Processing, Grieving, Learning

I am taking a class this semester called "Violence, Poverty, and Social Justice." I had taken the professor before and liked his teaching style, plus I thought the class would help me to explore issues--particularly on the international level--about which I was really ignorant.

What I didn't expect when I signed up for the class was how much I would feel these issues pertaining to me personally as I think about my time in Romania. I realized this summer that, in many ways, I never really processed all the things that I saw or experienced over there. I'm not totally sure why that is: I think some of it was just have been fresh out of high school and not having schema--in terms of life experience, academic knowledge, theological insight--to fully grasp what I had been part of. I think it also had a lot to do with the fact that I immediately returned to the world of "going to college," which was all-consuming and had very few "access points" for which to think about, talk about, or process Romania.

I read a book this summer about street children and that sort of kick-started thinking about it all again, and now in this class we're reading about chronic poverty, structural oppression, street children, etc. and it's all coming back to me in waves. I started a book this week about sex trafficking that is haunting and powerful and just makes me very angry--I think I have to be careful about who I talk to after I've been reading this book because it shakes me up so badly. While the book doesn't relate to my experience directly, it does bring to mind so many old memories and events and even just observations that I never fully realized before. It's a bizarre experience--grieving and aching for the first time over things I saw nearly 4 years ago. I'm struggling, too, with some shame over my responses at the time. I think so many things just passed by me unnoticed; the child at the Day Center who became a prostitute, the kids who were lured into making pornographic videos, even just the everyday stories of alcoholic fathers who made them leave home. I know at the time I felt like I cared, but my responses to it all seem pitiful now. I feel like I didn't know how to cope with it all, and so to some degree I just held it all at arm's length. Reading these books, talking to friends, and just thinking about it make me wish that I had done so many things differently.

At the end of the day, I know this will be an ongoing experience. Hopefully, I will always be maturing in a positive direction, and that will mean that I will always be able to look back with a greater awareness and wish that things--really that I--could have been different. But while repentance is important, I'm not sure what to make of this regret. It's certainly not productive; I cannot retrospectively wish maturity on myself, for all my desire to. I can continue to learn, though, although I have no idea where it will take me. This seems to some degree so passive, but I am trying to process and discover as much as I can and simply wait, trusting that this will all be used and redeemed--whether I go back to Romania to live or whether I never get the chance to even visit, but I use what I have learned in other ways and in other places.

Everyone should read The Natashas by Victor Malarek--devastating, but important.

more quotes

I haven't read this in quite some time, but I used to have it hanging on my wall and I thought of it today somewhat out of the blue. (It probably has something to do with the fact that I have work to do and do not feel like doing it!) I first saw the quote hanging in the laundry room at a camp where I worked. Its presence in that dingy old laundry room, where confused high school counselors, trying to sort out a profound understanding of faith and life, washed "pee sheets," has always made it much more profound to me. It's by George MacDonald, who was a Scottish theologian who had a pretty major influence on C.S. Lewis.

Troubled soul, thou art not bound to feel, but thou art bound to arise. God loves thee whether thou feelest or not. Thou canst not love when thou wilt, but thou art bound to fight the hatred in thee to the last. Try not to feel good when thou art not good, but cry to Him who is good. He changes not because thou changest. Nay, he has an especial tenderness of love towards thee for that thou art in the dark and hast no light, and his heart is glad when thou dost arise and say, “I will go to my Father.” For he sees thee through all the gloom through which thou canst not see him. Will thou his will. Say to him: “My God, I am very dull and low and hard; but thou art wise and high and tender, and thou art my God. I am thy child. Forsake me not.” Then fold the arms of thy faith, and wait in quietness until light goes up in thy darkness. Fold the arms of thy Faith I say, but not of thy Action: bethink thee of something that thou oughtest to do, and go and do it, if it be but the sweeping of a room, or the preparing of a meal, or a visit to a friend. Heed not thy feelings: Do thy work.

