July 3, 2014 by Mrs. W

Fresh Camp Cleveland

These are my friends, Doc and Anne. They have lived in a renovated (mostly with their and their friends’ hands) home in Glenville near Case (a couple of neighborhoods away from us in Cleveland Heights) for about 8 years now, and raise two kids there.

This is their son M, pictured hiding under a table with our daughter a couple of years ago. They were not as good at hiding as they thought they were.

Doc has consistently built up relationships and neighborhood investment since making the Glenville community his home. The Harrills are a great example of how people can and are investing in Cleveland in tangible and meaningful ways. With a lot of intentionality and hard work this city is being reclaimed from empty lots to community gardens; instead of to scatter and live in fear, the response is becoming to gather, connect, and support.

Our family has engaged financially and with our time and elbow grease in what Doc and Anne are doing before and we’ve always been glad we get to participate a little bit sometimes in the important work they are doing. And now they are at a point where the community has been asking them to expand what they have successfully done in summers past to be a year-long program. So many great possibilities if the kickstarter gets funded, but they only have a few days left!

Please consider investing, sharing, etc. if this seems to you like something Cleveland benefits from and should have more of (hint: this is something Cleveland benefits from and should have more of). I’d recommend that you at least find and watch the ReFresh video available on the kickstarter page because it captures something really important about a growing movement in the city of Cleveland.

I don’t need to say too much more about it because they said it well themselves in the video(s). Check it out.

June 10, 2014 by Mrs. W

The Understandable and Unfathomable Weirdness of Grief

When our family arrived home Saturday from saying a goodbye I will not share about here, both of us parents were dealing with a toddler tantrum and E wandered in the back yard, thinking. She met up with her friend A (our back yard neighbor, who goes to Fairfax Elementary and just graduated kindergarten with Rebecca Meyer). This is approximately how their conversation was recounted to me later:

E: I’m feeling sad.

A: Why?

E: Because I just saw Becca, and said bye to her. Because she’s dying.

A: What? No. That’s not true. I think you’re lying.

E: I think I can’t be your friend any more until you’re like a grown-up or something. I can clearly imagine her spreading her fingers in the air as she said this.

~~~~~~

We went down the street for a little while. When we got back, the neighbor girls were out in their back yard playing in the sprinkler. E went back to say hi, and came running in to tell me she’d been invited to go run in the sprinkler and that A’s mom wanted to talk to me. N told me over the fence what the girls had said to each other, and that afterward A ran in and said, “MOM! E says we’re not friends anymore, and that Becca is dying, and WHAT?”

So they had to have that conversation. I don’t blame N for not telling her daughter, and I really admire how she handled being thrown into the deep end. There is just no palatable way to tell your 6 year old that the friend they have seen every day at school or known since they were born is dying. That is an awful conversation I don’t wish on anyone, and the only honest way to make it remotely less awful for a child is to not pretend it isn’t horrific; that, and to let them know that you as their grown-up are there for them and with them. Sometimes it’s ok to cry in front of your kids.

I asked E about the conversation between the girls and said, “I feel like what you meant might have been that you couldn’t talk to A about Becca, because she wasn’t understanding what you were saying. Does that sound right?”

“Yes. That is what I meant.”

“Ok, you might just want to let her know that, because I think that whole conversation was pretty upsetting for your friend. I don’t think you did anything wrong, but it might be good to just be clear about what you meant.”

So she did.

I know many grown-ups who are not always so clear about what they mean, or so able to verbalize what they need. Sometimes I am one of them.

~~~~~~

She doesn’t bring Becca up all the time. Several times a day for the past week, since we found out this was imminent, but I know she is thinking about it almost all the time. Dropping a piece of food on the floor is enough to make her throw herself onto the couch in tears. Wearing the wrong shoes by mistake will turn her into a sidewalk-squatting, limping mess (unless I am not looking and she is walking behind me). She whined and did not want to get ready for ballet class today. The last class of the year. I almost let her ditch it, because the truth is I didn’t really want to go either. Becca happened to be signed up for the class too. Before she got sick. Before any of this happened, today was supposed to be their last ballet class together, except that because of everything that happened, Becca never attended a single class. And instead of going next door to celebrate at Sasa after it was over tonight, we will talk about her at bedtime and cry and prepare for her funeral on Thursday. I really didn’t want to go to ballet today. But we went. We showed up. I didn’t chat very convincingly with the other moms there, but I decided to be ok with that (even on my best days I’m not that great at small talk anyway). I am cutting E a lot of extra slack these days, and trying to keep some left over for myself.

