Fear of Failure
Recently David Brooks published an article in the New York Times speculating that we have set our children up for failure by constantly ensuring them that they will succeed. He pushes this point further and states that this approach to child-rearing has backfired–creating a generation of twenty-somethings who believe they cannot fail no matter what they do. Read more…
Chapter One
Circumstances around me have made me push my writing harder. I always write better when I am under a lot of pressure. Not the kind of pressure that steals your appetite and keeps you awake at night, but the kind that keeps you constantly whispering prayers throughout the day. That kind of pressure is like a drug for my creativity.
Although I am feeling this surge right now, the first chapter of my book still evades me. It is clear to me that the first chapter is the most challenging to write. I have read that some authors actually write the first chapter last, but I desperately need my first chapter now. I have already written a fantastic introduction and I’ve polished chapters 2-7. But chapter 1 is still just below the water’s surface. I can see an outline in the murky green, and it is something great, but what it is exactly is driving me crazy.
Isn’t that how creativity always works though? You know you are on to something original and fantastic when it is something just beyond your grasp. Maybe you can smell it or hear it, but you cannot quite touch it. This first chapter is just as elusive.
Moments ago, I was sitting in my car listening to The Civil Wars’ gorgeous song “The Violet Hour,” searching my heart for the words hiding there. This is what drives writers mad. It’s not writer’s block, which is when you are just empty, instead this is much worse: it is being full of ideas and thoughts but having no words to symbolize our intense feelings. As a writer, I have quickly learned, words are my biggest ally and my biggest enemy. They can haunt me and charm me; devastate and devour. But they are the fruit of my labor, and as we all know this process is the product I am searching for.
Childhood
I think I have aged a lot over the last two years. Aside from the fact that I use eye cream for my fine lines, I’ve become a much calmer person. I’ve focused my energies on a few things in life. I’m more thoughtful, slower to speak, and even slower to act.
I pray that these are the signs of wisdom and not laziness, but really who can tell the difference.
You know you are an adult when you consider buying insurance for everything; when you pay off your credit card bill before it is due, and when you start reading the fine print on everything you sign.
You know you are an adult when you prefer bedtime instead of a nightcap; when you schedule your work outs like you schedule your work; and when you buy a steam cleaner with your Christmas money.
Still, I firmly believe that none of us really reach adulthood. We merely grow to scale with the rest of the world so we can reach the top shelf and drive cars. We are all just fragile and naive children who have learned to take part in a world that is bigger than us. When we reach our twenties we realize that there is no magic switch that is going to flip and turn us into our parents. Time alone does not grant us knowledge.
This is evidence in the fact that some people who are of adult age, do not act like adults. They throw temper tantrums, lie about the silliest things, and seek to serve themselves first. It is a fact: Most of the adults I know are just really responsible kids.
January
If January were a plant, it would be one of those spiky bushes you plant under windows to keep burglars out. If it were a dessert, it would be a bunt cake–stiff, round, and slightly sweet. Read more…
“The Help” by Kathryn Stockett
Last August I perched myself in a beach chair, Kindle in hand, and started to look for my next good novel. I scanned the New York Times best seller list for some inspiration and found a title that drew me in: “The Help” by Kathryn Stockett. At that moment it began to rain. I grabbed my beach bag, threw my Kindle in, and ran for shelter.
When I got settled inside I realized in my exit I had purchased “The Help” instead of getting the sample–in hindsight, a great decision. I have to admit, it took me a while to get through “The Help,” about five weeks, because I read it slowly, in the bathtub mostly.
“The Help” is set in Jackson, Mississippi. A place I know well–only an afternoon drive from the rural piece of Arkansas that I call home. My father is a native of Mississippi, and I visit often to see my grandparents. I love a setting close to home. Stockett’s characters live in the early sixties–which again enthralls me because I’m obsessed with Mad Men. The imagery is easy. Gorgeous Cadillacs, pious, proud white women, and beautiful cotton fields on the outskirts of Jackson.
The main characters are Skeeter Phelan, an Ole Miss grad, hopeful writer; Minnie, a back-talking, firy maid for a Marilyn Monroe wannabe; and Aibelene a matronly caregiver and maid to Skeeter’s best friend Elizabeth. The narrative switches back and forth between these three characters while continuing on a constant timeline. Skeeter applies for a job at Harper Rowe in New York, without any real experience in writing she conceives an idea that will surely begin her writing career–a nonfiction narrative detailing stories from black maids in Jackson. Skeeter wants to discuss their life’s work as a caregiver to white children and families, exploring the dissonance the maids experience as they are treated as inferiors, yet have an integral role in the white family.
Personally, I related so much to Skeeter who invests her life in a dream that is unlikely, and risks everything including her family’s reputation to see it become a reality. She works on this secret book that she knows will either be a lot of nothing or a huge something in the end. Skeeter also feels type casted as the white girl, but she has all of these progressive ideas about racism and feminism. She’s a square peg in a round hole.
