Of Grunions and Womanhood

I've often been asked as to why I despise females who squeal and giggle in unison. After a lot of reflection (and inner healing) I can safely say that is comes from grunion hunting with Moriah's cousin in sixth grade.

Moriah's cousin was 20, and she was the epitome of a strong woman. She had long hair that coiled tightly into raven ringlets, she had a nose ring, she wore Birkenstocks and she reeked of body odor and patchouli... stenches of power!

Moriah had once told me that she went to college in a mysterious place called Berkeley, where she told me that she was going to fight a regressive attack on affirmative action. I had no idea what a regression was, nor did I know how one fought such a thing... but I desperately wanted to watch Moriah's cousin take on the powers that dared to tangle with her passions.

She took us down to the beach, and aggressively handed out our respective sacks to store our catch. It was midnight, and the beach was crowded with tourists itching to begin the grunion run. Moriah's cousin sneered at the crowds, and hurried us along the dark beach. She took our flashlights, and made us walk in the dark. Splash. Slosh. Crunch. I didn't know whether I was stepping on seaweed, soaked litter, or the tails of these little creatures. All I knew was that I was in 6th grade, and I'd just started shaving my legs so the salt water stung my rashy calves. We walked for ages, and Moriah's cousin allowed us to turn on our flashlights.

It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the thousands of flopping creatures that were ashore to spawn. Moriah's cousin began to seize up the fish with precision and authority. Moriah and I, however, alternated between squealing "ewwwwwwww" and handling a fish before letting it slip through our fingers.

Moriah's cousin had had enough.

In one sweeping motion she seized Moriah and I by the shoulders, with narrowed eyes and a jaw clenched with fury. Her short grubby nails dug into my shoulder, and she said slowly:

"Don't squeal or giggle..."

We held our breath, and nodded.

"EVERRRR!!!!" Moriah's cousin bellowed into the crashing waves. She grabbed a slimy grunion with her claw-like hand and held it to our faces.

"Smell itttttt!!!"

Completely frozen in terror, I obediently smelled the fish. The abrasive material of the burlap bag was brushing against my raw legs, and I only remember feeling physical fear, irritation, and paralysis. Eventually she released us, and we both bit our lips and ravaged the sea with our grunion skills.

Thus, Moriah's cousin instilled a value in me... that real women neither squealed nor giggled. However, having reflected upon this (with the filter of a dramatic 6th grader)... I can honestly say that if I met Moriah's cousin today, I'd tell her how much I disliked her... but shoot, I respected her! Then, I'd shake her hand...*

*... AND slap her with a grunion for being a dumb hipster who intimidates children.

One Year

Students have given us a gift card to go on a date... something that feels rather grown up.

You sit across from me at the table, and we efficiently order together... that's us, a team. We talk about deep things as the salmon bruschetta arrives, and we smack and savor each bite as we chatter on about rent, basketball season, art, seasonal produce, and fantasies of future exotic vacations.

And that's when I look at you...

my best friend

the only person that I could do this with

the man who became my family in less than a tenth of the time it took me to grow into my own

the one to whom I speak in hushed laughter before bed

the man whose breaths in the morning make all that's around me feel safe when dreams seem dangerous

the one whose kiss reaches the overflow of my heart as I stumble out to work

the one who looked at me and said, "Yes"

So, to you my friend... thank you for my favorite year yet.

On Politics

During my first fall in Korea, I was told that this was the season for books. It’s actually a thing there, books and picnics… things that I presumed could be done at other times of the year, but who am I to complain?

I crawled into the dingy basement that touted itself as a bookstore for foreigners. I combed through the poorly organized piles, looking for something that would be simultaneously cheap and stimulating. 12,000KRW for Twilight,  15,000KRW for anything by Milan Kundera, and 8,000KRW for Jesus for President… sold!

It seemed like a whole bunch of well-meaning post-modern hippies who liked to corroborate the Bible with Gandhi quotes. Yes, Jesus for President… Amish for Homeland Security… Anglicans for Treasury… good changes, all of them.

One thing that they said, really resonated with me: ”we still are, political refugees in post-religious-right America. No party feels like home. No candidate seems to value the things we see Jesus talking about in the Sermon on the Mount. Our money says in God we trust … but our economy looks like the seven deadly sins.” 

It truly begs the question, what would America look like if Jesus were in charge?

Now, here I am… in 2012, and I passed up another chance to register Republican just so that I can have some say on which wack-job should push back on Obama’s creepy notions that Planned Parenthood would prevent his daughters from being “punished” with a baby. I'm feeling a bit irritable, a bit like a political misfit with every established group feeling either harsh, unscrupulous, racist, or just… weird. So, how do I partake in this circus?

How do we partake? [Read: we=Christians]

What if it looks scarier and more radical than grudgingly voting for donkeys or elephants? What if it looks like a revolution under the blood of the lamb?!

Acts 17:6-8

[They] dragged Jason and some other believers before the city officials, shouting: “These men who have caused trouble all over the world have now come here, 7 and Jason has welcomed them into his house. They are all defying Caesar’s decrees, saying that there is another king, one called Jesus.” 8 When they heard this, the crowd and the city officials were thrown into turmoil.

I think I’m beginning to understand that the “Kingdom” is not just a sideline/strange subculture… it’s an Empire! He’s coming to invade Earth with heaven, and the early church was constantly aware of this every time they proclaimed “Jesus is Lord” rather than “Caesar is Lord.” What if we said Jesus is President, not Obama… Gingrich… Romney…

Oooh, sounds subversive! =)

Technology

Today I saw this man and woman in a cafe, reading their iPad and Kindle respectively. I imagined this entire gloriously romantic scenario wherein they realized that they were reading the same book... something intellectual and obscure. They'd suddenly realize that they were an incredibly rare match made in heaven and they'd run off an get married at an observatory or something.