Her feelings are her own and she is allowed them. All of them. Even if she does end up wiping her tears and her nose on my skirt sometimes.

~~~~~~

June 1, 2014 by Mrs. W

Tattoo(s)!

I got a tattoo.

Well, two actually.

I’m not having a third-life crisis, I swear. At least, I don’t think I am.

At this moment in my life, I need to be reminded over and over again that I come from somewhere, that where I come from matters, and that as Someone who Comes from Somewhere I have a responsibility about how I choose to be in the world. And that, for me, is the crux of what it means to be a princess. I know, princess can mean lots of things to lots of people. That’s fine. But I’ve decided to reclaim that title for myself (and for my daughter, to whom I very strongly desire to show some example of a princess besides the not-too-bright Ariels, the entranced Auroras, or the smart-but-abused Belles of the world).

So for the first tattoo I decided that I wanted to be reminded of this idea all the time.

But as important as that concept is to me, I’m not really a “‘Princess’ in a girly font” on my arm kind of person, so I did like my daddy raised me and wrote it in elvish. Qenya (high) elvish, to be exact. The tengwar is mostly the same, but high elvish is based on greek and latin and looks and sounds fancier than Sindarin, which is loosely based on Welsh. Even though my family history is vaguely Welsh (my maiden name is, anyway–apparently “Pharis” meant “gravel-digger”), I chose Qenya because there is no official word for princess in Sindarin. Long story short (Too late!) words are interesting and important to me.

The tree of Gondor represents a return of hope and a renewing of strength. Gondor was a country that many people had given up on. The time of men was assumed to be drawing to a close; their strength failing. The tree had stood bare in the Court of the Fountain for many years. But when a “rightful and true” king ruled in Gondor the tree, the country, and the people in it were able to flourish again.

“When, finally, Gandalf takes Aragorn up into the mountains and shows him a slender white sapling in the snow, a sense of fulfillment wells in us all. The tree is found; the world is right for now. The first sign that the time is imminent is the Elven-woman Arwen’s gift of a banner with “seven stars and seven stones and one white tree” (1966 ROTK, p.27), sent as Frodo nears Mt. Doom and the last battle approaches. When Frodo’s quest is over and Mordor has been defeated, the last sign that is awaited to indicate the world has been set right is the return of the living White Tree to the courtyard.

The living White Tree is the final symbol of recovery for Gondor, a country that looked at one time as though it were in its last decline. This is significant to Tolkien’s theory on the importance of fantasy in general. Tolkien saw fantasy as a potent form of art that, through the powers of sub-creation and enchantment, could provide readers with the healing gifts of recovery, escape, and consolation. These are all gifts that Tolkien’s trees bear to Middle Earth. As Hans Christian Andersen said, “green is good for the eyes” (1981 Lewis, p.91), so Tolkien might have added: and for the heart.”

If you’d like to read a long-ish and entirely wonderful essay on Tolkien and trees, you can find “Tolkien’s Trees” by Claudia Riiff Finseth here.

I am grabbing hold of hope and strength for myself and for my loved ones. It’s really hard work. And if the craziest thing I do in the process is to get a tattoo (or two!), I can live with that.

Because some people have already asked, I’ll add here that my very talented cousin, Dan Clay Smith did these. I am so very pleased with his beautiful work and really appreciated being able to trust his very knowledgeable advice about where and how to tattoo so that it will look the best possible now, heal well, and still be what I want in 20 years. If you’re around Harrisburg, PA I highly, highly recommend him.

May 20, 2014 by Mrs. W

Attention Cranky Hippie Ladies: you are promoting the wrong kind of feminism.

We attended a beautiful hippie festival this weekend. The Hessler Street Fair has been happening in Cleveland since the 60s and it’s always a great experience to see so much hand-made and lovingly shared craftsmanship from artists of all ages. I bought a clay tea light holder from my friend’s ten year old daughter.
The main attraction for us, these days, is Harmony Park. It’s a smallish, enclosed area where kids can run relatively free and enjoy drumming, dancing, balloon creatures, face-painting, community toys, and lots of other things.
My daughter recently turned six. For her birthday, my mom hand-made her an Elsa Dress. We did insist that she take it off for bed, but when we told her she could wear it to Hessler her entire face lit up. The bottom got a little dirty while we were walking around outside at Hessler, but I haven’t gotten it off of her long enough to wash it (I know, I know…it’s on my list to do later today).
So when I say that she loves Elsa without me telling her to, please believe me.
As my newly minted six year old waited in line to get her face painted, the lady who was taking the money looked her up and down, then said in a somewhat confrontational tone, ” That’ll be twelve dollars. Because the mask she chose takes a long time. Where’s your crown? Aren’t you supposed to be a princess or something??”
E. said nothing in reply, then leaned over to me and whispered, “Mama, I don’t know what she’s talking about.”
“I don’t know either, honey…don’t worry about it.”
Then the lady who was doing the face painting looked over scornfully and said, “Um, NO. If she was really a princess at Hessler, she would be wearing tie dye. Not….THAT.”
I considered leaning into the moment and saying snarkily, “Well, I did have to put her on a diet to get her to fit into the dress, but it was totally worth it because STANDARDS OF BEAUTY.”