--George MacDonald

Juno

So here's the skinny: it's a movie about teen pregnancy, the harsh realities of love lost, growing up in an age where marriages never seem to last, and outcasts. Doesn't seem like there's much to be happy about. And yet I think Juno was the most delightful movie I have seen in a long, long time. To be fair, it did not devote a great deal of time to dealing with those themes I mentioned. They were present, but not necessarily the focus of the movie. At the same time, though, they were not simply ignored; the best way I can think to describe the "outlook" of the film is to say that it imagines a world where all of those factors are present, but none of them gets the final say. Instead, hope and love--albeit unexpected and perhaps at times complicated and painful love--are the real story going on. And they go on in the midst of as much teenage awkwardness as you can possibly cram into two hours. It reminded me vaguely of Napoleon Dynamite in that sense--except, it was humorous and touching awkward, not gasp-and-twitch awkward. Plus the actors are all wonderful and all develop their characters in quirky and, for the most part, really human yet really lovable ways. In summary, I loved the movie. I would probably go see it again if anyone asked me to. I will also probably buy it, and I almost never buy movies, but I want to own this one.

good quotes

Here are a few thoughts I've been meditating on. The first two are from Thornton Wilder, whom I love but had forgotten about (obviously, I'm a pretty fickle lover) until today when we discussed him in class. He was probably my favorite playwright in high school. The second is from the Psalms, which I had always loved but particularly learned to love again this summer

"Hope, like faith, is nothing if it is not courageous; it is nothing if it is not ridiculous."

"In love's service, only wounded soldiers can serve."

"Bless the Lord, O my soul,
And all that is within me, bless His holy name.
Bless the Lord, O my soul,
and forget not all His benefits,
who forgives all your iniquities,
who heals all your diseases,
who redeems your life from the pit,
who crowns you with steadfast love and mercy,
who satisfies you with good,
so that your youth is renewed like the eagle's.
The Lord works righteousness
and justice for all who are oppressed.
He made known His ways to Moses,
His acts to the people of Israel.
The Lord is merciful and gracious,
slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love.
He will not always chide,
nor will He keep His anger forever.
He does not deal with us according to our sins
nor repay us according to our iniquities.
For as high as the heavens are above the Earth,
so great is His steadfast love toward those who fear Him;
as far as the east is from the west,
so far does He remove our transgressions from us.
As a father shows compassion to His children,
so the Lord shows compassion to those who fear Him.
For He knows our frame;
He remembers that we are dust."

skunks and hope

This will be a short post, even though there is so much to say. I would love to write on and on about this topic, but unfortunately, my time once I get back to school is always more of a commodity than I expect.

But I have been meaning to write for some time on the idea of hope, because it has been haunting me for the past semester and does not show any signs of going away. I am realizing that, while I think of myself as an "upbeat" person, I am not always a hopeful person in the truest sense of the word. I tend to either be naively optimistic, hiding myself from the facts of life that tell me that the world is not, in fact, as it should be; or I finally am forced to face some of the stark realities of a fallen creation, and then I slip into both a depression and a wariness, expecting more bad news around every corner. Neither of these is a way to live, as I have seen more and more. Naive optimism is not only going to disappoint me; it is insulting to those whose pain I am denying, and it also prevents me from seeking opportunities to enter into hurting places and alleviate suffering if I am able. At the same point, depression and wariness deny that Jesus is the King, that He is coming, and that He is good. There are days when surely I doubt that, but I do not want my mode of thinking to regularly deny that. I need hope.

But hope can also be frustrating and raise so many questions: If God is sovereign, does that mean He actually wants bad things to happen? If He is redeeming all things by using suffering to produce good, does that also mean that He inflicts suffering to produce good? If He does not work in the ways I expect, how do I hope with confidence? Can I pray for and expect a good outcome when I know that my definition of "good" may be very different from my Father's? I have some of these answers starting to be formed in my mind, but none of them are crystal clear. I think my most profound realization has simply been that, at some level, it must be mystery. There is some equation out there that makes sense of it all, but in my finite capacities, I cannot hold onto all the components at once to see how the fit together. I simply have to cling to all the pieces I know are true: God is good, He is sovereign, He is redeeming all things, He will come again, He graciously allows but also commands us to participate in His coming kingdom in the meantime, He weeps when His people suffer, He is making all things new.

One phrase has kept returning to me as I struggle with all of this: faith like a child. Jesus praised the little children who ran to be with Him even though they could not possibly have understood all He said in the complexity that the disciples could have (or should have). But I have been trying, over this past month, to come to my Father as a child with all my delights and sorrows. I have probably wept a little more but also laughed a lot more as I considered the beautiful things He has given me. One small example: in New Orleans this past week, there was a lot to be sad about as I saw the brokenness and injustice around me. It made me angry that people don't have homes and that the government seems to in fact be limiting their options. But at the same point, there were more repaired businesses; more people moving into homes; more cars on the road. One small but beautifully encouraging surprise was being reunited with Chuck and Liz, the couple who have somehow "appeared" on every missions trip I've gone on in college, and who have impressed me immensely with their love for the church wherever it is and their desire to serve in their retirement. I know God did not send them down there just for me, but I did receive it as a very personal gift: a reminder that He is with me, orchestrating the details of my life in ways I don't know how and can't control, bringing good (a reunion with friends) out of evil (a city that is so broken and needs so much help). It was also encouraging to see so many people on our trip get excited about New Orleans and possibilities of continuing to serve and love that city.