However, I realized that their iPad and Kindle would eliminate any possibility for such social interaction. 

And I suddenly understood why eHarmony is so valuable.

The Powder Room

It was the kind of night where you research creative eyeshadow techniques.

Red lipstick. 

Black dress. 

New shoes. 

Perfume. 

I stepped out of the bathroom to find my husband looking as dapper as ever in his suit. He still opens the car door for me, and I still get a little shy when he smiles at me that way. As we drove into the city, it was the first day all week where it didn't rain. From the Bay Bridge, it was clear for as far as the eye could see. (And these were my very well made up eyes, too!) 

We valet parked, and walked a block to the Four Seasons. I knew that everybody on Market Street could see what an enchanting life I was leading, what with my handsome husband and well put together ensemble. My husband decisively pushed the golden elevator button, and had me seated before the wedding began. The wedding was beautiful, and my husband conducted it with eloquence, romance, humor, and sentiment. I sat smugly watching him, hearing the murmurs of the crowd. What an amazing pastor. I did not turn around, I simply smiled to myself. Can he possibly have as great of a marriage as it seems? I knew they were wondering. And I thought to myself; why... yes! Yes he does!

The wedding ceremony ended, and the reception began. We all sipped on delicious wines and rich lobster bisques. My husband charmed the room, and I laughed at his jokes... while telling a few of my own. He swept me off onto the dance floor, and we swayed about until I excused myself to powder my nose. In the powder room, Korean grandmothers were chatting among themselves. I charmed them by demonstrating my surprising ability to speak Korean. I took a moment to admire the full length mirrors throughout the grand powder room, and the gold-plated vanities with disposable cloth-based towels. The soap complimented the modern fixtures, and the entire room was marble.

I walked further into the restroom, and walked into the first stall which was protected by a tasteful wooden door. I looked inside, and the seat was covered with urine and unflushed waste. I gasped and went into another stall. This stall simply had a toilet seat cover remaining on top of it, and a wad of toilet paper dancing gracefully in the water below. I furrowed my brow, and decided to skip 4 stalls in order to find a new one... only to find that there were unmentionable contents in there. As I rushed into a completely empty and clean stall. I sat down, and realized that for as beautiful as the powder room was... it was simply a place for excrement disposal, and people wearing nice clothes used it.

I went to the beautiful sink to wash my hands, realizing that it was simply there because of our fear that we might have residual excrement on our hands... and we really ought to wash it off (even if you will never be 100% sanitary). The reality was disillusioning, and I couldn't help but feel deceived by the splendor of the evening.

My husband was waiting for me, and I really did want to just powder my nose and go back to the grand illusion. But, I chose to hold my breath and flush those 3 toilets. 

I washed my hands again, and walked out with all composure... 

...satisfied that I had sustained the fantasy for others, and wishing that they had done the same for me.

On Altruism and Commodities

It's curious how education has become somewhat of an expensive commodity. I understand that our society requires "pricing out" in order to enforce a sense of elite belonging, which is supposed to indicate the "best of the best." This system certainly works well for a person who works hard, gets his/her MBA at Harvard, and manipulates the masses into paying off his student loans when he gets that job at Goldman Sachs. And that's capitalism, and it works as well as any other system I've seen.

Nevertheless, I've come to see that our society is not quite as driven by competition as free-marketers would like to think. Thankfully, some of us are motivated by cultivating a life of significance that's expressed by major altruistic or creative contributions to society. Motivation by altruism and/or creativity is something that I find is grossly overlooked by those individuals who seem to neatly tie their blanket assertions about our free-market systems. This makes me think that we will experience a major vacuum in capable teachers, social workers, probation officers, technicians, and journalists. With the rise of student loan interest rates and the decline of funding for these sectors, we are narrowing the scope of "best and the brightest" in these fields by demanding that they live a life of debt if they choose these career paths. It begs the question... is education as an expensive commodity the most effective way of making it more elite? More excellent? Or, is it simply a business? And if it is indeed a business, then why does our culture seem to view higher educations as such a noble institution?

On a more personal note, my husband and I have discussed the issue of seminary many times as a basis for equipping those who want to go into full-time ministry. My husband attended seminary for awhile, did not find it particularly useful, and was very aware of the uselessness of accumulating large sums of debt for studying several perspectives of systematic theology (which he would never use again), and so he did the reasonable thing... he left.

Acts 29 seemed to show us that ministers without seminary training were more successful than those with seminary training. In fact, Paul seemed to believe that attending the most prestigious seminary of the day was like poo-poo. Perhaps this is because they weren't isolated from the "real world" for several years in a sterile academic environment, writing papers, and discussing 10 perspectives on the resurrection of Jesus Christ.

I understand that seminary seems to give people the security of knowing you've been professionally trained to do ministry. Doctors go to medical school, lawyers go to law school, etc. However, doctors and lawyers are not being weekly trained in gatherings (and mentorship) in the same way that our modern church functions. Shouldn't we trust pastors with direct accountability more than those with degrees? Sadly, the perception of the expensive commodity of education enforces a belief that pastors with degrees are the elite... and therefore able leaders, with masses of debt. Does 4 years of rigorous religious theory really equip pastors?

I'm certain that I've made my biases clear. However, I truly wonder... why do we still submit to this system? And, if we do agree that it's flawed (even in part) how do we find a better way?