Faithful are the wounds of a friend

Except the anonymous writer of this e-mail probably isn't my friend. I published an opinions piece titled "More than miles separate Harrisburg, West Shore" in the Patriot-News yesterday, about local race and class stratification. I'll let you know if it comes on-line.

In response, I received my absolute number one, best ever reverse fan letter. My academic writing has earned me constructive criticism from editors including "author is uncomfortable with her own sexuality and is attempting to proselytize gays into draconian religion" and "author does not understand the nature of academic writing", and evaluations of my classroom teaching topped off with "professor is a bitch." Keep it coming; it all just makes me stronger.

This e-mail from yesterday, after several detailed paragraphs, concluded that my article was "a crock of pure, unadulterated, liberal, propagandistic bullshit." I might be tempted to write this off, but it also accused me of being "a stereotypically liberal, comfortable, tenured, college Professor." With the exception of the stereotype, tenure, and the final comma, this is a correct assessment. So I'm compelled, then, to consider the crock.

I could mention one of the other e-mails I received, which said "Welcome to the neighborhood! We are lucky to have you! Keep it up." But really, what can I learn from that?

Resume

If you have a nice resume and would allow me to analyze it in one of my classes, send it to me at jparis at messiah dot edu. We're comparing my resume (an academic one) with resumes from other industries, and then students are improving their own. (So I don't want yours if it's a curriculum vitae). I don't like those sample resumes "Susie Q. Jobhunter" - I'd rather look at real ones.

Thanks! And yes, the kids are still sick, but less so. I didn't realize until I got to work today that my black sweater is smeared with dried snot - Max slimed me on my way out the door.

Just Church

I'm writing a short paper about the church doing justice. I need a few examples - contemporary or historical, here or there, from any Christian tradition. Rather than just choose my favorites, I thought I'd ask, which instances of the church doing justice most impress you?

Breathing is good, not-breathing is also good

The vomit began just hours after that last post. This is the third episode of triple-vomiting (all three kids) since New Year's. Sheesh, you wonder, what's wrong with her kids? Do they ever wash their hands? Are they sickly? Shall I avoid them to protect myself? Good questions, all.

I panicked and called my most permission-giving friend. Exuberantly child-free, she agreed with all my reasons why I don't like dealing with sickness, and she was sympathetic about how when you're the parent, you just have to deal with things like this and no one else will come in and do it for you. She said it would be hard, but I would make it through, and I should do whatever it takes to get help. Drinking wine was her main advice, but she knows I'm too Baptist to be able to find the sweet spot of tipsy enough to not care, but sober enough to care for children. (I'm too Baptist to even have a bottle of wine in the house.) "Whatever it takes," and I rummaged through my inventory of techniques: cry the worst feelings away, ask husband for help, meditate, sleep, promise myself an escape to the office the next day. And she reminded me that I don't have to take on all the vomit at once -- it will come stomach-ful by stomach-ful. Trying to handle the entire course of the illness at once is impossible, both emotionally and literally. That is fear -- anticipating not being able to handle the future. But the present moment is always manageable. That's how I got through the worst of grief and the worst of pregnancy sickness and pain -- the present moment is all I need to handle, and course it's all that is there to handle.

I hung up the phone when the next round began, and I began to pray the way I just said I don't pray anymore. I couldn't breathe for meditation or focus -- I could only take shallow breaths through the paper towel I held over my face. So I prayed, old school, to the benevolent bearded grandpa-santa in the sky. "Help me, help me, help me. Make this baby stop stinking. Amen." As expected, God didn't come through for me on the stink, but I did feel helped.

The Buddhist lecture from yesterday discussed nondiscrimination - the world of illusion is about responding to life in terms of like or dislike. You should respond to the nature of a thing -- treat a kitten like a kitten and a rattlesnake like a rattlesnake, but don't say one is good and one is bad. That's a tough one, especially in situations of grief, suffering, or physical pain. Puke is a good case study - not emotionally loaded like those others, but real. I can't say 'this is that' in the sense of feeling the same way about puke as I do about ice cream, but detachment did help. Judging the situation only creates fear and anxiety -- accepting it and going with its flow is the better path. My friend e-mailed me today,"Try to detach yourself a bit - clean like a robot. OH! I know - you guys need a frickin' SHOP VAC." So I comforted like a mother and cleaned like a robot.

And then, her best words of wisdom: "And I just want you to know that you not only inspire me in regards to the shit you rise above (ha ha) and deal with - but also you inspire me be really, really careful about taking my birth control at EXACTLY the same time every day." I will never ever agree with her, but I do see her point.

When the student is ready, the teacher appears, and sometimes the teacher is vomit. I must be a slow learner, because the teacher just keeps appearing.

