I worte this piece over a year ago, but it is worth reflecting on...
The role of faith in politics should not be ignored
Oakland Tribune, Nov 20, 2004
GEORGE W. Bush is a man who believes that God is on his side. Progressives and conservatives don't agree about whose side God is on, but they do agree he was on the ballot this year.
In the aftermath of a hellish election, conservatives gloat. Progressives look for a culprit. Droves of evangelical Christians armed with Bibles and ballots, fueled by GOP outreach, voted to keep a president they once believed was too moderate to represent them. The Christian left, advocating peace, is dumbfounded. Where did it all go wrong?
The role of faith in politics should not be ignored. Jesus said the two greatest commandments were to love God and one another. Both the left and right seem to have a hard time doing both.
In this messy landscape it is easy to wonder if the church will ever agree on anything. While mainstream denominations lose members without replacements, evangelical movements and prosperity ministry grow. Both are battling for religious shoppers looking for something that fits their checklist.
Protestant Christians who historically supported progressive values stand before a fork in the road called civil rights, not knowing which way to turn. Fundamentalists see abortion and gay marriage as opportunities to legislate "morality."
My argument with the Christian right is that it thinks God and government are one and the same. (Some also think that God doesn't love "losers.") The poor, the afflicted and the opposition are cast as Satan's little helpers, and Bush as King David.
If the state could bring about true peace by just rule it would have done so. There would be no need for Christ to die. Jesus shunned the theocratic establishment because it followed the letter of the law, forgetting the spirit of love behind it. I hope the right realizes that Jesus was a loser before he was a winner.
My argument with the Christian left is that it thinks it can change the world without God. Leadership, even by the best and brightest, is always subject to the fundamental human flaw: We are not perfect and govern accordingly.
People need spiritual food to undertake social change. Christian faith relies on individual change rooted in a relationship with God. The world is a work in progress. We can't become bitter and tell people to love one another. It is fruitless to leave God out of social change, and be upset when he doesn't show up.
It is time for the church to plant the fruit of the spirit described in Galatians as, "love, joy, peace, long suffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, and temperance." Christians don't need a new political covenant, we need to take the old one seriously.
If churches can't agree on candidates, then agree to feed the hungry, house the homeless and heal the broken. If we don't agree on economics, agree it is a sin to see a hungry man next to a church that has a full refrigerator, a clothing box and a phone.
If we can't agree on health care policy, start by agreeing that everyone deserves medicine when they are sick. Be more than pew warmers, Bible thumpers and theogogues. Walk in love with God and each other. Then the world will change. Then we can truly say that God is on our side.
Michelle Milam
c ANG Newspapers. Cannot be used or repurposed without prior written permission.
Provided by ProQuest Information and Learning Company. All rights Reserved.
Thursday, August 31, 2006
Sunday, August 27, 2006
????
After hearing the horrible news that one of the resident poets and okp's has ended her own life, I started reflectng on what the meaning of life really is.
This week began and ended oddly for me. First the pastor's message about God being with us in the valley that puzzled me-- then my own bout with sadness and doubt about my purpose-- then the delivery of the used piano my mother gave me--perhaps a sign?--and a used piano bench magically showing up in my mother's classroom. And the conversation with several people again about my purpose.
It is all still processing for me. Hard to know what to make of it. Sometimes I feel free--other times trapped.
I do know one thing: faith is the substance of things hoped for and the evidence of thing unseen.
This week began and ended oddly for me. First the pastor's message about God being with us in the valley that puzzled me-- then my own bout with sadness and doubt about my purpose-- then the delivery of the used piano my mother gave me--perhaps a sign?--and a used piano bench magically showing up in my mother's classroom. And the conversation with several people again about my purpose.
It is all still processing for me. Hard to know what to make of it. Sometimes I feel free--other times trapped.
I do know one thing: faith is the substance of things hoped for and the evidence of thing unseen.
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
The Love Connection
So, readers, I'm not perfect. (Did you catch that, yet?) Not by a long shot. And I wasn't always spiritual or thoughtful with regard to my actions. In the spirit of self analysis echoed in my previous post about the coup d'état, I have elected to do some reflection. Am I phoenix mellowing?
Looking through a letter I wrote some years back, It occurred to me that I forgot I was a firecracker. I espoused the ills of a broken and ubiquitously foul system that seemed unfair and without regard for justice.
I marched, protested, wrote, and agitated. I vowed never to mellow, and never ever to sell out.
And yet, with age, I think that you have to mellow. Maybe what we ascribe to "mellowing" is really growth.
I wrote a letter in the Daily Cal years ago in response to an activist group called the "Third World Liberation Front." I wrote a vehement angry letter in response to a law student who dismissed the cause that the students lauded. His father wrote an equally angry letter back to me chastising me for my naivety and rhetoric. It was part of an even angrier stalemate between conservatives and liberals on campus, amplified by the move in the country to end quotas, and the golden age of affirmative action.
Although I don't retract the basis of my sentiments, I don't feel proud of my desire to tear my opponent to shreds--and literally that is what I did. I ripped him a new one by misusing my gift of writing. (If Mr. Ogar is out there, I deeply apologize. It was childish and wrong.)
As I read the original source of my rage, I was reminded of the pain I felt while at Berkeley during that period. I'd trudged my way through substandard education and tracking to make it through high school into one of the most elite public universities in the country.
I'd been scourged by the lack of warmth and belonging that I hoped to feel from both black and white students in my huge elective sections. I felt alone in an environment where most of the students who looked like me had parents more well to do. I experienced a new kind of discrimination that was insidious and cloaked. I recalled the weight of my grandparents, which grew up in the red Texas dust, who were never able to reach the level of education attainment they desired because of racial discrimination.
This only deepened by insecurities leading me to believe that like an insect infestation, or a reoccurring rash, I was painfully unwanted, irritating, and redundant part of University life. By the time our Black graduation speaker gave her keynote address, I was in tears. I cannot remember her name, but I will always recall her words, "We are here. We weren't supposed to be here, but we are here."
It was never about the letter, it was about the fact that I not only had to prove myself as a student, but as a Black student.
And while I still believe in justice, activism and agitating, especially in the aftermath of election 2000, and Bush the sequel, since leaving Cal, I have changed. I am less appaulled, yet still affected. More likely to try to understand the other perspective. Less likely to believe that our political system has the solutions to the human condition. If I were to read Jeff's letter today, I'd probably point out a few points of argument, chuckle, shake hands, and move on.
And I would have been at peace, in love and charity, trusting in God.
I think of this period in my life and I am reminded of a glib little number I heard in "Something New" "At the end of the day it is just a man and a woman, and the love connection."
Corny but true? Really, at the end of the day, politics aside, it is about human beings. And yes, the (agape)love connection.
I am reposting the letters from the Daily Cal here:
TwLF Not Challenging Criminal Justice System
Letter-writer Darren Noy uses a lot of nice liberal buzzwords in his defense of the twLF ("Creative Innovators, Not Childish Cowards," Sept. 14). He even pretends to start out as an unbiased observer, only to finish with the same tired Berkeleyite mantra that I have heard since my childhood.
Let's just set a few facts straight for the record, though. First, the twLF is not challenging the criminal justice system, they are spoiled students attending one of the finest universities in the world (and at taxpayer expense) who are upset because liberal arts and social sciences as a whole are facing budget cuts.
These "activists" know that the squeaky wheel will get the grease ... especially if it's a squeaky wheel of color in the Bay Area.
Second, the demand for amnesty has nothing to do with any thoughtful political agenda. Liberals have been enjoying "political" arrests for years ... smile for the cameras, suffer no consequences.
Those students who are still being prosecuted assaulted the police. They're learning what a "real" arrest is like because they really deserved to be arrested. They just don't like being held accountable for their actions because, again, they are spoiled children.