I decided against it. I do have some thoughts though.

1. She was accused of being the wrong kind of princess for Hessler. I disagree, as did ostensibly the little boy who followed her around all afternoon calling her “princess” and asking her to send him on quests for her, then bringing her little tributary gifts. I think the general consensus was that she was dressed as a princess. Just because something is culturally recognizable as girly doesn’t mean it has no place at Hessler.

2. She’s six. Can we just let her like what she likes? If little boys (and girls) are allowed to get their faces painted like Captain America, then why can’t little girls (and boys) also like princesses and fairies?

3. If the hand-painted portrait of King Triton we passed on our way out is any indication, there is no official Hessler ban on Disney or their princesses, or conventional fairy tales in general. I feel quite sure those ladies didn’t speak for Hessler as a whole. Just for the record.

4. It is entirely possible for someone to hold ridiculous ideas about what other people’s children Ought To Do or Ought To Like and yet be capable of beautiful, beautiful face painting. I highly recommend the face painting, if not the commentary. Also for the record.

5. This is one main reason why my blog is called Sustainable Princess. Because you know what? Forcing girls to hate princesses (or anything culturally recognizable as girly, as I mentioned above) is not better (or even more possible, really) than forcing girls to like them. And as for the word “princess”, I think it suffers from a bad case of “You keep using that word….” Princess does not have to mean spoiled, selfish, materialistic, man-dependent, etc. Liking Disney does not automatically come with an eating disorder in the teen years. Unless, of course, I refuse to engage the issue in any constructive way and leave it up to culture by default to define for my children what Princess means. Because I think we can all agree that the prevailing groupthink on this issue is kind of broken and inconsistent at best. I’m just not sure that forming a new and similarly inconsistent groupthink is the answer.

April 22, 2014 by Mrs. W

The Things I Can

Got some really great advice from an ER nurse this weekend. This is heavily paraphrased, as I was pretty overwhelmed and don’t remember exactly what she said, but she really helped me a lot.

Nurse: Don’t try to do everything at once. Do one thing at a time.

Me: But sometimes there are too many things. Like right now. My husband is on this side of the ER and my friend is bringing my daughter to the kids’ side. I can’t be in charge of both of those things! Who do I go with? I want to be both places.

Nurse: That’s true. A lot of times it does seem like everything comes at you at once. When that happens you just have do something about the thing you can do something about.

Me: I guess you have a lot of experience with having to prioritize stuff like that, in a high stress environment like this.

Nurse: Yes. I’ve never been through AA or anything, but a lot of times I just say the Serenity prayer anyway, because it’s really helpful when you’re overwhelmed.

Me: Yes! That’s really concrete and helps me a lot. I can’t make my husband ok, and right now he’s drugged and sleeping anyway. So I should go get ready to do the best I can for when my bleeding kiddo gets here.

I would also like to add that I mentioned during that conversation that it must be a tricky part of her job to deal with people who are often at their worst and that she was being really kind and clear and helpful when I was certainly not at my best.

ER nurses and staff in particular and medical professionals in general, I salute you and thank you for that graciousness.

**I found a lot of these graphics online…and mostly they seemed to favor the serenity, wisdom, and courage. Those are good things, but I’m more about verbs than nouns, solution-wise. A personality thing, I suppose.

Just for my own running reference:

Some things I can’t control

~whether or not my husband experiences pain

~whether or not my kids experience pain or sickness

~whether my family and friends (or their kids) experience pain or sickness or even death (oh, it hurts my heart to write that)

~whether other people will assume the best or the worst of my intentions and actions

~what other people learn about who God is because of their suffering

Some things I can control

~Learning as much as I can to help my family to live well and pain free

~asking for help when I need it, and accepting help when it’s offered

~cutting myself a lot of slack when I am not at my best

~cutting other people a lot of slack when they are not at their best

~assuming the best of other people’s intentions and actions

~letting other people know when I am not at my best; not so they can cut me slack necessarily (though that is nice sometimes), but so they don’t think that whatever social or relational sins I commit are about them

~what I choose to think about God amid (and because of; or at least taking into account) my own struggles and doubts, and those of the people around me

~Doing the dishes (though if 3/4 of my family is injured or in the ER over the weekend I’m gonna go ahead and give myself at least until Tuesday before I even think about it!)

April 10, 2014 by Mrs. W

Two days, both alike in happenstance…

There’s a lot of talk around here these days about positive and negative self-talk. Apparently, what we tell ourselves has an effect on how we feel about our circumstances, our people, and our lives in general. Novel, huh?

Neither of the following depictions are exactly what happened; rather it was something sort of in between. Because no one is just one thing; though I’d like to think I was closer to the positive end most of the day, I am still learning. So I present, for your consideration (and possibly amusement; it’s ok), my day yesterday. Twice.