Stockett carries the story well, there are no lags, and every piece of Southern history and tradition is true to the core. Honestly, Stockett’s diction is nothing extraordinary, but she does have these moments where you read a sentence and think: “That is so true; I’ve never thought of it like that before.” Insight is the true talent of an author.
My advice to you–buy this book on purpose and enjoy it’s rich content and hearty characters. Read it slowly and learn something about the race riots in the South and how relationships between whites and blacks, particularly in the South, have evolved and still evolve today. It’s hopeful, honest, and insightful.
Hate the Hate
I thought by moving away from the Midwest I could escape racism, intolerance, and narrow-minded thinking. But I have learned that ignorance and hate is everywhere. Hearing derogatory and offensive comments about poor people and minorities makes me hate ”white culture.” I hate it so much it hurts.
The other day a colleague of mine told a story about how she got lost downtown and she was surrounded by black people. And in her words “they were not nice ones.” Ones. She called them ones. It was so disturbing. And I didn’t say anything. I felt I couldn’t. She’s my superior. And I thought: this is what happens when we become isolated in our gated communities. We forget that not everyone lives like we do. We forget there are other cultures and other ways to do life.
I pray that I never become so calloused and cold. So hateful, and deceptively nonchalant about all of it. Just like I struggle with being cynical about the church, I struggle not to hate the white society I was raised in. But I do. I hate how we are afraid of the “black parts of town.” And how we make jokes about chicken wings and hot sauce. And how we laugh at ebonics or a truck full of immigrant workers.
And I pray that my daughter is never forced to listen to someone belittle another person’s culture or struggle. I pray my children are compassionate and kind and gracious. And I pray that one day I will have the courage to tell someone it is not okay to casually refer to a group of people as “ones.”
Precious
Last night I watched the film “Precious.” I have wanted to watch it since it came out, but Loren refused. He’s so affected by weighty films. I think it is because he is truly a realist. He can’t seem to shake heaviness once he is exposed. But last night he was out-of-town, so I decided it was a good night to stay in and watch it.
If you haven’t seen the film, it’s about a young, black girl, pregnant with her second child, who is coping with domestic abuse, poverty, and a gross deficiency in her education. But still it is a great movie. Hopeful? Not quite. Triumphant? Definitely.
Watching it made me so aware of reality and why it is important to have a good dose every once in a while. The scriptures say that Jesus was a man of many sorrows, and that we are supposed to carry death in our bodies as a reminder of life. And that is what this movie does–it reminds you of death. It instills in you, once again, a burden for brokenness.
I think Christ wants us to be aware of lack and brokenness because it changes our perspective. I was sharing with a co-worker about how the movie affected me, and why she should watch it. She asked me what I was going to do about it–like was I motivated to get involved and volunteer? But honestly, I didn’t walk away thinking I would tutor underprivileged kids. I finished the movie and I felt a piece of the weight Christ must have felt for the lost, lonely, broken and abused. I remembered again what compassion feels like and how compassion acts.
Substance
I always get stuck on that verse in John that says we should be “in the world, but not of it.” I actually think about it a lot; what does that mean exactly? Christine Caine says that many Christians are of the world, but not in it. Meaning they are selfish, deceitful, and greedy like the world, but they have set themselves apart as Christians. They are of the world, made from the same substance, but removed from it.
So what does it mean to be the other way around? My friend emailed me recently about this idea. She wrote about how she knows her faith permeates everything she does, but she isn’t vocal about it at work. Oddly enough, she doesn’t quote scripture to her co-workers or lay hands on them when they aren’t well. She wants her co-workers and colleagues to know that she is a person of faith, but without being annoying and intrusive, how does she communicate that? She went on to write about how it takes so much effort to be a Christian without saying it–letting your actions speak louder than your words.
I’ve always believed that before we can impact people, we have to invest in their lives. When Loren and I were dating in college, this older classmate approached us in the hallway at school to give us his advice on “staying pure before marriage.” It was so awkward. My face turned bright red with embarrassment. I was mortified that this stranger (with good intentions) approached us and started talking about this topic. He hadn’t invested in my life, and it made for a VERY uncomfortable five minutes.
People will be more receptive to what you have to say if you show them before you say it. As with everything in life, it is not so much about what you believe, but more about who you are. It’s hard to repel someone when you stand for kindness, love, gentleness, understanding, and hope. But it is easy to offend someone when you are vocal about something they don’t understand or welcome.
As Christians, I think we have done a really bad job of branding ourselves as pushy weirdos. In my office, there are a couple of people who have succeeded in doing this, then I ( a mostly non-weird Christian) am left to deal with the stigma. I feel that there is a move now, especially among young, progressive Christians to rebrand ourselves as being in the world, but not of it. Present in popular culture, but made from a different substance.