Finally, please spare us all the "poor Mumia" speech that seems to infect every liberal cause in America. Mr. Abu-Jamal is not a political prisoner, he's a cop-killer. He can have visitors in his maximum security prison; the police officer he murdered can only be visited at his gravesite. How about a little sympathy for him and his family, and a little less crying over these spoiled brats?
Jeff Ogar
Boalt Hall law student, 1999
No Oil Needed in These Wheels, twLF Reviving ?Fight'
BY MICHELLE MILAM
Thursday, September 23, 1999
In Jeff Ogar's letter to the editor ("twLF Not Challenging Criminal Justice System," Sept. 16) he characterizes the members of the third world Liberation Front as "spoiled children" and "squeaky wheel" minority rebels protesting a cause that is merely symbolic.
If we believed Mr. Ogar's characterization, twLF members appear to be privileged welfare babies earning their degree at the expense of taxpayers. How ironic such well-manicured ideological foliage should come from a law student.
Please save us the verbal sodomy. It is rare to find a student these days that doesn't receive some kind of financial assistance or work to finance their educational needs. This is true even of law students. Ogar's characterizations only serve to divert attention away the real point of his argument; namely, he has none.
Ogar writes, "the demand for amnesty has nothing to do with any thoughtful political agenda," and adds that the twLF is "learning what real arrest is." The students of last spring's protests were students fighting for a cause they believe in passionately and are committed to making change.
They set goals and objectives and worked actively to achieve them. If they are fighting for amnesty for some of the students who risked their education for a cause they believed in, does that make them spoiled? The overlooked activists of our generation are labeled spoiled and frivolous. I wonder how many times our parents were fed the same line.
Yes Jeff, we understand that part of traditional non-violent protest is to accept consequences and allow the oppressor to see the injustice of his/her actions. Now ask yourself why did Robert Kennedy lobby to get Martin Luther King out of jail? Non-violent protest is more complex than a bunch of impermeable, regurgitated theories and ideas. When one steps out of the ivory tower and steps into real life, one sees that strategies evolve over time.
The students have already "suffered" more than most of us would. Regardless of how you feel about their politics, one thing is true: while the majority of us were warm in our beds, they were in jail. They should be commended for their activism rather than play armchair academics, they acted.
Ogar's piece does not lack merit; it lacks a healthy dose of reality. Maybe in the glow of academic analysis this would seem to be a case of a bunch of rowdy college students protesting for a dying department; I concede these arguments probably would make one a very good lawyer. Unfortunately, that's all they make.
Academia has greatly underestimated the power of of the determined few. If the twLF is not committed to change and cooperative effort, time ultimately reveals all truth. I'd like to believe that if your cause is just someday justice will be rendered, but for many justice is a empty word intellectuals sprinkle on ideological pallets like sugar.
Perhaps someday in a loftier time someone will credit twLF with reviving the fight to keep the voices of the unheard alive at UC Berkeley during a crucial period for all students at the university. I hope Ogar and the rest of the "spoiled" masses kick around this question: how many of us would go to jail for what we say we believe?
Michelle Milam is a UC Berkeley senior. Send responses to opinion@dailycal.org
twLF of Today, 1969: Both Meaningless in Real World
BY RICHARD OGAR
Tuesday, September 28, 1999
Since Michelle Milam invoked the holy words "our parents" in her attack on my son, Jeff Ogar, I thought I was perhaps entitled to a response ("No Oil Needed in These Wheels, twLF Reviving ?Fight,'" Sept. 23).
During the 10 years that I successfully evaded the draft by remaining in college, I was a "political activist," marching for "civil rights," against "the War," on behalf of "People's Park." I was on the staff of the Berkeley Barb and, I thought, a bona fide member of "the counterculture."
It was, oddly enough, the original twLF student strike in 1969 that made me realize, with its outrageous list of "non-negotiable demands" and endless practice of the art of the political tantrum, that there is perhaps nothing less meaningful in the "real world" than the passionately-held political beliefs of hypergonadal college students.
The sad legacy of the 1960s is the sense of personal "entitlement," regardless of individual merit or effort, that festers on every level of present-day American society, and has reached a terminal stage in academia. The proliferation of special interest "departments," each armed with the blunt instruments of "post-modernism" and "critical theory," has tended to move university curricula beyond the "interdisciplinary" to the merely "undisciplined."
Unfortunately, academia has not "greatly underestimated the power of the determined few," but has yielded to it again and again, with increasingly dire results.
If Milam truly believes that her life as a UC Berkeley student represents the "real world," she had best be prepared for something more than "verbal sodomy" once she hits the streets. As G. Gordon Liddy noted, like it or not, "the world is a bad neighborhood at three o'clock in the morning."
But the real world at least has this to offer: While criminals may plead false innocence, while they may escape punishment by means of the latest legal gadgetry, they don't try to argue that they should be able to go home just because they passionately believed in what they did.
Richard Ogar is a UC Berkeley staff member. Send responses to opinion@dailycal.org.
Looking through a letter I wrote some years back, It occurred to me that I forgot I was a firecracker. I espoused the ills of a broken and ubiquitously foul system that seemed unfair and without regard for justice.
I marched, protested, wrote, and agitated. I vowed never to mellow, and never ever to sell out.
And yet, with age, I think that you have to mellow. Maybe what we ascribe to "mellowing" is really growth.
I wrote a letter in the Daily Cal years ago in response to an activist group called the "Third World Liberation Front." I wrote a vehement angry letter in response to a law student who dismissed the cause that the students lauded. His father wrote an equally angry letter back to me chastising me for my naivety and rhetoric. It was part of an even angrier stalemate between conservatives and liberals on campus, amplified by the move in the country to end quotas, and the golden age of affirmative action.
Although I don't retract the basis of my sentiments, I don't feel proud of my desire to tear my opponent to shreds--and literally that is what I did. I ripped him a new one by misusing my gift of writing. (If Mr. Ogar is out there, I deeply apologize. It was childish and wrong.)
As I read the original source of my rage, I was reminded of the pain I felt while at Berkeley during that period. I'd trudged my way through substandard education and tracking to make it through high school into one of the most elite public universities in the country.
I'd been scourged by the lack of warmth and belonging that I hoped to feel from both black and white students in my huge elective sections. I felt alone in an environment where most of the students who looked like me had parents more well to do. I experienced a new kind of discrimination that was insidious and cloaked. I recalled the weight of my grandparents, which grew up in the red Texas dust, who were never able to reach the level of education attainment they desired because of racial discrimination.
This only deepened by insecurities leading me to believe that like an insect infestation, or a reoccurring rash, I was painfully unwanted, irritating, and redundant part of University life. By the time our Black graduation speaker gave her keynote address, I was in tears. I cannot remember her name, but I will always recall her words, "We are here. We weren't supposed to be here, but we are here."
It was never about the letter, it was about the fact that I not only had to prove myself as a student, but as a Black student.
And while I still believe in justice, activism and agitating, especially in the aftermath of election 2000, and Bush the sequel, since leaving Cal, I have changed. I am less appaulled, yet still affected. More likely to try to understand the other perspective. Less likely to believe that our political system has the solutions to the human condition. If I were to read Jeff's letter today, I'd probably point out a few points of argument, chuckle, shake hands, and move on.
And I would have been at peace, in love and charity, trusting in God.
I think of this period in my life and I am reminded of a glib little number I heard in "Something New" "At the end of the day it is just a man and a woman, and the love connection."
Corny but true? Really, at the end of the day, politics aside, it is about human beings. And yes, the (agape)love connection.
I am reposting the letters from the Daily Cal here:
TwLF Not Challenging Criminal Justice System
Letter-writer Darren Noy uses a lot of nice liberal buzzwords in his defense of the twLF ("Creative Innovators, Not Childish Cowards," Sept. 14). He even pretends to start out as an unbiased observer, only to finish with the same tired Berkeleyite mantra that I have heard since my childhood.