~~~~~

Woke up, dissheveled, and rushed around to get everyone ready and get out the door. Today we needed to get the family car, because E had her first Homeschool Book Club and it’s too far away to walk to so we decided to drive there. We got J to work, later than I had hoped in my unrealistic fantasies which do not include things like stopping to change diapers and coffee taking 3 minutes to steep in the french press.

Got J to work, then headed to the mall to look for athletic shoes for the girl, because strappy sandals are not good for bike riding, and after several trips to the second hand store we have given up finding them there. Walked around, bored, for half an hour, until 9 a.m., then went to the store we were trying to go to only to find out that it opens at 10. GAH.

Tried to figure out something to do for an hour and a half, then remembered the old golf course across the street from the mall is a park now. No playground equipment or anything though. Hope it doesn’t suck. My car starts making a weird noise that seems associated with the brakes. Ugh. Maybe if I ignore it it’ll go away. But….

Made it to book club a little early (because I’ve come to terms with the fact that there is no ‘on time’ for me; I’m 20 minutes early, or half an hour late). Had a little snack and read some while waiting for the other families to get there. What will it be like? What if everyone thinks I’m crazy and my kids are ridiculous!? More to the point, what if that’s true??

Book club went along just fine.

We played for a while at the library, my kids dawdling and being angry about leaving the library, just like they didn’t want to leave the park, or the mall, or the car, or our house. I got frustrated and said, “we LEAVE PLACES, ok? It’s a thing. If we never left anywhere, we’d never go anywhere. GET USED TO IT.”

We tried out a new lunch place. It was good that they have nondairy stuff we can eat, but my kids didn’t want to sit nicely because WATERFALL and I spilled my drink all over myself trying to pour it into one of my kids’ waterbottles. Because of course I did. “I deserved that.” I said to the waiter who brought me a napkin. I think he said something back, but I was too distracted finding a crayon under the table.

Lunch was good, but I ordered too much. I’m so wasteful like that, even if we did take it with us and ate it later as a car snack. Why aren’t I better at estimating portions served by restaurants I’ve never been to?

We went to a store nearby to look for shoes, now that it was open. It took forever to walk there because kids have to stop and look at every worm on the sidewalk while I try to get them to JUST COME ON already. We have places to be.

After some argument, we finally agreed on some ‘sparkletastic’ purple and white athletic shoes that light up when E stomps her feet. As if she needed another reason to stomp her feet all the time. They are purple, because I vetoed the pinkalicious ones on the grounds that they were ten dollars more. I felt the imaginary eyes of progressives around me standing in judgment of the fact that I didn’t convince her to get the Captain America light up shoes instead, but it just didn’t seem worth the fight. And she did seem pretty excited…