Wake up call

I listened to one of these lectures on Buddhism while stripping wallpaper yesterday. Honestly, the dharma, karma, sansara (?) made me feel sort of tired - I'm really not in the market for a new worldview or vocabulary. But the point that I drew from it was this: you are your own best teacher. Listen up.

I don't call it zazen, and I don't have much of a framework for it, but everything in me says, "Breathe." In the middle of last week's sermon, "Leave and breathe," so I did. As long as you have life, you have breath, and it is always there for you. Prayer can seem like a risk - you try to speak to a God who may or may not be there, may or may not listen or respond. Breathing is more of a sure thing, and I believe it is prayer. Undistracted attention, focus, seeking and finding, love.

I was paying attention yesterday while stripping wallpaper, and shortly thereafter. At 1:30 pm, I had a whole-body wake-up call, a total recollection of birthing Max. Then I realized it was at 1:30 pm, one year ago (not by the calendar, but it was the day between Good Friday and Easter), when labor progressed to the pushing stage. A year later to the minute, my body remembered and woke me up.

I wondered, in Karen's comments section, about Buddhism and non-attachment. I've been carrying with me one of her phrases, "Love is non-attachment." Remembering Max's birth, specifically the umbilical cord linking him to me, calls forth the word 'attachment.' And infancy is all about attachment - believing that someone loves you and will care for you. I fear that non-attachment means disinterest, a cavalier disregard for other humans. I fear that I am a fool for grieving my lost loved ones - if I were truly enlightened, I wouldn't care.

But Maxie-poo reminds me that love is attachment. I can't cling, grasp, or control my loved ones any more than I could keep the umbilical cord attached. If attachment means permanence, grasping, clinging, having to have, then non-attachment is love -- and I think that's what the teaching means. But loving people is all about attachment, in the good sense, eating together, laughing, trusting, and caring. Life itself is the teacher -- how close can we be to each other, how to let go when we have to, how to die and let die, and what it all means. I prefer the word 'acceptance' over 'attachment.' We must accept the nature of human relationships and love, and accept their limits and boundaries. Life is what it is, and accepting it - as opposed to mastering it, controlling it, or fighting it - yields peace.

I believe in the Christian tradition, but I don't believe the tradition requires an external locus of control. We need others like we need gurus, parents, or friends -- as support on the journey that is fundamentally our own. Breathe on me, breath of God. And then I breathe.

A self, in three words

Our guest speaker in Intro to Anthro this week, a Mennonite missionary, embodied the best of the Mennonite tradition: smart, humble, and kind, and the best of missions: cultural awareness, love of people, love of travel. He told a story about a Tanzanian tribe who, when converted, decided their women should wear more jewelry because they were now daughters of the King, because their king's daughters wore lots of jewelry. "More jewelry for believers!", he laughed, "Mennonites would do just the opposite!"

I wrote three words for him: gregarious, hospitable, detailed. I believe all good traits are within our range; like actors, we can develop and grow into more expansive ways of being. But whatever is growing in me can do so organically, because I'm not really trying. Hospitality requires guests, so I'll be that (someone commented on my house's lack of a living room, and I said, "why would we need a living room?" No one ever comes over -- we go out). Gregarious requires a crowd, and I can be there enjoying the star. Detailed...I'd rather work on appreciating and complimenting CPAs and administrators rather than becoming one.

If I could brand my blogging self, I'd call it "authentic." Maybe I could become the thoughtful Christian professor woman who is really honest and authentic. People could come see the blog, and I'd be authentic in every post. Publishers could give me deadlines, and I'd be authentic in 150 pages by June 1. I'd drum up some public speaking gigs, and be authentic right on cue. Really, it would be possible to be lots of things -- smart, critical, expert, funny -- but probably not authentic.

There's the problem with branding. We get reduced to our types -- maybe the Christian market already has an "honest professor woman," so instead I should be the "Christian mother of a stay-at-home dad, feminist enough to be interesting but not so much to be scary" or the "testimony against fertility drugs." Or I could just be an academic, have no full public self at all, and be a go-to brain for particular topics.

The marketing approach fits people into the marketplace, and our mass-level fame-oriented market allows fairly narrow slots. People come to believe they are what they've branded themselves to be, or the masses believe it (even though I think everybody really knows the truth all along). Fitting human persons into marketing niches is always dangerous, but really dangerous when the niches are things like "preserver of my Christian tradition", "watchdog of orthodoxy", "purifier of the faith" or "moral exemplar."