Let's just set a few facts straight for the record, though. First, the twLF is not challenging the criminal justice system, they are spoiled students attending one of the finest universities in the world (and at taxpayer expense) who are upset because liberal arts and social sciences as a whole are facing budget cuts.
These "activists" know that the squeaky wheel will get the grease ... especially if it's a squeaky wheel of color in the Bay Area.
Second, the demand for amnesty has nothing to do with any thoughtful political agenda. Liberals have been enjoying "political" arrests for years ... smile for the cameras, suffer no consequences.
Those students who are still being prosecuted assaulted the police. They're learning what a "real" arrest is like because they really deserved to be arrested. They just don't like being held accountable for their actions because, again, they are spoiled children.
Finally, please spare us all the "poor Mumia" speech that seems to infect every liberal cause in America. Mr. Abu-Jamal is not a political prisoner, he's a cop-killer. He can have visitors in his maximum security prison; the police officer he murdered can only be visited at his gravesite. How about a little sympathy for him and his family, and a little less crying over these spoiled brats?
Jeff Ogar
Boalt Hall law student, 1999
No Oil Needed in These Wheels, twLF Reviving ?Fight'
BY MICHELLE MILAM
Thursday, September 23, 1999
In Jeff Ogar's letter to the editor ("twLF Not Challenging Criminal Justice System," Sept. 16) he characterizes the members of the third world Liberation Front as "spoiled children" and "squeaky wheel" minority rebels protesting a cause that is merely symbolic.
If we believed Mr. Ogar's characterization, twLF members appear to be privileged welfare babies earning their degree at the expense of taxpayers. How ironic such well-manicured ideological foliage should come from a law student.
Please save us the verbal sodomy. It is rare to find a student these days that doesn't receive some kind of financial assistance or work to finance their educational needs. This is true even of law students. Ogar's characterizations only serve to divert attention away the real point of his argument; namely, he has none.
Ogar writes, "the demand for amnesty has nothing to do with any thoughtful political agenda," and adds that the twLF is "learning what real arrest is." The students of last spring's protests were students fighting for a cause they believe in passionately and are committed to making change.
They set goals and objectives and worked actively to achieve them. If they are fighting for amnesty for some of the students who risked their education for a cause they believed in, does that make them spoiled? The overlooked activists of our generation are labeled spoiled and frivolous. I wonder how many times our parents were fed the same line.
Yes Jeff, we understand that part of traditional non-violent protest is to accept consequences and allow the oppressor to see the injustice of his/her actions. Now ask yourself why did Robert Kennedy lobby to get Martin Luther King out of jail? Non-violent protest is more complex than a bunch of impermeable, regurgitated theories and ideas. When one steps out of the ivory tower and steps into real life, one sees that strategies evolve over time.
The students have already "suffered" more than most of us would. Regardless of how you feel about their politics, one thing is true: while the majority of us were warm in our beds, they were in jail. They should be commended for their activism rather than play armchair academics, they acted.
Ogar's piece does not lack merit; it lacks a healthy dose of reality. Maybe in the glow of academic analysis this would seem to be a case of a bunch of rowdy college students protesting for a dying department; I concede these arguments probably would make one a very good lawyer. Unfortunately, that's all they make.
Academia has greatly underestimated the power of of the determined few. If the twLF is not committed to change and cooperative effort, time ultimately reveals all truth. I'd like to believe that if your cause is just someday justice will be rendered, but for many justice is a empty word intellectuals sprinkle on ideological pallets like sugar.
Perhaps someday in a loftier time someone will credit twLF with reviving the fight to keep the voices of the unheard alive at UC Berkeley during a crucial period for all students at the university. I hope Ogar and the rest of the "spoiled" masses kick around this question: how many of us would go to jail for what we say we believe?
Michelle Milam is a UC Berkeley senior. Send responses to opinion@dailycal.org
twLF of Today, 1969: Both Meaningless in Real World
BY RICHARD OGAR
Tuesday, September 28, 1999
Since Michelle Milam invoked the holy words "our parents" in her attack on my son, Jeff Ogar, I thought I was perhaps entitled to a response ("No Oil Needed in These Wheels, twLF Reviving ?Fight,'" Sept. 23).
During the 10 years that I successfully evaded the draft by remaining in college, I was a "political activist," marching for "civil rights," against "the War," on behalf of "People's Park." I was on the staff of the Berkeley Barb and, I thought, a bona fide member of "the counterculture."
It was, oddly enough, the original twLF student strike in 1969 that made me realize, with its outrageous list of "non-negotiable demands" and endless practice of the art of the political tantrum, that there is perhaps nothing less meaningful in the "real world" than the passionately-held political beliefs of hypergonadal college students.
The sad legacy of the 1960s is the sense of personal "entitlement," regardless of individual merit or effort, that festers on every level of present-day American society, and has reached a terminal stage in academia. The proliferation of special interest "departments," each armed with the blunt instruments of "post-modernism" and "critical theory," has tended to move university curricula beyond the "interdisciplinary" to the merely "undisciplined."
Unfortunately, academia has not "greatly underestimated the power of the determined few," but has yielded to it again and again, with increasingly dire results.
If Milam truly believes that her life as a UC Berkeley student represents the "real world," she had best be prepared for something more than "verbal sodomy" once she hits the streets. As G. Gordon Liddy noted, like it or not, "the world is a bad neighborhood at three o'clock in the morning."
But the real world at least has this to offer: While criminals may plead false innocence, while they may escape punishment by means of the latest legal gadgetry, they don't try to argue that they should be able to go home just because they passionately believed in what they did.
Richard Ogar is a UC Berkeley staff member. Send responses to opinion@dailycal.org.
Friday, August 04, 2006
Gentle Giant?
I often find myself vacillating between believing that kindness as strength and kindness as weakness.
I don't believe gentleness is weak; in fact, it is active. It takes more strength to be kind than it does to be brutal, because it involves restraint and self reflection. It requires grace to see beyond the fault and find the need.
The world, however, is a different story. The world believes that gentleness is a sign of inferiority. It inhibits you from career promotion, from being taken seriously, from being seen as a good "leader." I know for a fact that if I were the kind of cut throat like many of the individuals I know, I would be in a leadership position.
But the problem is, I would not be fit to lead.
True leadership is not about control, because true leaders exercise passive control. They don't have to beat somebody into submission. People want to follow them. They allow others to develop their leadership skills.
I'd rather live my life struggling to be firm, but gentle, than to be rewarded for being brutal. Ultimately, nobody respects someone they fear, and neither do they truly love them. The bible reminds us that perfect love casts out all fear.
I suppose this is an age old question, is it better to be loved or feared? Maybe the answer is both: it is better to be revered. The Bible is always saying we should fear God, but when you try to reconcile that with perfect love casting out all fear, the implication becomes to love perfectly, fear is obliterated. You could infer then, that the biblical text describes to fear means to hold reverence for something.
I serve a God that the gentle enough to be concerned with my every need, to love me in my state of imperfection, yet is the roaring wind of inevitibility that no living thing can overcome.
Yet if God, who is as Muhammad Ali said "the greatest" can be gentle enough to love us despite our flaws, who are we to be any different?
It reminds me of the Fred Hammond song "Sometimes I gotta remind myself, that what I'm called to do, is first to be with you."
(From "The Prince" written by Niccolo Machiavelli rests mainly on his political treatise Il Principe (The Prince), written around 1513, but not published until 1532, five years after his death)
Chapter XV: Of the Qualities In Respect of Which Men, and Most of all Princes, Are Praised or Blamed
And here comes in the question whether it is better to be loved rather than feared, or feared rather than loved. It might perhaps be answered that we should wish to be both; but since love and fear can hardly exist together, if we must choose between them, it is far safer to be feared than loved.