We picked up J and dropped him off at an appointment. Not sure what we were going to do about dinner, because we might need to visit a dear friend in the hospital. TOO MANY PEOPLE I LOVE IN TOO MANY HOSPITALS. I left my wallet in the cart at Costco. I realized it five minutes after driving away with my children and my groceries. I immediately called the store, drove us all back there, looked all around, left my information at the front desk, and called to cancel my debit card right then (because there is a Best Buy next door to the Costco). It was embarrassing and tiring and irritating. And it was 6 p.m. Luckily, our friend was home from the hospital, and another friend offered us dinner. So that was nice. Then I got my wallet back. So I guess the day wasn’t that bad.

~~~~~

Woke up, dissheveled, and rushed around to get everyone ready and get out the door. Today we needed to get the car, because E had her first Homeschool Book Club so we were taking the opportunity to run other errands, too. We got J to work, ~~later than I had hoped in my unrealistic fantasies which do not include things like stopping to change diapers and coffee taking 3 minutes to steep in the french press.~~ maybe later than before we had kids, but all things considered in a fairly timely manner. Good thing he has flex hours, and no early morning meetings.

Got J to work, then headed to the mall to look for athletic shoes for the girl, because while strappy sandals are amazing for cuteness with dresses and things, they are not quite as practical for things like running fast, climbing trees, or bike riding. Walked around, ~~bored,~~ fascinated by turned off mall fountains, the big clock in the center of the mall (we practiced telling time), a decoration on the wall, and various indoor plants we encountered. At 9, we realized the store didn’t open for another hour. ~~GAH.~~ Rather than hang around for that long (we’d seen lots of interest at the mall already), we left and had a snack in the car.

Tried to figure out something to do for an hour and a half, then remembered the old golf course across the street from the mall is a park now. ~~No playground equipment or anything though. Hope it doesn’t suck.~~ There was some really interesting stuff there, like signs with information about Coyotes, and what felt oddly like a suburban archaeological dig site. This is where they used to drive the golf carts! That is where you had to pay to be a member or you couldn’t come and pay to eat at the restaurant! Oooh, this would have been the hole to get the golf ball in, and that’s a SAND TRAP. OMG. My car starts making a weird noise that seems associated with the brakes. Ugh. Maybe if I ignore it it’ll go away. ~~But….~~ Yay! It did.

Made it to book club a little early (because I’ve come to terms with the fact that there is no ‘on time’ for me; I’m 20 minutes early, or half an hour late. I am who I am). Had a little snack and read some while waiting for the other families to get there. ~~What will it be like? What if everyone thinks I’m crazy and my kids are ridiculous!? More to the point, what if that’s true??~~ What will the other moms be like? I wonder what kind of homeschooling style they have. Other people are so interesting. And it’s such a relief to hear other people having the same conversations I have hundreds of times a day.

~~Book club went along just fine.~~ Book club was awesome.

We played for a while at the library, my kids dawdling and being angry about leaving the library, just like they didn’t want to leave the park, or the mall, or the car, or our house. I ~~got frustrated and~~ understand transitions are hard, but we have to find a way to not be fighting about this all the time. I said, “we ~~LEAVE PLACES~~ leave places, ok? It’s a thing. If we never left anywhere, we’d never go anywhere. ~~GET USED TO IT~~.”

We tried out a new lunch place. It was good that they have nondairy stuff we can eat, ~~but my kids didn’t want to sit nicely because WATERFALL~~ and there was a really cool waterfall near our table. I spilled my drink all over myself trying to pour it into one of my kids’ waterbottles. ~~Because of course I did.~~ “I deserved that.” I said to the waiter who brought me a napkin. ~~I think he said something back, but I was too distracted finding a crayon under the table.~~ “No you didn’t,” he said, smiling at me. Oh. I guess not.

Lunch was good, but I ordered too much. ~~I’m so wasteful like that, even if we did take it with us and ate it later as a car snack. Why aren’t I better at estimating portions served by restaurants I’ve never been to?~~ E ate the leftovers later in the day. That worked out nicely.

We went to a store nearby to look for shoes, now that it was open. ~~It took forever to walk there because kids have to stop and look at every worm on the sidewalk while I try to get them to JUST COME ON already. We have places to be.~~ We rescued a sand-covered worm from certain death on the sidewalk and returned him to a grassy spot where I assume he lives happily to this day. Related: I held a worm today! And then E was brave enough to try it too! We Kikel ladies are shockingly stereotypical in our silly fear of bugs sometimes. But not today!

After some ~~argument~~ lively discussion, we finally agreed on some ‘sparkletastic’ purple and white athletic shoes that light up when E stomps her feet. ~~As if she needed another reason to stomp her feet all the time.~~ They are purple, because I vetoed the pinkalicious ones on the grounds that they were ten dollars more. I felt the imaginary eyes of progressives around me standing in judgment of the fact that I didn’t convince her to get the Captain America light up shoes instead, but it just didn’t seem worth the fight. And she did seem pretty excited…

E: Mama, I NEEEEED them!

K: Um, try again.

E: Mama, I really WAAANNT them!

K: That, I can respect. They have the features I wanted in a shoe (see above re: running, climbing, biking, price point), and the features she wanted in a shoe (see above re: sparkletastic). I like when it works out like that sometimes. She doesn’t need those shoes to be happy, but it’s really ok for her to enjoy them.

I left my wallet in the cart at Costco. I realized it five minutes after driving away with my children and my groceries. I immediately called the store, drove us all back there, looked all around, left my information at the front desk, and called to cancel my debit card right then (because there is a Best Buy next door to the Costco) and antics ensued. It was embarrassing and tiring and irritating. *Sigh* At least I know where I left it, and canceled my debit card right away. That’s a pain, but it’s not the end of the world, and the magnetic strip didn’t work right anyway, so now I’ll have a working card in 4-7 business days.

We picked up J from his appointment, then found out that our friend is home from the hospital (yay!). Then I looked at my phone and saw that another friend had made a big pot of soup and had texted wanting us to come eat it at her house with her family. We did this (the soup was very delicious!!), and were presented with half of a homemade vegan chocolate layer cake to take home with us. Let me say that again. VEGAN. CHOCOLATE. LAYER. CAKE.
Then we arrived home and ten minutes later a man walking his dog in our neighborhood knocked on our door and handed me my wallet, which he had found in the Costco parking lot five minutes after I dropped it then decided to return to me himself when he investigated and found out that we live a street away from each other. His name is Mike, he has a cool friendly dog, and he was very kind.

All in all, it was a good day. I love my neighborhood, I love my friends, I love my patient husband and children.

