tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37058653936692706872024-03-12T17:09:32.614-07:00Ramblings of a RagamuffinMy attempt at writing to change the world.Just Another Ragamuffinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05832727556637679623noreply@blogger.comBlogger13125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3705865393669270687.post-30274907624105810622016-08-16T19:33:00.003-07:002016-08-16T20:44:33.603-07:00One Wild and Precious Life<br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">I'm sitting here, trying not to think about fact that my arms
are on fire. If they burn this bad right now, how bad is tomorrow going to be!?
This is the result of me attending my first boxing class tonight. Learning to
box is something I’ve had on my brain for the past two years, but I’ve always
found a reason not to do it. </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">It’s too
much money. I can’t find a place that isn’t a hard core boxing gym. I’m too fat
to keep up with the class. That gym is too far away.</span></i><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;"> The excuses go on and
on and on and on… that is… until late Sunday night, lying in bed playing on my
phone, I googled “womens boxing in the twin cities” for the millionth time, and
this time, I found it: Pink Gloves Boxing. As I started reading their website,
I felt an all too familiar feeling rise up in me: </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">fear</span></i><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">. The second I felt it, I knew I’d be boxing this week. </span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">Let me back this train up to last September. Late one night
my friend Katie called me to break some terrible news. My friend Ryan’s wife,
Kate, had passed away unexpectedly in her sleep. Kate was 31. A mom of two
small kids. A woman who I followed on social media, and respected, because she
was one of the few Christians in my peripheral who didn’t drive me crazy with
her love for Jesus. And as quickly as she was posting photos of her day adventures
with her two children, she was gone. Just like that. I didn’t really feel much
at first, but knew I need to fly home for the funeral regardless. During her
funeral, I found myself feeling something I did not expect to feel; I was
jealous. Not because I myself wanted to die, but rather because this girl had </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">lived.</span></i><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;"> Story after story was told about this
magnificent woman’s life, and I couldn’t help but feel envious. And then it
struck me: </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">I was jealous of someone who
was not even alive anymore</span></i><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">. I knew, sitting in that church on that weekend,
that something needed to drastically change in my life. </span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">Three weeks later I quit my job at the college I was working
at. I had been unhappy for some time, and I knew that staying in such a toxic
environment wasn’t good for me. What I didn’t realize at the time was how much
damage it had already done to my soul. I worked in an office where people weren’t
very kind and I was worked to my max every single day and paid less than a
social worker’s wage to do it. Not everyone was mean, but quite a few made me
feel in subtle and overt ways like there was something wrong with me.
Literally, in my going away card, someone actually wrote “although it may not have
seemed like it, I enjoyed working with you”. When the team was asked to share
something they liked about me during one of my last days, two people didn't say anything and one said they liked “my hair”. Forget the </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">countless hours </span></i><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">I had spent trying to help underrepresented
students afford college, my hair is what this person found of value in me. Although
some said very nice things about me, I heard the things others didn’t say about
me louder than the things that they did. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">So I started my new job, and although I don’t love it, the
people there were starkly different. They were warm and caring and thought I
was a good worker. It felt weird to have people ask how my weekend was; to hear
stories about their kids and families and lives. I knew right away I made the
right decision to jump ship, but I could </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">so</span></i><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">
</span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">clearly </span></i><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">see the damage that had been
done. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">I had left one job in order to create a life I wanted, the
life that Kate had lived… a life on purpose. I quickly learned this new job was
</span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">not</span></i><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;"> going to provide that for me, yet
in the same breath, I knew that God had me there for a specific reason.
Annoying how he does that. I decided instead to make the most of my non-working
hours. A question had stuck with me from something I read once in a poem:</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious
life?</span></i></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">So I decided to start living my one wild and precious life.
At first, it was making date nights more special, weekends more fun. It slowly
morphed into getting out of the house more, getting the bikes out, going for
rides. I had drastically changed my diet, and was starting to feel better, so I
decided to dip my toe into something active: I asked David to go paddle boating
with me. It’s funny how something as simple has paddle boating can make a grown
woman scared to death. I was afraid I was too heavy for the paddle boat. Guess what? I
wasn’t. It went just fine. So next, I kayaked with my friend Nichole in a double kayak. Again, I
was so afraid I would be too heavy for the kayak. But guess what? I wasn’t.
Then David and I went to the batting cages. Again, I was too afraid that it had
been too long since I’d swung a bat, and everyone there would laugh at me and
judge me. Guess what? They didn’t. I hit damn near every ball. This past
weekend we went on a ten mile bike ride, and I didn’t die. I then kayaked in a
single kayak after the bike ride (again, I was </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">still</span></i><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;"> worried I’d be too heavy for it), and I didn’t sink the boat.