There is no fear in love: but perfect love casteth out fear, because fear hath punishment; and he that feareth is not made perfect in love. 1 John 4:18
I don't believe gentleness is weak; in fact, it is active. It takes more strength to be kind than it does to be brutal, because it involves restraint and self reflection. It requires grace to see beyond the fault and find the need.
The world, however, is a different story. The world believes that gentleness is a sign of inferiority. It inhibits you from career promotion, from being taken seriously, from being seen as a good "leader." I know for a fact that if I were the kind of cut throat like many of the individuals I know, I would be in a leadership position.
But the problem is, I would not be fit to lead.
True leadership is not about control, because true leaders exercise passive control. They don't have to beat somebody into submission. People want to follow them. They allow others to develop their leadership skills.
I'd rather live my life struggling to be firm, but gentle, than to be rewarded for being brutal. Ultimately, nobody respects someone they fear, and neither do they truly love them. The bible reminds us that perfect love casts out all fear.
I suppose this is an age old question, is it better to be loved or feared? Maybe the answer is both: it is better to be revered. The Bible is always saying we should fear God, but when you try to reconcile that with perfect love casting out all fear, the implication becomes to love perfectly, fear is obliterated. You could infer then, that the biblical text describes to fear means to hold reverence for something.
I serve a God that the gentle enough to be concerned with my every need, to love me in my state of imperfection, yet is the roaring wind of inevitibility that no living thing can overcome.
Yet if God, who is as Muhammad Ali said "the greatest" can be gentle enough to love us despite our flaws, who are we to be any different?
It reminds me of the Fred Hammond song "Sometimes I gotta remind myself, that what I'm called to do, is first to be with you."
(From "The Prince" written by Niccolo Machiavelli rests mainly on his political treatise Il Principe (The Prince), written around 1513, but not published until 1532, five years after his death)
Chapter XV: Of the Qualities In Respect of Which Men, and Most of all Princes, Are Praised or Blamed
And here comes in the question whether it is better to be loved rather than feared, or feared rather than loved. It might perhaps be answered that we should wish to be both; but since love and fear can hardly exist together, if we must choose between them, it is far safer to be feared than loved.
There is no fear in love: but perfect love casteth out fear, because fear hath punishment; and he that feareth is not made perfect in love. 1 John 4:18
Sunday, July 30, 2006
History
Tonight I attended my 10 year reunion. Let me preface it by saying--I was on the planning committee. That means I couldn't jus enjoy the experience, I had to work, too!
After nearly a year of worrying about what the reunion would be like, and calculating the various tasks and chores, and perhaps dreading the thought of reliving high school again, I realized how wrong I was.
Although I never thought I quite fit in in high school, there was a strange familiarity I experienced during the reunion. Think about it. High school is the first time you really learn what it is like to exist in the adult world. It can be hard, cruel, scary, and confusing, but it also can be exhilarating as a first kiss, exciting as a new life, and breathtaking as a first drive.
It was so different, after being in a world where my every move is under a microscope to be with people who just know me as the girl they went to school with. It is deep to be with people you have history with. I'd forgotten that.
I suppose life made me a little jaded.
You can't go back, but you can look back, and then look forward knowing you are not the only one. There is a whole world out there of children born into the same generation you were.
I am going to make a promise that I will try harder to keep in touch with the people God sends to my life, because history is lived.
After nearly a year of worrying about what the reunion would be like, and calculating the various tasks and chores, and perhaps dreading the thought of reliving high school again, I realized how wrong I was.
Although I never thought I quite fit in in high school, there was a strange familiarity I experienced during the reunion. Think about it. High school is the first time you really learn what it is like to exist in the adult world. It can be hard, cruel, scary, and confusing, but it also can be exhilarating as a first kiss, exciting as a new life, and breathtaking as a first drive.
It was so different, after being in a world where my every move is under a microscope to be with people who just know me as the girl they went to school with. It is deep to be with people you have history with. I'd forgotten that.
I suppose life made me a little jaded.
You can't go back, but you can look back, and then look forward knowing you are not the only one. There is a whole world out there of children born into the same generation you were.
I am going to make a promise that I will try harder to keep in touch with the people God sends to my life, because history is lived.
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
The Coup d'État
Have you ever seen the film "Two Can Play That Game"? To the above average movie goers it is an fundamentally regrettable film with little redemptive value, but to the inner anthropologists it tells us quite a bit about what society values.
In the film Vivica A. Fox plays Chante, the scheming girlfriend of Morris Chestnut, whose sole goal in life is to punish and "train" her man into good behavior by using "the rules"-- aka playing hard to get. She and her beau engage in a game of cat and mouse snit for snit, until ultimately both their efforts at manipulation fail.
As juvenile as it is, and may sound, many are common rules that our mothers taught us: The man should pay. Don't return his phone call. Break up and move on quickly. The man should apologize first.
Chante pulls out an arsenal of sneaky manipulative plots to woo her man back all the while making him think she doesn't want him. She saves the best for last (flaunting a new love interest in his face) calling it the coup d'État, or referencing colloquial definition, as Chante frames it, "It's time for the Coup d'État. That's the French term for #$@! him up."
(Well, it really means a coup,--the sudden overthrow of a government through unconstitutional means by a part of the state establishment, that mostly replaces just the top power figures. It is also an example of political engineering. It may or may not be violent in nature. It is different from a revolution, which is staged by a larger group and radically changes the political system. The term is French for "a (sudden) blow (or strike) to a state" - but suspending reality here momentarily--)
Well, well, now, you think. That's unnecessary. And yet, as I look around me the world seems to live off of coup d'État. We throw stones at each other in politics, in our bedrooms, in our families, in our relationships. Sometimes we throw stones just for the sheer joy of making someone else miserable. Sometimes we are justifiably angry, but instead of allowing that anger to be channeled constructively, we allow it to become a walking beast with a sucker punch.
I wonder, how many years of misery could we have saved ourselves if we had waited instead of striking Baghdad in 2001? Or if we hadn't been so focused on impeachment? Or if we had listened to the pleas of Republican congressman seeking funds for the levees on the Gulf Coast? When we hold on to our identity so tightly that we refuse to be objective, reasonable, or even introspective, we loose the ability to make good decisions. There is nothing wrong with identity. But the fear of losing it causes problems.
And yet, I am beginning to think that getting one up, or getting your lick in, is more important these days than getting issues resolved.
Alas, even I can't argue that in the world those are the rules of survival. After all the coup d'État is what makes America so rich in the flesh, and so poor in spirit.
In "Two Can Play That Game" these rules of engagement lead Chante into some sticky situations she didn't plan for. Although Chante is an utterly unsympathetic character, the subtext makes her accessible: everybody knows what it is like to love someone that dogs you out. And if you heal, you try to avoid that.
What our heroine in Two Can Play That Game really wanted was to let her boyfriend know that the drink he had with another woman hurt her, and made her insecure. What she really wanted to tell him is that she loved him and was scared of losing him. What she really wanted to tell him that after years of playing games, she needed some confidence and security in the man she was with.
What she chose to do was get even. I suppose the truth does appear weak, but think about what kind of film it would have been if they had talked about it.
Probably one nobody would've paid to see.
In the film Vivica A. Fox plays Chante, the scheming girlfriend of Morris Chestnut, whose sole goal in life is to punish and "train" her man into good behavior by using "the rules"-- aka playing hard to get. She and her beau engage in a game of cat and mouse snit for snit, until ultimately both their efforts at manipulation fail.
As juvenile as it is, and may sound, many are common rules that our mothers taught us: The man should pay. Don't return his phone call. Break up and move on quickly. The man should apologize first.