Then, two days ago, I was back in Charlottesville and babysitting three of my favorite girls. The babysitting gig involved an adventure in a minivan (which I was not expecting!) but after I had finally figured out how to simultaneously drive the minivan and calm the excited/crying girls at the same time, we had a moment of peace and quiet. Then, out of the blue, Caroline called up to me from her back seat, "Sarah, do you think we can play with skunks in Heaven?" I said I thought so and then she clarified, "But will they spray us?" I have recently become very convinced that adults need to take children more seriously, particularly in the way they process things, so I decided not to give her another straightforward and quick answer. Instead, I asked her, "Caroline, do you know why skunks spray?" and she responded, "Yes, because they're afraid." I then asked, "Do you think we'll ever be afraid in Heaven?" and she immediately answered, "No, because Jesus will be there, and we will see Him--not like pretend to see Him, but really see Him!" And then she sighed for a moment contentedly, and concluded, "So I know we'll be able to play with skunks in Heaven--and Jesus will too!" It was obviously amusing, but also such a beautiful illustration of this childlike faith. Caroline will certainly run into much bigger problems than spraying skunks as she grows, but for now she knows the truth: there will be a new heavens and a new earth, where all that is wrong will be right. And she takes delight in that. I want to do so too.

home sweet home!

We made it back! My brothers were making fun of me when we landed--they said I always seem pleasantly surprised when plane travel goes smoothly, when, statistically, that's just what I should expect. I have a semi-serious fear of flying--I can do it without sedation, but I do need to grip the hand of the person next to me, and there's usually one or two meet-my-Maker prayers thrown in there. Maybe it's a lack of scientific knowledge, but I just cannot understand how that big heavy thing is supposed to get up, and stay up, thousands of feet in the air. Plus I usually get motion sick or my ears don't pop and I get an ear infection or some other silly malady, so that, I'm sure, increases my distaste for air travel. But (praise the Lord!) this trip, like the one there, was smooth, none of us got sick, my ears popped (so no trips to get yelled at by the ear specialist!), and, most importantly, we took off and landed with no problems! :) I am very thankful.

And now I am home in Boston, where there is still some snow on the ground (although our yard has sadly melted). I love this city a lot. I am really hoping I can find someone who will pay me enough money to live here next year.

In summary: GREAT trip! So many wonderful memories. But good to be home. Now time for bed. Goodnight.

London Days 5 and 6

I couldn’t post yesterday—lack of sleep finally caught up to me—so hopefully I can remember everything to summarize our last two days in London! If these days had a theme, it would be “museums”: we have been to the National History Museum, the British Museum, the National Gallery, and the Winston Churchill Museum and Prime Minister’s War Rooms. A lot of time on my feet, reading plaques :) and I have to confess that I am not usually a great lover of museums. I’ve always been a little embarrassed by that—somehow, I think it makes me less intelligent or mature—but I’m still working on it and improving!) Thankfully, each museum possessed several real gems that kept even this amateur entertained.

First was the Natural History Museum with an enormous amount of fossils and replicas or stuffed skins of animals. I was disappointed that we couldn’t get in to see the dinosaur exhibit (the lines were too long, with too many screaming children) but we did enjoy a large collection of reptile fossils and bones of extinct mammals. (Andy took the photo below of me with an extinct sloth; he said he is titling it “two sloths,” in honor of all of his failed efforts to wake me up in the morning!)

While this is neither insightful nor specific, I think my strongest reaction to the exhibits was, “Wow. Elephants are really, really big.” :) The architecture of the building was, once again, really, really beautiful. Here is a picture of the boys on the main steps in the museum.