This leads me to boxing. It’s one thing to tool around in a kayak, it’s another
to go to a boxing</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">class. A 50 minute
class I can’t control the pace of? And I can’t leave or stop when I want? And
did I mention its BOXING; one of the most bad ass things ever? I’m not bad ass!
But I’ve learned that living in a place of fear, is not really living. Living
in fear means I create limits for myself that are far too small for someone who
wants a life on purpose. So, I drove an hour in Uptown traffic (I hate you Uptown!) on a rainy night
and worked my ass out. I now can’t feel my arms and I’ve never felt more
exhilarated.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">So thank you Kate, for inspiring me. I’m sorry it took you
leaving us way too soon for this to happen, but please know that I think about
you every single day, and I am learning from the example your life set. Thank you
for loving Jesus in a way that actually looked like love. Thank you for loving
my friend Ryan. And thank you for encouraging me to live my life on purpose and without fear.</span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Just Another Ragamuffinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05832727556637679623noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3705865393669270687.post-58280240397043050482013-10-03T09:10:00.001-07:002014-09-25T14:22:41.564-07:00The Beautiful and Hard Discipline of Being MarriedThis week David and I are celebrating our two year wedding anniversary. I found it fitting that on our drive up to the North Shore, I was reading this blog I read from time to time called "Momastery", and she talked about marriage being hard. Beautiful, but hard. Which prompted me to write about my own feelings on marriage. <br />
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If any of you know me or have spent any time remotely with me over the last two years, I've made it no secret that I find marriage to be incredibly difficult. Think about it. You take two people, who are going to be different from each other no matter who you marry, and stick them in the same living space and say, "Okay, now figure out how to live together, plan your time together, manage family dynamics different from your own together, financially support yourselves with no outside help, split up the household chores in an equitable way, and oh yeah, love each other to the point of sacrificial love. Try not kill each other in the process." Whhhaaattt!!!??? <br />
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So being the person I've decided I want to be, sincerely committed to openness and honesty, I've been pretty transparent about how hard I find this process. More with some than with others, and that's mostly because of the reactions I get from people. I think people have this idea that marriage is meant to make you happy (probably explains why the divorce rate is so high; the second you aren't happy anymore, it stops working for you). I think happiness is a by-product of marriage, absolutely, but I believe marriage, for me at least, was meant to teach me how to be better. A better person, a better friend, a better everything. And any kind of growth, for me at least, is hard. SUPER hard. Growth means being stretched, and it's not always easy and it's not always fun. It's always <em>always</em> good, but it's hard. <br />
<br />
That being said, I'm always surprised when people respond to my narrative about the difficulty of being married with surprise and confusion. I've heard it all from "how did you end up together?", to "oh that's so sad, you're in the honeymoon phase!". The list of judgmental reactions goes on and on. And then on some more. <br />
<br />
So I guess I'm writing this because I wanted to let others know, if you feel like your marriage doesn't look like the ones you've seen on tv or the one others are telling you you're supposed to have: <em>that's okay.</em> Expect it to be hard. Good things, anything worth having, can be really hard to achieve, and takes work. REALLY hard and difficult work, but beautiful and meaningful work. We put in the work because eventually, it will pay off. It may take a while, but you'll see. I mean hey, I'm celebrating two years aren't I? ;) <br />
<br />
Here an excerpt from the blog I mentioned in the first paragraph. The author's name is Glennon Doyle Melton, and she writes at her blog <a href="http://momastery.com/blog">momastery.com/blog</a>. It's people like her that give me the freedom to speak my truth. I hope by doing so, others don't feel so alone. <br />
<br />
<em>I talk about my flailing marriage because (and a year ago I’d have ripped your well-meaning head off if you’d predicted this to me) the truth is that my marriage had to be shattered before it could be pieced back together. My marriage was like a busted arm that The Doctor had to re-break before it could heal right. A year ago- it all fell apart. Yes it did. And I about died. But now. Just a year later – my marriage is excruciating and real and true and deep and GORGEOUS for the first time. For the very first time. It also still sucks. It hurts and burns and refuses to leave me in peace – like every crucible does. But damned if all that discomfort didn’t turn out to be the good stuff. Like the Velveteen Rabbit – maybe neither people nor marriages become Real until the shine and newness rubs off and they look ugly and worn out to the rest of the world but real and soft and comforting and lovely to the one who holds them. </em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em>This past year has been a special slice of hell for me and Craig- and I never, ever thought it would get better. I had no outward hope for a long while– but I kept showing up, and so did Craig. We kept fiercely and relentlessly showing up. We did NOT commit to each other this past year. We individually committed to the Spiritual Practice of Showing Up.</em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em>And last week I looked at Craig and thought- Holy SHIT. I think I love him. For the first time. For the first time - I respect the hell out of this man. It took a year of tears and faith and sweat and therapy and prayer and more tears and it will always be hard. It will always be hard and that’s okay. We have proved to our kids and ourselves that We Can Do Hard Things.</em><br />