Chante pulls out an arsenal of sneaky manipulative plots to woo her man back all the while making him think she doesn't want him. She saves the best for last (flaunting a new love interest in his face) calling it the coup d'État, or referencing colloquial definition, as Chante frames it, "It's time for the Coup d'État. That's the French term for #$@! him up."
(Well, it really means a coup,--the sudden overthrow of a government through unconstitutional means by a part of the state establishment, that mostly replaces just the top power figures. It is also an example of political engineering. It may or may not be violent in nature. It is different from a revolution, which is staged by a larger group and radically changes the political system. The term is French for "a (sudden) blow (or strike) to a state" - but suspending reality here momentarily--)
Well, well, now, you think. That's unnecessary. And yet, as I look around me the world seems to live off of coup d'État. We throw stones at each other in politics, in our bedrooms, in our families, in our relationships. Sometimes we throw stones just for the sheer joy of making someone else miserable. Sometimes we are justifiably angry, but instead of allowing that anger to be channeled constructively, we allow it to become a walking beast with a sucker punch.
I wonder, how many years of misery could we have saved ourselves if we had waited instead of striking Baghdad in 2001? Or if we hadn't been so focused on impeachment? Or if we had listened to the pleas of Republican congressman seeking funds for the levees on the Gulf Coast? When we hold on to our identity so tightly that we refuse to be objective, reasonable, or even introspective, we loose the ability to make good decisions. There is nothing wrong with identity. But the fear of losing it causes problems.
And yet, I am beginning to think that getting one up, or getting your lick in, is more important these days than getting issues resolved.
Alas, even I can't argue that in the world those are the rules of survival. After all the coup d'État is what makes America so rich in the flesh, and so poor in spirit.
In "Two Can Play That Game" these rules of engagement lead Chante into some sticky situations she didn't plan for. Although Chante is an utterly unsympathetic character, the subtext makes her accessible: everybody knows what it is like to love someone that dogs you out. And if you heal, you try to avoid that.
What our heroine in Two Can Play That Game really wanted was to let her boyfriend know that the drink he had with another woman hurt her, and made her insecure. What she really wanted to tell him is that she loved him and was scared of losing him. What she really wanted to tell him that after years of playing games, she needed some confidence and security in the man she was with.
What she chose to do was get even. I suppose the truth does appear weak, but think about what kind of film it would have been if they had talked about it.
Probably one nobody would've paid to see.
Sunday, July 23, 2006
Everybody has questions, so here are mine
Questions
Why did former President Clinton get impeached for lying about sex, but our current president lied about WMD, and our reason for going to war, and there is little outrage?
Why is Too Short still saying every record is his last? He may as well just say what your standard crackead says.. this is the last until I get one more hit.
Why do people in politics marry each other? What's the incentive to marry someone you're already in bed with?
Why is the question of global warming still a debate?
Why are today's cartoons so wack?
Why does high fashion look like something normal people would never be caught dead in?
Why do people signal, and not get over?
Why on earth did 360 Mafia get an Oscar for "It's hard out here for a Pimp"
Or for that matter, Why is it so hard out here for a pimp?
Why is the news always bad?
Why doesn't daylight savings last all year long?
Why are Hurrican Katrina survivors paying house notes on homes that are in the Gulf of Mexico?
Why is Paris Hilton still interesting?
Why isn't Xhibit in movies?
How can we look at the ocean and not believe in God?
Why did former President Clinton get impeached for lying about sex, but our current president lied about WMD, and our reason for going to war, and there is little outrage?
Why is Too Short still saying every record is his last? He may as well just say what your standard crackead says.. this is the last until I get one more hit.
Why do people in politics marry each other? What's the incentive to marry someone you're already in bed with?
Why is the question of global warming still a debate?
Why are today's cartoons so wack?
Why does high fashion look like something normal people would never be caught dead in?
Why do people signal, and not get over?
Why on earth did 360 Mafia get an Oscar for "It's hard out here for a Pimp"
Or for that matter, Why is it so hard out here for a pimp?
Why is the news always bad?
Why doesn't daylight savings last all year long?
Why are Hurrican Katrina survivors paying house notes on homes that are in the Gulf of Mexico?
Why is Paris Hilton still interesting?
Why isn't Xhibit in movies?
How can we look at the ocean and not believe in God?
Chocolate Junkie...
The Prologue: Secure, wonderful, strong black men, this does not apply to you.
God bless you, and I hope that one day I will get out of this rut I am in, and smile at you, pray with you, marry one of you and make some chocolate babies… All others:
Well, I am..how can I say this, rooting for the brothas because they will always have my heart, but having trouble watching the star players switch teams.
Let me go on record saying all the PC stuff we should say. Race doesn’t matter, if you really love somebody that is what counts, that people have a right to their choices, and it is hard out here for a pimp, after all…
Those platitudes may sound nice, but real life is a little more complex. I have dated a man of another race twice. Once was my first love, who was dark chocolate. I almost don’t count him because he grew up in the hood and eats grits. Went out with a white guy once as a friend, and it was…different. I did feel the spotlight on me.
The thing is I have always loved Black men. I have always loved how most of them, if they didn’t get anything else understood that look I get on my face when I am/have experienced the race issue, and the world is yet again reminding me that I should know my place. I have loved them regardless of the amount of money they had, or what the world called their brand of asthetic, or what their educational papers said. I have loved them with an everlasting, at last my love, free at last, last one standing, deeply rooted, deeply spiritual, deep longing love.
And yet, I have yet to find one who truly loved me back in the way every human deserves to be loved.
The brothas aren’t the only guilty ones. I’ve met plenty of “others” who have not loved us well, either. It just hurts more with the brothas.
That said, I have had a very real hurt from being chosen over a white woman and I will self admit here: it hurts. Maybe not a waiting to exhale wanna burn your car up kind of irritation, but a hurt nonetheless.
Now I know that I should just say, well he was a man who made choices, and her being white had nothing to do with his immaturity, but my mind sees it as a difference without distinction.
Imagine a man who tells you that any man would want to marry you, daily praises you for being what he sees as attractive, accomplished, faithful and loving. A dream woman, but still not ..a white girl. Did I mention this is a man who you've have known since I was 14?…not some other brotha off the street…but a homie?
Well, you say. That's indicative of men, not Black men. Race is incidental. And you'd be right. But humor me.
So, I saw the movie “Something New” because Sanaa Lathan is one of my favorite actresses, and although I was completely turned off by the idea of a white man teaching a black woman how to love her blackness (for obvious reasons) for the first time since I read Malcolm X, for the first time since I kissed NM’s smooth cocoa lips, for the first time since I screamed at a Morris Chestnut picture and dang near fainted off of Ice Cube’s jherri curl juice drippin’ self, I thought..well maybe they have a point.
Race my be incidental, but it is not accidental. There is a reason why the more successful Black men get, the less "comprable" partners there are to choose from, and the more desirable they become.
Maybe Black men, for all that they say, really don’t want us anymore. Maybe they have outgrown us (if they are successful) or we have “outgrown” them (if they are not). Maybe it is nothing personal, and we are being over sensitive. Maybe they really don’t like their mothers.
I don’t know. But I do know that what I used to dismiss as Black woman paranoia is starting to make sense to me as I soujourn east toward the big 30.
Used to say that if Black men only dated white women, and would not date a black woman-- we didn’t want him anyway. Still true. But the question is, given the state of our men, then who will?
Maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow and feel inspired and enlightened by the brown beauty of some brotha in the coffee line next to me.
But today,like Ms. “A” I am looking out at the morning rain….
God bless you, and I hope that one day I will get out of this rut I am in, and smile at you, pray with you, marry one of you and make some chocolate babies… All others:
Well, I am..how can I say this, rooting for the brothas because they will always have my heart, but having trouble watching the star players switch teams.