I went to a writer's workshop on how to have a freelance writing business. They told us to brand ourselves - to make a platform and an image that can be cross-marketed: books, articles, speaking, website, bedroom slippers, action figures, etc. They also told us to work very, very hard, because it takes many, many of any of those units to make money. I have a few friends who do great freelance work, and the speaker of the workshop was happy with her life too, but they are all pretty mild marketers - the women to the extent that it benefits and doesn't harm their households, the men as a side job. And then there are writers like Wendell Berry, Annie Dillard, or Kathleen Norris, who seem to do it on their own terms. I left feeling grateful that I make money teaching, which is certainly a kind of acting, but on a very small stage with lots of accountability from the audience. Doing some portion of my life's work without consideration of market success -- for me, that's writing (at least for now) -- reminds me that it's possible to live for free, too, unbranded.

Personal branding

We discuss calling and vocation in most of my upper-level classes. After Spring Break we'll do plenty of the usual: resume writing, practice interviews, etc. And read a chapter of Parker Palmer's "Let Your Life Speak." And I'll share stories from my life. And we'll attempt to develop brands for ourselves. When you put yourself out there, what are you?

I pretty much hate personal branding because it commodifies persons. And I think the American evangelical world rewards people willing to package themselves for public sale, and is willing to overlook the packaging until something ugly spills out and then they act like they never knew you. So I probably need a better name for this endeavor than 'branding', but still, I think this exercise could be fun, or at the very least, amusing to me. The students have to send this e-mail to at least 10 people, and compile the results. I'll post the e-mail here, and do the exercise myself using the blog and comments instead of e-mail. Help me brand myself: comment away!


As an assignment for my Ethnographic Research Methods class, my professor has asked me to work on ‘personal branding’ as part of our unit vocation, service, and career. I’d like to ask you to do me a simple favor. It should honestly take you less than a minute. Please send me a quick 3-word message. Just type 3 adjectives that you feel describe me as a person. Just go with whatever pops into your head. Don’t worry about whether your words are in order or priority or whether they sound positive or negative.

You don’t need to type anything else for the message other than those three words, although you can type more if you want to. I’ll know that the 3-word messages are for this exercise.
I’ll compile all the words, and use your wisdom to reflect on my sense of vocation and purpose in life.

Thank you!

Spring Break

If, at any point during Spring Break, you'd like to come help paint or remove wallpaper, just let me know! I only work for about 90 minutes at a time, so you could join me, and then we could have a meal or something.

My Spring Break: sleep, play, paint, remove wallpaper.

Paint your own sky

I painted half a ceiling last night, and this morning it's the clear white sky above my head. One of my metaphors for moving to Pennsylvania was a clear blue sky, east of my Minnesota sky, that I wanted to go live under. But we purchased a home in which every single ceiling and every wall is taupe, and it makes me feel like the walls are coming down, in, and around me with a heavy squeeze. I think about painting the taupe walls, but mostly I dream -- fantasize -- about living under white ceilings. And last night the dream began to become a reality. I got tired halfway across the room, so I moved a recliner so I can see only the finished portion when I read. Sometimes you move to where the sky is, and sometimes you paint it yourself, and sometimes you do both.

Now I'm considering going for a swim, hiking a mountain with all three boys, going to the library, joining a meditation class, finding a spiritual practice, writing my book, and making friends with a few amazing people I haven't had time to initiate lunch with. I'm thinking thoughts that make me feel smart again. I've fallen in love, too, quick-pulsed at the sight of the man I married (was he really so awful last week?).

What I'm most grateful for, though, is meat. A few days ago Max's interests changed, without warning and quickly, from pureed vegetables to beef, chicken, and tuna. More meat, more sleep. Last night he slept 7 pm to 6:30 am, then num-nums at 6:30 am, and now (7:30) still sleeping. Which means that I slept from 9 pm to 6:30 am! Let me shout it: I SLEPT FROM 9 PM TO 6:30 AM. Anything is possible now. I'm going to wake them all up and go hike that mountain.

Stuff to read, stuff not to read

I'm not one to love a sycophant (not even when I'm the object of affection), but sometimes I find myself being one. On my nightstand are Jen Lemen's little booklet, and Momma Zen by Karen Maezen Miller. I read them like I read Anne Lamott, in very small doses, because I don't want to finish. Jen and Karen had a mutual spotlight-shining, with interviews of each other on their respective blogs. Interview of Jen here. Interview of Karen here.

I also reflected on my last two posts and now recommend that they be avoided, because they are mostly bullshit. I realized my whole wild life (moving, new job, etc.) right now is in response to a mostly external call from God received in the midst of an already overful life, which negates much of what I wrote. If you've already read them and feel your time has been wasted, I apologize. All is not lost, however, the comments alerted me to Pete S.'s ongoing existence, which is nice to be informed of.