~~~~~

March 28, 2014 by Mrs. W

Spirit and Fire and Dew

“You needn’t get in such a fever over it. Do learn to take things calmly, child.”

For Anne to take things calmly would have been to change her nature. All “spirit and fire and dew,” as she was, the pleasures and pains of life came to her with trebled intensity. Marilla felt this and was vaguely troubled over it, realizing that the ups and downs of existence would probably bear hardly on this impulsive soul and not sufficiently understanding that the equally great capacity for delight might more than compensate. Therefore Marilla conceived it to be her duty to drill Anne into a tranquil uniformity of disposition as impossible and alien to her as to a dancing sunbeam in one of the brook shallows. She did not make much headway, as she sorrowfully admitted to herself. The downfall of some dear hope or plan plunged Anne into “deeps of affliction.” The fulfillment thereof exalted her to dizzy realms of delight. Marilla had almost begun to despair of ever fashioning this waif of the world into her model little girl of demure manners and prim deportment. Neither would she have believed that she really liked Anne much better as she was.

Anne of Green Gables, Chapter 22

L. M. Montgomery

It is possible, within one’s own head, to play both Marilla and Anne in the same story. But sometimes trying to pretend to be the sort of person you aren’t can just cause you to just be bad at being the sort of person you are. So the answer, then, lies not in changing our selves, but in learning how to keep stuff from piling up on top of those selves such that they become twisted and obscured until we can’t even recognize them any more.

February 25, 2014 by Mrs. W

Some Thoughts on Christianese

Once upon a time I had this friend at work who identified as Christian. That was cool, because I did too. We would talk about Christian things and had a lot of common ground, and could share a lot about Christian culture, God and people, and other things of that nature. It was nice to have short hand for discussing some of those things. We spoke a lot of Christianese.

I think Christianese is great. It is good and important to have a shared language to talk about things that are important to you. For crying out loud, Klingon can be studied at the Klingon Language Institute in Flourtown, Pennsylvania (I swear I’m not making that up) and as of 2008, about 25,000 Elvish words have been published (okay, Quenya, not Elvish, but I nerdgress). My point is, people come up with shared language to talk about things that they care about with groups of people who care about those things too. And that’s a good thing.

BUT. It’s only useful to a point. Please allow me to illustrate something quite on the other side of that point.

Once upon a time, later, my boss was asking me about one of the ways we live the life of Jesus in the world. It had recently come to her attention that I am Quite Religious (it is worth mentioning that this was only after I’d worked there for 2 years and had been asked repeatedly to talk about my beliefs in ways I preferred not to and so had declined), and so she was asking me what we do. At that time, we had a big family-style dinner at our house every Friday, and people would come. Most of them would be Christians, though not all. It was a chance for us to connect and share and be encouraged by each other because living the life of Jesus in the world can be HARD.

Anyhow, I was explaining all of this to my boss (who is Jewish) in front of my friend. I said most of that and then at some point she rolled her eyes, leaned in front of me, and said “That’s when she has her fellowship time.”

And I realized: oh…she feels like she is explaining something clearly that I am not. Though from the confused look our boss gave her, I would say that was not true.