Let me go on record saying all the PC stuff we should say. Race doesn’t matter, if you really love somebody that is what counts, that people have a right to their choices, and it is hard out here for a pimp, after all…
Those platitudes may sound nice, but real life is a little more complex. I have dated a man of another race twice. Once was my first love, who was dark chocolate. I almost don’t count him because he grew up in the hood and eats grits. Went out with a white guy once as a friend, and it was…different. I did feel the spotlight on me.
The thing is I have always loved Black men. I have always loved how most of them, if they didn’t get anything else understood that look I get on my face when I am/have experienced the race issue, and the world is yet again reminding me that I should know my place. I have loved them regardless of the amount of money they had, or what the world called their brand of asthetic, or what their educational papers said. I have loved them with an everlasting, at last my love, free at last, last one standing, deeply rooted, deeply spiritual, deep longing love.
And yet, I have yet to find one who truly loved me back in the way every human deserves to be loved.
The brothas aren’t the only guilty ones. I’ve met plenty of “others” who have not loved us well, either. It just hurts more with the brothas.
That said, I have had a very real hurt from being chosen over a white woman and I will self admit here: it hurts. Maybe not a waiting to exhale wanna burn your car up kind of irritation, but a hurt nonetheless.
Now I know that I should just say, well he was a man who made choices, and her being white had nothing to do with his immaturity, but my mind sees it as a difference without distinction.
Imagine a man who tells you that any man would want to marry you, daily praises you for being what he sees as attractive, accomplished, faithful and loving. A dream woman, but still not ..a white girl. Did I mention this is a man who you've have known since I was 14?…not some other brotha off the street…but a homie?
Well, you say. That's indicative of men, not Black men. Race is incidental. And you'd be right. But humor me.
So, I saw the movie “Something New” because Sanaa Lathan is one of my favorite actresses, and although I was completely turned off by the idea of a white man teaching a black woman how to love her blackness (for obvious reasons) for the first time since I read Malcolm X, for the first time since I kissed NM’s smooth cocoa lips, for the first time since I screamed at a Morris Chestnut picture and dang near fainted off of Ice Cube’s jherri curl juice drippin’ self, I thought..well maybe they have a point.
Race my be incidental, but it is not accidental. There is a reason why the more successful Black men get, the less "comprable" partners there are to choose from, and the more desirable they become.
Maybe Black men, for all that they say, really don’t want us anymore. Maybe they have outgrown us (if they are successful) or we have “outgrown” them (if they are not). Maybe it is nothing personal, and we are being over sensitive. Maybe they really don’t like their mothers.
I don’t know. But I do know that what I used to dismiss as Black woman paranoia is starting to make sense to me as I soujourn east toward the big 30.
Used to say that if Black men only dated white women, and would not date a black woman-- we didn’t want him anyway. Still true. But the question is, given the state of our men, then who will?
Maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow and feel inspired and enlightened by the brown beauty of some brotha in the coffee line next to me.
But today,like Ms. “A” I am looking out at the morning rain….
Kids on the side, please...
Several years ago, three or four to be exact, I felt my biology getting the best of me. I really had a strong urge to get married and have children. When a babysat, I luxuriated in the feeling of falling asleep with a baby nearby.
It was curious, because having children was something I always wanted, but had never really paid much mind to extensively. I dreamed about pregnancy, and battled the strong urge that was almost primal to hold a child in my arms that was my own.
Now, several years, a few heartbreaks and reality checks later, I am experiencing the inverse: I am seriously thinking about a life without marriage or children. Recently I told a relative that marriage was like having mustard on a sandwich, I could do with it or without it. Because of my religious beliefs, I would not have a child out of wedlock, although I wouldn't rule out adoption.
I am left to wonder what happened to that fuzzy flurry of maternal longings? It seemed to dry up. I suppose part of it is reality setting in. I am now living on my own, struggling to make it in my career, and realizing that I am at a stage where there are things I want to do that having a child now would prohibit. This, I believe is not a feeling of selfishness, but selflessness. I know a child takes most of your attention. Children need stability. How do we balance this in today's economy, when you have 25 year olds still living at home because they can't afford to make it? How do you balance that with your dreams and the Thing You Were Born To Do?
I wouldn't want to be a parent that worked so many long hours I missed seeing my child grow up, and yet, I also wouldn't want to be stuck at home with no other identity but mommy all day long, either.
I suppose I thought this business about "being grown up" was about freedom, but the reality is the freest moments we had may have been in childhood, before we had bills, and kids, and jobs. I'm not free, I'm indebted to the choices I have made for my life, and I guess part of me is saddened by that.
This leads me to wonder if I am fit for children.
Of course after you move closer to thirty than twenty, and people stop worrying about you having children pre-maturely, they start asking, if not now, then when? The answer is I don't know. I don't feel I am at the point in my life where If I wanted kids I would be ready for them yet, but the questioning, and the general pressures on women to as Chris Rock says to treat life as a sale and "...get the most out of life before things close down..." is upon me, which makes me feel anxious and rushed.
Of course men have the opposite problem. They are encouraged to wait as long as possible not to have children, and as a result, they usually end up having long tern relationships with numerous women who would probably make great mothers, of whom they have no intention of marrying. It is quixotic; I often feel it is unfair that men wait until late in life to "settle down" and when they do it is usually with a younger woman after they've spent most of their life being Georgie Porgies.
But the more I think about it I realize I am not ready to settle down, and it probably was a blessing I didn't get married and have kids at 25.
Lately I feel like my job is my child. I spend more waking hours at work than I do with family, developing my self, or even in worship. If I had more flexibility in the kind of work I do, like writing, and I could make a decent living at it, I think I'd feel differently about having a family.
It was curious, because having children was something I always wanted, but had never really paid much mind to extensively. I dreamed about pregnancy, and battled the strong urge that was almost primal to hold a child in my arms that was my own.
Now, several years, a few heartbreaks and reality checks later, I am experiencing the inverse: I am seriously thinking about a life without marriage or children. Recently I told a relative that marriage was like having mustard on a sandwich, I could do with it or without it. Because of my religious beliefs, I would not have a child out of wedlock, although I wouldn't rule out adoption.
I am left to wonder what happened to that fuzzy flurry of maternal longings? It seemed to dry up. I suppose part of it is reality setting in. I am now living on my own, struggling to make it in my career, and realizing that I am at a stage where there are things I want to do that having a child now would prohibit. This, I believe is not a feeling of selfishness, but selflessness. I know a child takes most of your attention. Children need stability. How do we balance this in today's economy, when you have 25 year olds still living at home because they can't afford to make it? How do you balance that with your dreams and the Thing You Were Born To Do?
I wouldn't want to be a parent that worked so many long hours I missed seeing my child grow up, and yet, I also wouldn't want to be stuck at home with no other identity but mommy all day long, either.
I suppose I thought this business about "being grown up" was about freedom, but the reality is the freest moments we had may have been in childhood, before we had bills, and kids, and jobs. I'm not free, I'm indebted to the choices I have made for my life, and I guess part of me is saddened by that.
This leads me to wonder if I am fit for children.
Of course after you move closer to thirty than twenty, and people stop worrying about you having children pre-maturely, they start asking, if not now, then when? The answer is I don't know. I don't feel I am at the point in my life where If I wanted kids I would be ready for them yet, but the questioning, and the general pressures on women to as Chris Rock says to treat life as a sale and "...get the most out of life before things close down..." is upon me, which makes me feel anxious and rushed.
Of course men have the opposite problem. They are encouraged to wait as long as possible not to have children, and as a result, they usually end up having long tern relationships with numerous women who would probably make great mothers, of whom they have no intention of marrying. It is quixotic; I often feel it is unfair that men wait until late in life to "settle down" and when they do it is usually with a younger woman after they've spent most of their life being Georgie Porgies.
But the more I think about it I realize I am not ready to settle down, and it probably was a blessing I didn't get married and have kids at 25.