In our efforts to connect with a broken world, we cannot ignore that we are of a different mold. We are new creations walking around in frail vessels. We can’t remove this element of mysticism from the equation, or we are robbing the gospel of its’ grace and mercy. The story of Christ is incredibly weird when you look at it from a distance, and even up close sometimes I think it is bizarre.
How is it possible that all of my transgressions can be forgiven? How is it possible for me to live a life that I don’t deserve? How is it possible that one man/God could redeem me from the curse of the law? And how do I manage to communicate this very spiritual existence to those who are spiritually dead?
The Pill
Disclaimer: I usually do not blog about isolating topics like birth control, but hopefully my thoughts here will create a dialogue about an important topic. Here. we. go . . .
Months ago I started to reconsider my birth control. I was taking the pill, Orthotricyclen to be exact. And although it was fine, I was haunted by the idea that one tiny pill separated me from a life of mom jeans, day care, and burp cloths. Loren and I have been married for nearly two years, and still we’d like to wait a few more before we have kids.
So I went to my doctor and asked all the important questions. What else can we do? This brought to light how very ignorant I was and, mildly, am about birth control. My doctor recommended that I consider a copper IUD (Intrauteran Device). It sounded like a miracle, no hormones, no thinking, good for several years. I was elated about this option. That night I had a little video chat with my mom about the topic. And the first thing out of her mouth was: ”IUDs cause abortions.”
Really, mom? Really? Abortions?
The sad part of the story is that my mom is not a stupid person. She is informed and thoughtful. This really bothered me, so I did some research. It turns out that all birth control pills, IUDs, and other hormonal controls work the same way. They all try to prevent ovulation. When they don’t succeed, they create a hostile environment so a fertilized egg cannot implant to the wall of the uterus. That was what my mother considered abortion.
Loren and I stressed about this for months. What was a good option? What do we believe about conception? When does life begin? We are not new to these topics. We have been self-proclaimed pro-lifers for a long time. We don’t have bumper stickers on our cars, and we don’t hate planned parenthood, but we do believe life is sacred and should be treated that way during every stage, not just the beginning.
It seemed that through all the research, no one was speaking with a pure voice. I couldn’t find a single Christian source that provided detailed research and information about safe birth control options. A shame. The most informative and straight forward source I found was actually planned parenthood. It made me realize there is a huge gap here. Women, just like my mother, have blindly been taking the pill for years and passing judgement on other forms of birth control. Seriously, they think that one is holier than the other.
There are so many layers to this argument and sides to this polygon.
Through all the stress and effort of trying to decide what is best I realized this one simple thing that I didn’t know before: this isn’t supposed to be easy. We aren’t supposed to take lightly the fact that we carry the potential for life around in our bodies. We are supposed to be thoughtful and intentional with the way we are intimate. I never realized it required this much thought, deciding how to prevent pregnancy, but it does and it should.
Still, I had to visit my doctor this week because the latest round of whatever she put me on isn’t going well. I asked her about Natural Family Planning and she wasn’t too informative. However, the more I read, the more I am intrigued. I don’t want to be on hormones anymore. I want to understand my body and be present in the conversation of contraception. I don’t think I want to just take a pill anymore.
So who wants to start this conversation? I’m incredibly hesitant, but is there an informed Christian source out there that doesn’t have an agenda? So still, I will search and research. Please feel free to post your thoughts, biases, and comments below.
Slow and Earnest
Someone I know from college just updated his Facebook status letting everyone know he landed a book deal on his novel.
This brings me so much hope. It is possible. It does happen.
I used to think being a writer would be a cake job. And I’m ashamed to say I blogged about how awesome it would be to sit around in my pajamas and write all day. Now I know if you intend to be great at anything, it will require more than you have to offer. Over and over again. I keep reminding myself that I have little time on my writing resume. December will mark my two-year anniversary of my blog. When you think about it two years of practicing a craft is nothing but a small seed.
I talk a lot about living a big, full life, but I’m surprised by how many of my cohorts aren’t doing the things they dreamed of. It is far too easy for our generation to put our heads down and work. We find confidence in a title, an office, and a paycheck . I confess, the temptation to pursue the practical instead of the fantastic is more overwhelming everyday.
I keep reminding myself that success early on isn’t good for your character. I don’t want to be able to say that I was an instant hit or that writing this book was the easiest thing I’ve ever done. I want my skills to be sustainable and polished slowly by earnest work and diligence.
To all of you out there who volunteered to read chapters and offer your feedback, I really appreciate it. Your perspective has been invaluable. I confess I haven’t been writing as avidly as I should, just snippets here and there. I’m in a hole right now, but I’m starting to wiggle my way out.