The point at which Christianese becomes unhelpful is when we are talking to someone who is not part of American Christian Subculture (though arguably, there are many Christianese words that need a thorough redefining for a lot of us if Christians are actually going to do things that Jesus says to do; but that’s another post altogether). If you are discussing atonement, sinfulness, fellowship, sanctification…or any of a number of very important issues, it is important to have a way to talk about those things that will reflect their importance (it is also important to make sure that when you are speaking Christianese you agree or at least are clear about someone else’s definition of a word). But you wouldn’t go into your average local restaurant and try to order in Klingon or Elvish (although if you find a place where you can order in Elvish please let me know because I want to go to there). Or if you did, you probably wouldn’t expect everyone there to know what you were saying. Why? Because that would be nonsensical. Context matters.

It is worth noting that Christians are not the only subculture to come up with a shorthand that leaves other people in the dark. Tech-speak, music speak (classical, jazz, funk, pop, etc….many different ways to talk about music in there), medical jargon, foodie talk, sports-talk; I could think of countless examples. Here’s one.

Soon after J and I got married (or maybe even a little bit before), we were at a family party with a bunch of his relatives when this conversation happened:

Fun Relative: Hey! Good to see you! How are you doing?

J: Fine! You?

FR: Good! Good!……..

J: Did you hear about the decision?

FR: Yes! Oh, man, can you believe that?

J: I know, right?! Well, anyway I think whoever they get in there is going to have a really hard time this season. I mean, look at what happened last year.

FR: That’s a really good point. Hey, I’m going to go get another beer. It was great talking to you!

K: Um, what just happened?

J: What? Oh…we were talking about sports.

K: Yes. That much I got. But what sport? Baseball? Football? Basketball? Were you talking about a coach? A quarterback?

J: I don’t know. Whatever. There’s always some decision that everyone’s upset about, last year was always bad, and we’re always hoping to turn it around this year.

It is useful, then, to be able to recognize when other people are speaking a subculture’s lingo so you can choose to participate, if you know enough words. My husband is one of the best people at this that I’ve ever seen (see above). So having a shared language as a subculture is not the problem, then. Expecting everyone else to speak your lingo and then start agreeing with you about everything is.

January 25, 2014 by Mrs. W

On Modesty, Shaming, and Blaming

So a few months ago, this unfortunate open letter to teenage girls happened. Some people shared it far and wide it to proudly proclaim that their children would never be allowed to whore themselves out in such a way. And then as the backlash hit, the internet was up in a rumpus about it for a while…Jezebel.com and other feminist websites buzzed with snarky, satirical, or rage-filled open letters to Mrs. Hall. Other, kinder voices like Nate Pyle and Kristen Howerton had more helpful things to say. The whole thing upset me more than made sense to me at the time, and after some reflection I realized why.

When I came across another repost of the original Mrs. Hall letter yesterday, I realized it was time to share this part of my story.

I was in college at OSU. I was walking down High Street with my friend eating some Flying Pizza. I maintain that it’s the best pizza around OSU and even though my husband J prefers Adriatico’s, we’ve made it work. But I digress. Sorry. I’m nervous.

Anyway, it was a normal afternoon and I was walking normally when a normal-looking man came walking the other way. This was normal because it’s High Street and thousands of people walk on it everyday. I made brief eye contact and gave a tiny ‘smile-and-nod’ that I’d smiled and nodded at thousands of strangers before, then turned my eyes back forward. As we went to pass each other he stepped in front of me, reached around my pizza, and cupped my left breast. I was so shocked that I froze and we just stood there like that for a few seconds. He stared at me hard. Then he took his hand away and walked a few steps down the street then turned to look at me. I walked quickly away with my friend. We called the police to make a report, but I couldn’t give them many details other than “dark hair, dark eyes.” So that was that.

I don’t talk about this much. I only just told J about it before I went to write this post.

Here’s the thing. I don’t remember much about the man himself. But even now I remember very clearly what I was wearing when it happened: my pink t-shirt with a glow-in-the-dark turtle on it that says Speed Kills. Crew neck and fitted but not too tight. Never too tight. Jeans. Sneakers. Cross necklace.

Why do I remember so exactly what I was wearing that day? Because I worried about it for a long time afterward.

See, I grew up thinking that if I wore the right clothing (read: Modest. Several definitions of this. More about that in a minute), then I wouldn’t be a temptation to the men around me. It was my job to keep their hearts safe from wrongs they might commit when faced with my thighs or side-boob. I felt betrayed by the rules. I had worn what I understood to be appropriately non-sexy clothing. Why didn’t he leave me alone? Maybe my shirt was too tight, and I just didn’t realize it. I don’t remember what he looked like, I just remember thinking each time the modesty issue came up in church for a long while afterward, “Oh, God….was that my fault?”