Lately I feel like my job is my child. I spend more waking hours at work than I do with family, developing my self, or even in worship. If I had more flexibility in the kind of work I do, like writing, and I could make a decent living at it, I think I'd feel differently about having a family.
Thursday, July 20, 2006
Doing it Afriad
What would you do if you weren't afraid?
I challenged myself to do all the things that scared me after I graduated from college four years ago. I ended up changing careers, falling in love, moving out on my own.
Yet, a few years later, after many successes, and a few painful failures, I find myself captive to fear again. What went wrong?
I have to say that after a few rough bouts with made for reality TV relationships, friendships and "just kicking it" (whatever that means) moments, I have been turned off relationships.
In my mind, I am a risk taker.
I am free to speak my mind, take a stance, try a new dish. And in many areas of my life I do just that. In other areas I am that girl who finds what she likes on the menu and orders it every time.
When someone has taken something from you, I mean really robbed you of something you greatly value, it is only natural to resist the source of that pain. For some time now I have come to the realization that I have been holding onto the pain of something deeply valued and lost.
I imagine God must relate. Jesus describes the kingdom of Heaven as being like a woman who lost a valuable coin from a set and looked everywhere until it was found. Perhaps God looks for us the way we look for Him in other things...
I was watching the Discover channel the other day, and tuned into a documentary about women in prisoners working to train dogs for people with disabilities. The dogs, most of which were slated to be destoyed, get a second chance for a good home. One woman, with epilepsy was training a dog who could sense when an episode could begin. When "graduation day" came for her dog she wept. "It is like sending a child off to college and never seeing him again" she said, "So many of us have lost in here-- children. It is hard. It is like you are investing in something that ill benefit someone else, which is good but sad."
I don't even care for dogs, and I have not been in jail, but I know what that woman meant about trial and failure and loss.
Yet fear is the opposite of faith. And so to have faith you must subdue fear.
I suppose the question is, are we willing?
I challenged myself to do all the things that scared me after I graduated from college four years ago. I ended up changing careers, falling in love, moving out on my own.
Yet, a few years later, after many successes, and a few painful failures, I find myself captive to fear again. What went wrong?
I have to say that after a few rough bouts with made for reality TV relationships, friendships and "just kicking it" (whatever that means) moments, I have been turned off relationships.
In my mind, I am a risk taker.
I am free to speak my mind, take a stance, try a new dish. And in many areas of my life I do just that. In other areas I am that girl who finds what she likes on the menu and orders it every time.
When someone has taken something from you, I mean really robbed you of something you greatly value, it is only natural to resist the source of that pain. For some time now I have come to the realization that I have been holding onto the pain of something deeply valued and lost.
I imagine God must relate. Jesus describes the kingdom of Heaven as being like a woman who lost a valuable coin from a set and looked everywhere until it was found. Perhaps God looks for us the way we look for Him in other things...
I was watching the Discover channel the other day, and tuned into a documentary about women in prisoners working to train dogs for people with disabilities. The dogs, most of which were slated to be destoyed, get a second chance for a good home. One woman, with epilepsy was training a dog who could sense when an episode could begin. When "graduation day" came for her dog she wept. "It is like sending a child off to college and never seeing him again" she said, "So many of us have lost in here-- children. It is hard. It is like you are investing in something that ill benefit someone else, which is good but sad."
I don't even care for dogs, and I have not been in jail, but I know what that woman meant about trial and failure and loss.
Yet fear is the opposite of faith. And so to have faith you must subdue fear.
I suppose the question is, are we willing?
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
The Thing You're Born To Do
Are you doing the thing you're born to do? If so, what is that thing? Is it more than one thing, at more than one moment? What would you wake up every morning and do for free?
It is a question I often ask myself, despite myself.
When I was eighteen, I wrote my college entrance essays, I listed about six things I wanted to do. I wanted to write. I wanted teach. I wanted to be in radio broadcast. I wanted to be in politics. I wanted to be an activist. I wanted to be a journalist.
I don't remember much else about the essay, but I do remember one line, "Don't be alarmed. I'm not confused. I know I will do all these things."
Now, ten years later, two weeks from my high school reunion, I know several things to be true.
1.) I severely overestimated how old 28 is. It isn't as old as I thought, and ten years went by surprisingly fast.
2.) Many of the things I thought were most important in life are not important at all.
3.) Many of the things I thought were least important are very important.
4.) Some things never change.
I have been fortunate in that I've been able to teach, and write, and work in politics and do many other things on my to do list. I've been able to do these things and do them well. Since I've become a Christian I feel it is my opportunity to allow God to use my gifts to help the world and others.
And yet, since I've become a Christian I have struggled with the search for my purpose. In one sense, it has been answered. As Christians our sole purpose is the spread the good news. The question is how will God use you.
This March, while recording word poem/music for a charity project with a close friend I realized I was doing what I was born to do. It was chilling moment; to know what you are born to do. I looked at my friend, and she looked at me, and we both were faced it; we would never be the same.
If money were no object I know that is what I would do.
What do you do with that? Especially given the fact that you have other talents and gifts, that you have to support yourself, and that there are many different ways that you can meet your purpose.
I believe God has allowed me to do many things so that I could be at peace when he revealed to me the kind of work he wants me to do in the world.
Maybe there is more than one method to meet your purpose. It will be interesting-- the discovering of it all.
It is a question I often ask myself, despite myself.
When I was eighteen, I wrote my college entrance essays, I listed about six things I wanted to do. I wanted to write. I wanted teach. I wanted to be in radio broadcast. I wanted to be in politics. I wanted to be an activist. I wanted to be a journalist.
I don't remember much else about the essay, but I do remember one line, "Don't be alarmed. I'm not confused. I know I will do all these things."
Now, ten years later, two weeks from my high school reunion, I know several things to be true.
1.) I severely overestimated how old 28 is. It isn't as old as I thought, and ten years went by surprisingly fast.
2.) Many of the things I thought were most important in life are not important at all.
3.) Many of the things I thought were least important are very important.
4.) Some things never change.
I have been fortunate in that I've been able to teach, and write, and work in politics and do many other things on my to do list. I've been able to do these things and do them well. Since I've become a Christian I feel it is my opportunity to allow God to use my gifts to help the world and others.
And yet, since I've become a Christian I have struggled with the search for my purpose. In one sense, it has been answered. As Christians our sole purpose is the spread the good news. The question is how will God use you.
This March, while recording word poem/music for a charity project with a close friend I realized I was doing what I was born to do. It was chilling moment; to know what you are born to do. I looked at my friend, and she looked at me, and we both were faced it; we would never be the same.
If money were no object I know that is what I would do.
What do you do with that? Especially given the fact that you have other talents and gifts, that you have to support yourself, and that there are many different ways that you can meet your purpose.
I believe God has allowed me to do many things so that I could be at peace when he revealed to me the kind of work he wants me to do in the world.
Maybe there is more than one method to meet your purpose. It will be interesting-- the discovering of it all.
Monday, July 17, 2006
For those of you who feel you've "got the biggest one..."
31 Flavors of Bootyliciousness...
The first time I heard "Destiny's Child" Bills, Bills, Bills, I remember thinking to myself, hotdamn! These girls got what it takes to go platinum. The message of watered down feminism for the hip hop generation packaged a little edgier than the Spice Girls, with enough good old fashioned curvaceous southern charms..ehh hemm..and they and above average singers, too?
Intellectually, I'm appalled, of course (but amused) by the clever wit of our friendly corporate record company executives.
And although on a moral basis I highly object to the commodification of Black women into thighs, butts and all things chicken, I have to say I think the appeal of Destiny's Child (which could've ended up being another chick band) was that emphasis on southern charm, independence, and salacious selling of black standards of beauty, re: Beyonce.
