think his wires got crossed before he was adopted (he chases reflected light on the ceiling, and instead of wagging his tail, it shivers. like he's super nervous. or cold). He's also really skinny but lightning fast. As a terrier, he also has a killer instinct. Oh, the stories my aunt could tell you about the adventures he and Willa have gotten into. Which brings me to the other dog. Willa, or Willa Bean, as I like to call her, is a ham. Attention, attention, attention. She needs it. When I see her, I stop, start talking to her, and on cue, she gradually lowers herself to the ground (not a far distance, as she's about a foot tall) while wagging her entire second half, and exposes her tummy to be rubbed. All this, merely at my speaking to her. I haven't even touched her yet. What's really cute is if you stand at the door and yell for Barkley, if Willa is standing there, she'll start whimpering and yelping. She knows someone else is being called.

Back to photogenicity. We'll call that a real word.






















In the midst of my virus overrun sickness, I removed myself to the countryside and decided to go for a walk. Granted, this may not have been the wisest decision, because in my physically weakened state, getting lost would have been... a problem. However, that is another discussion. On this walk, the two said puppies went with me. Good life choice. I walked down to the river, toting my camera, seeking something of beauty in the midst of the barren landscape that showed the ravages of winter. I find winter hard to photograph and present as beautiful because the colors are so bleak. But when I reached the river, hints of green revealed themselves. I started taking pictures of moss and other small growing foliage. As I looked up from one spot, I saw Barkley standing on a rock, looking intently at the other shore. Snap. He blended in with the background. So I continued. I found this sun bleached white rock that was covered in vibrantly green moss. Crawling over, I started clicking away. I sat back on the rock to look at what I had taken. Unfortunately, nothing I particularly loved. Oh well. As I looked up, Barkley bounded onto the white rock and started exploring. Adorable! Snap. Snap. Snap. I like. Yes, he did display his rear for a good portion of the pictures, but I think I captured some good looking ones. I turned to Willa, wanting to get her too, because she's a cute terrier too. But it's hard to take a picture of a puppy that stays around your feet. Not much room for perspective. Commands like "Look over here Willa!" also went ignored. Shrug. What's a girl to do?
I guess there are times when Barkley's rascally, adventuring nature play to his advantage. In case he ever wants to be in a puppy magazine. Sorry Willa.

jet lag

I know it's going to happen, but each time it's a little different. After flying to China for Christmas break, spending three weeks there and then flying back, dealing with big time zone differences has been a frequent occurrence in my life. Your body thinks that it is day when it is night and night when day. Makes for difficulty in following conversations at about 3 in the afternoon when you're about to pass out because your body rhythms think it is 4 in the morning.

Jet lag can take me anywhere from a week to 2 days to get over. That's a pretty big range, but I think the trick is to be busy. To have things planned when you get to where you're going. That's when I've been able to get over it the fastest because I'm not dwelling on how exhausted I am. Curious how things seem to go faster when I'm not so focused on myself. But yes, this time around, I didn't have a super packed schedule. This means I woke up at 3, 4, 5 in the morning, often laying there and trying to go back to sleep, usually pretty successfully. Then there were a couple mornings when I made it to 7 am and couldn't go back to sleep.

Staying at my aunt and uncle's in the country, my uncle is usually up at the crack of dawn, doing chores around the house, feeding the horses and things, but my aunt is usually still sound asleep and the house is peacefully silent. On one morning when I couldn't go back to sleep, I happened to walk to the closed curtains and take a peek outside, expecting frosty barrenness. I was overwhelmed with an exquisite sunrise.  I couldn't take my eyes off of it. I was wearing a moose covered onesie that I had gotten as a Christmas present and so I padded out to the back deck, throwing on a vest, and brought my Canon. I tried to capture it, but don't think I was able to quite do it complete justice. I haven't learned how to piece panoramic shots, so this is the best I can do for now.

The next time I woke up at 7, God was painting this masterpiece

I don't particularly enjoy being jetlagged, but I have to admit, I never would have seen these two sunrises otherwise.