Let me share that again, in case you missed it. A TOTAL STRANGER WALKED UP TO ME ON THE STREET AND GRABBED MY BREAST AND I COULDN’T IDENTIFY HIM BECAUSE I WAS TOO BUSY WORRYING THAT IT WAS MY FAULT.

Sorry for shouting at you, but this is important. How we express ourselves physically in the world (through dress, hairstyle, makeup, etc.) communicates what we think of ourselves in a significant way, and therefore is a sort of shared language. It is vitally important to kindly and continually have the conversation about what relational responsibilities lay with men and women with respect to each other. But telling girls that they are responsible for what men think about them is more than just false. It’s harmful. I got lucky, relatively speaking. Some perv grabbed my boob. I’ll live. But there are far too many girls who have far worse done to them, and sometimes all that Christian culture seems to have for them is “wear a turtleneck next time”. It’s not good enough.

December 4, 2013 by Mrs. W

A princess worth mentioning: Rosamond

This is an excerpt from my favorite book, The Lost Princess (also titled “The Wise Woman: A Double Story”), by George MacDonald. I don’t think it needs much more explanation than that.

~~~~~

All at once she jumped to her feet, and ran at full speed down the hill and into the wood. She heard howlings and yellings on all sides of her, but she ran straight on, as near as she could judge. Her spirits rose as she ran. Suddenly she saw before her, in the dusk of the thick wood, a group of some dozen wolves and hyenas, standing all together right in her way, with their green eyes fixed upon her staring.

She faltered one step, then bethought her of what the wise woman had promised, and keeping straight on, dashed right into the middle of them. They fled howling, as if she had struck them with fire. She was no more afraid after that, and ere the sun was up she was out of the wood and upon the heath, which no bad thing could step upon and live. With the first peep of the sun above the horizon, she saw the little cottage before her, and ran as fast as she could run towards it, When she came near it, she saw that the door was open, and ran straight into the outstretched arms of the wise woman.

The wise woman kissed her and stroked her hair, set her down by the fire, and gave her a bowl of bread and milk.

When she had eaten it she drew her before her where she sat, and spoke to her thus:– “Rosamond, if you would be a blessed creature instead of a mere wretch, you must submit to be tried.”

“Is that something terrible?” asked the princess, turning white.

“No, my child; but it is something very difficult to come well out of. Nobody who has not been tried knows how difficult it is; but whoever has come well out of it, and those who do not overcome never do come out of it, always looks back with horror, not on what she has come through, but on the very idea of the possibility of having failed, and being still the same miserable creature as before.”

“You will tell me what it is before it begins?” said the princess.

“I will not tell you exactly. But I will tell you some things to help you. One great danger is that perhaps you will think you are in it before it has really begun, and say to yourself, ‘Oh! this is really nothing to me. It may be a trial to some, but for me I am sure it is not worth mentioning.’ And then, before you know, it will be upon you, and you will fail utterly and shamefully.”

“I will be very, very careful,” said the princess. “Only don’t let me be frightened.”

“You shall not be frightened, except it be your own doing. You are already a brave girl, and there is no occasion to try you more that way. I saw how you rushed into the middle of the ugly creatures; and as they ran from you, so will all kinds of evil things, as long as you keep them outside of you, and do not open the cottage of your heart to let them in. I will tell you something more about what you will have to go through.

“Nobody can be a real princess–do not imagine you have yet been any thing more than a mock one–until she is a princess over herself, that is, until, when she finds herself unwilling to do the thing that is right, she makes herself do it. So long as any mood she is in makes her do the thing she will be sorry for when that mood is over, she is a slave, and no princess. A princess is able to do what is right even should she unhappily be in a mood that would make another unable to do it. For instance, if you should be cross and angry, you are not a whit the less bound to be just, yes, kind even–a thing most difficult in such a mood–though ease itself in a good mood, loving and sweet. Whoever does what she is bound to do, be she the dirtiest little girl in the street, is a princess, worshipful, honorable. Nay, more; her might goes farther than she could send it, for if she act so, the evil mood will wither and die, and leave her loving and clean.–Do you understand me, dear Rosamond?”

As she spoke, the wise woman laid her hand on her head and looked–oh, so lovingly!–into her eyes.

“I am not sure,” said the princess, humbly.

“Perhaps you will understand me better if I say it just comes to this, that you must NOT DO what is wrong, however much you are inclined to do it, and you must DO what is right, however much you are disinclined to do it.”

“I understand that,” said the princess.