Remember that Beyonce came of age when Jennifer Lopez was still hiding her butt from the zoom lens, and Janet had just finished starving herself to prove she was sexy. To be honest the bootylicious boom was a sleeper for me.
It wasn't till by friend said, "Hey, I think it is cute that Beyonce has thunder thighs", and I was like "What the heck are you talking about?" that I realized how weight obsessed we really are.
When a 5'6 140 woman is considered her own personal liberation movement we are in twilight zone territory. Still, even I have let a little of my self righteous arrogance go when I thought about a sista out there representing all the big hipped, big legged, and yes, well endowed in multiple area sistas.
Which left me conflicted, because how can you argue against commodification, and yet be tempted by the product? That's like eating cocaine covered brownies with Rick James and telling yourself it is just powdered sugar.
You know what the sad thing about the whole big butt video hoe phenomenon is? It is one of the few places where Black women's beauty is presented as desirable. It takes us back to that sad time on that action block when we were cast as jezebels seducing white men with our feminine, yet inhuman wiles. It makes you want to tie black women down and make us read Beloved 100 times.
And yet, Juvenile's back that thing up video was one of the few videos where normal looking black girls got props. In our need to be accepted for who we are, have black women sold ourselves out to the highest bidder?
I know this is a no-win argument, because we are much more than our money makers, or having the dubious distinction of having "the biggest one"-- but it is as they used to say on public television, is is “One to grow on.”
The first time I heard "Destiny's Child" Bills, Bills, Bills, I remember thinking to myself, hotdamn! These girls got what it takes to go platinum. The message of watered down feminism for the hip hop generation packaged a little edgier than the Spice Girls, with enough good old fashioned curvaceous southern charms..ehh hemm..and they and above average singers, too?
Intellectually, I'm appalled, of course (but amused) by the clever wit of our friendly corporate record company executives.
And although on a moral basis I highly object to the commodification of Black women into thighs, butts and all things chicken, I have to say I think the appeal of Destiny's Child (which could've ended up being another chick band) was that emphasis on southern charm, independence, and salacious selling of black standards of beauty, re: Beyonce.
Remember that Beyonce came of age when Jennifer Lopez was still hiding her butt from the zoom lens, and Janet had just finished starving herself to prove she was sexy. To be honest the bootylicious boom was a sleeper for me.
It wasn't till by friend said, "Hey, I think it is cute that Beyonce has thunder thighs", and I was like "What the heck are you talking about?" that I realized how weight obsessed we really are.
When a 5'6 140 woman is considered her own personal liberation movement we are in twilight zone territory. Still, even I have let a little of my self righteous arrogance go when I thought about a sista out there representing all the big hipped, big legged, and yes, well endowed in multiple area sistas.
Which left me conflicted, because how can you argue against commodification, and yet be tempted by the product? That's like eating cocaine covered brownies with Rick James and telling yourself it is just powdered sugar.
You know what the sad thing about the whole big butt video hoe phenomenon is? It is one of the few places where Black women's beauty is presented as desirable. It takes us back to that sad time on that action block when we were cast as jezebels seducing white men with our feminine, yet inhuman wiles. It makes you want to tie black women down and make us read Beloved 100 times.
And yet, Juvenile's back that thing up video was one of the few videos where normal looking black girls got props. In our need to be accepted for who we are, have black women sold ourselves out to the highest bidder?
I know this is a no-win argument, because we are much more than our money makers, or having the dubious distinction of having "the biggest one"-- but it is as they used to say on public television, is is “One to grow on.”
I said I wouldn't do it
And I was wrong.
After months of torment and toil, I have decided to start a random thought blog. I hope that I won't regret it.
Was watching the news yesterday describing all of the destruction and madness subsequent to the bombing of southern Lebanon, and it occurred to me, that we really are in the last days.
Now I know no man can predict the day nor the hour, but it is very clear that biblical prophecy indicates that one of the signals of the coming "Great Tribulation" is that Israel will exercise military dominance over its neighbors. As I hear terms like "proxy war" and "tentative peace" I shudder to remind myself that maybe George Orwell was onto something.
A far cry from the radical right, I do not believe in the concept of "homeland theology" or that is, for the purpose of political gain, conservatives attempting to "help" God out by supporting the return of the Jews to Israel, anymore than I believe that radical Islam is a tool of liberation. Be suspicious of those who try to use religion to support their own agendas, and there is plenty of exploitation for those willing to listen this year. It's tantamount to religious prostitution.
Not that the church is not (and will always be) a political institution. Namely, that is the point. If just rule could be achieved by man, then Christ would be unnecessary. The whole point of salvation is...well, that you need to be saved..and you sort of can't do it on your own, isn't it?
The bible, in context seems to indicate that reconciliation between man and God involves a relinquishing of political rule to God and a recognition that man alone cannot self govern. That's why it is so crazy to me that conservatives are still talking about "Taking back family values" through democracy? What?!?
First of all, theocracy and democracy are different. That's not passing judgment, it is just acknowledging a truth. You can only play for one team.
What interests me more is that from a Christian perspective we are so close to the time of tribulation, perhaps even in it, and yet so far from the mission of the church. Instead of spreading the message of Christ, industrious Christians are busy trying to put Jesus on the ballot, behind the bullet, and in the boardroom.
And the reality is, that while I believe that Christ should be in everything we do, I think that some folks have gotten so caught up in winning, they have forgotten their first love. It is like everybody in the room claims to be tight with Jesus, and yet when he is in the room they are blind to him.
Syria, Lebanon, Iraq, Jordan, Iran, Israel, Egypt. The middle eastern North African nations have been the birthplace of the world's major religions. It isn't surprising that they are central weather vein of world war.
But then, what do I know. I'm the woman who said she wouldn't do it.
After months of torment and toil, I have decided to start a random thought blog. I hope that I won't regret it.
Was watching the news yesterday describing all of the destruction and madness subsequent to the bombing of southern Lebanon, and it occurred to me, that we really are in the last days.
Now I know no man can predict the day nor the hour, but it is very clear that biblical prophecy indicates that one of the signals of the coming "Great Tribulation" is that Israel will exercise military dominance over its neighbors. As I hear terms like "proxy war" and "tentative peace" I shudder to remind myself that maybe George Orwell was onto something.
A far cry from the radical right, I do not believe in the concept of "homeland theology" or that is, for the purpose of political gain, conservatives attempting to "help" God out by supporting the return of the Jews to Israel, anymore than I believe that radical Islam is a tool of liberation. Be suspicious of those who try to use religion to support their own agendas, and there is plenty of exploitation for those willing to listen this year. It's tantamount to religious prostitution.
Not that the church is not (and will always be) a political institution. Namely, that is the point. If just rule could be achieved by man, then Christ would be unnecessary. The whole point of salvation is...well, that you need to be saved..and you sort of can't do it on your own, isn't it?
The bible, in context seems to indicate that reconciliation between man and God involves a relinquishing of political rule to God and a recognition that man alone cannot self govern. That's why it is so crazy to me that conservatives are still talking about "Taking back family values" through democracy? What?!?
First of all, theocracy and democracy are different. That's not passing judgment, it is just acknowledging a truth. You can only play for one team.
What interests me more is that from a Christian perspective we are so close to the time of tribulation, perhaps even in it, and yet so far from the mission of the church. Instead of spreading the message of Christ, industrious Christians are busy trying to put Jesus on the ballot, behind the bullet, and in the boardroom.
And the reality is, that while I believe that Christ should be in everything we do, I think that some folks have gotten so caught up in winning, they have forgotten their first love. It is like everybody in the room claims to be tight with Jesus, and yet when he is in the room they are blind to him.
Syria, Lebanon, Iraq, Jordan, Iran, Israel, Egypt. The middle eastern North African nations have been the birthplace of the world's major religions. It isn't surprising that they are central weather vein of world war.
But then, what do I know. I'm the woman who said she wouldn't do it.
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