Next was the British Museum, full of a ridiculous number of artifacts. I realized that Britain is in the unique position of having been the imperial power right at the point when the Western world became interested in studying and preserving history. They were able to collect (or, perhaps more accurately, steal) artifacts from all around the world. I should be fair and note that a lot of the stuff in there is also donated or on loan, but some of the greatest exhibits—a frieze from the Parthenon, mummies and sculptures from Egypt, jewels from Asia—were “imported” by British imperialists. At the same point, I enjoyed getting to see the Rosetta Stone and marveling at all that has been learned through that seizure. Is it wrong to enjoy that experience and knowledge, even when the means by which it was achieved could be called despicable? Or is it in some way redemptive to really delight in the opportunity to view these treasures? Or should they be given back? Or is that just the way the world worked then, even though we see it as wrong now? Interesting dilemma. My favorite exhibit, though, was of the artifacts from the Sutton Hoo burial ground. We learned about this particular discovery in my early English literature class, because it relates to Beowulf (every English major’s favorite book!) Beowulf describes the king being buried with his ship, but until the discovery at Sutton Hoo less than a century ago, there was no evidence that such a practice existed. Then, some little old British lady called the British Museum and asked them to investigate some interesting mounds in her backyard, one of which turned out to be an Anglo-Saxon king’s burial ground, complete with his ship and treasures. I love when I can make connections with things I learn in the classroom; I would write my professor to inform her, but she was this terrifying British woman who I’m sure has seen the exhibit herself, so I’ll just be personally satisfied at having seen it.

Today we started out at the National Gallery and bunches of famous paintings. Once again, my lack of art history knowledge/appreciation put me at a serious disadvantage. But I enjoyed reading the plaques and I did recognize several paintings by Van Gogh and Monet. And I also realized that a lot of Dutch people have painted! (That’s for you Beth.) :) I also picked out a few paintings that I really loved—mostly ones that seem to emit light. I love light. One thing I have appreciated here is that most of the museums—including the National Gallery—are free of charge to the public. They’re run totally on donations. I like feeling like great art—or artifacts, or history—are not just available to the elite but are part of the public possession. Maybe that provides some answer to my dilemma about the British Museum? Below is a picture of Trafalgar Square with the museum in the background. I thought it was really pretty at nightfall with the fountains.

Finally, we had a brief jog (almost literally) through the Winston Churchill Museum and the Cabinet War Rooms. I wish, in retrospect, that we had left more time for this because it was probably my favorite of all the museums. I don’t think of myself, normally, as much of a history person, but I do really appreciate history particularly when I can understand it as a story. And good museums, like this one, really help me to experience history as a story—complete with all the journals, photographs, and speeches as the details that enrich the basic outline of dates and names. Churchill in particular provides plenty of enjoyable details with all of his pithy quotes, which were displayed all over the wall. Two of my favorites: “We are all worms, but I do believe that I am a glow worm” and, from his grade school report card, “Winston is exceedingly naughty, and is not to be trusted with anything at all!” :) Just goes to show you should never judge a child’s abilities too quickly, particularly based on behavior.

In between the museums we’ve managed to squeeze in two great meals—lunch at a lovely Indian restaurant (finally!) and our last dinner here at a very traditional British pub, complete with Fish and Chips, Pimm’s and Lemonade, and a dodgy bartender. (Don’t worry—I don’t really think that’s “traditionally British,” but it certainly added to the experience!) We also got last-minute tickets last night to Shadowlands, the play about C.S. Lewis and his marriage to Joy Gresham. It was a beautiful, heartbreaking, and shockingly honest description of grief and suffering; I’ll probably write more about it later, but I’m honestly still trying to process it now. I do want to read his book he wrote about the experience, though.

Tonight, Mom and Dad are out seeing King Lear, which my dad has been looking forward to since before we came! They actually couldn’t get tickets until this morning, when they got a pair of tickets as the result of a cancellation—2 of the last 4 tickets available! It was even more exciting to realize that Sir Ian McEllan is playing Lear. My dad rested at the hotel all day in the hopes that he wouldn’t be in too much pain through the show tonight (last night was really awful—ironic to watch my dad’s face screw up in pain while watching a play about the problem of pain). I hope to hear a glowing report when they make it back. The boys and I are hanging out at the hotel, drinking Diet Coke with Citrus Twist (gotta use it up!) and watching Good Will Hunting on TV and getting excited about coming back to Boston tomorrow! Just several Tube rides, airport lines, and in-flight movies before I am home. It has been a wonderful family vacation—there hasn’t yet been a day when I wished it would be any shorter, I have enjoyed the time with everyone in my family, but I am ready to go home now. Gonna go pack now and pray for safe travel tomorrow! Here’s one last picture of me and Big Ben (and an umbrella—gotta love the London weather!)