Just Another Ragamuffinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05832727556637679623noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3705865393669270687.post-34860560790601592552013-09-19T18:40:00.002-07:002013-09-19T18:41:00.125-07:00Social Media, How I Loathe TheeSometimes, I just hate facebook.<br />
<br />
I know you know what I'm talking about. It's everyone's way to engage in what many call "image management". It's our way of controlling the way the rest of the world see us: our marriages, our careers, our families, our friendships.... the list goes on and on. We project to the world the person we want others to see. And you know what? I hate it. Get that instagram filtered picture of your dinner or feet on the beach out of my newsfeed, please.<br />
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Another reason I hate facebook? Religious facebook statuses. Ugh. If I have to read another bible verse posed as am ambiguous status about what the person is going through, I'm going to barf. But more than that, it's made me realize how radically different I am than a lot of people I used to associate with, and that makes me sad.<br />
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Facebook has also become the place where we fight about social and political happenings, post photos with "social facts" written across them (like the people on welfare should be drug tested and post this if you agree blah blah blah), and generally just fight with one another by commenting on stuff. Hiding behind the computer screen in an attempts to connect and be correct, when really, it's pushing me further away from connection most days.<br />
<br />
But then I have days like today.<br />
<br />
I have a WONDERFUL friend from college who has recently started reevaluating his religion, or should I say, the way he was practicing religion. Daniel Koons (love you man!) has been posting all kinds of intriguing articles, and stepping out facebook style to share with us the changes he's going through with how he's interacting with his faith and his God. I've never felt more close to Daniel, and we are thousands of miles away from each other.<br />
<br />
And then there is Ben. He's been dealing with underemployment for over a year, and has been brave enough to share his family's struggles via facebook with us. When David lost his job? I didn't feel so alone. I'll admit, some days I'd revert back to being jealous of the progress it seems my friends are making, but for the most part? I'd think of Ben, and I'd know somewhere out there, someone else got it.<br />
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And then there is Amanda. A friend from Middle School who I totally lost touch with over the years, and now she blogs about being a mom. Not the warm fuzzy "look at how cute my baby is" crap, but the "oh dear God I just locked my kid in the car" kind of crap. I'm not even a mom and I can't help but feel a total connection with her, even though we haven't spoken in years and I think kids are generally gross and sticky.<br />
<br />
So to those of you who dare to be open and honest about who you are: thank you. You people are the reason why I don't totally deactivate my facebook and swear off social media. You bring what I believe facebook is attempting to foster: connectedness over distance. You share your stories, good and bad, so that authentic soul connections can actually happen. Thank you. Just Another Ragamuffinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05832727556637679623noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3705865393669270687.post-19774851016700900472013-05-07T17:40:00.000-07:002013-05-07T17:40:15.577-07:00The Sweet Spot<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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This blog post has been a long time coming. I’ve been
thinking on some things over the past few months; stewing on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">something</i>, but I wasn’t quite sure
exactly what it was that had me so restless. I just knew whatever it was, I
wanted to write it down. </div>
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<br /></div>
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And today is that day. Today is the day I write down what’s
been brewing in me for the last few months, and here is it:</div>
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<br /></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I like who I am.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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How many of us can really say that? And better yet, actually
mean it? I feel like for so long, I’ve felt like I’ve been suffering from the
“imposter” syndrome. You know, where you’re old enough to be working a “real”
job but still young enough to feel like you’re “playing adult”. Like, you keep
hoping no one figures out that you really don’t know exactly what you’re
talking about, and for the most part, you feel like you’re playing dress up
when it comes to work and life as an adult. You keep wondering how long it will
take for the other people at the table to realize you <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">so</i> do not belong there. </div>
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<br /></div>
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I remember the first time I felt this way. It was my first
year in graduate school, and my boss at the time (Patty) brought me to a
planning session in the Twin Cities of about 5-6 people from various colleges
in Minnesota; we called ourselves “The Partnership for Safer Communities
Consortium”. It was a group of head honchos from higher education and the
Department of Corrections, and our goal was to find ways to continue providing
higher educational opportunities to incarcerated students. Funding was running
out, and our programs were at risk of closing down. And all I could think was,
“Do they know I don’t belong here? That I am pinching myself as I sit here
because I can’t believe I’m even in this room right now? Who said that I had<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> any</i> kind of insight to provide on this
huge, important topic of social justice? Do they really think that I, a twenty
two year old grad student, can change social fabric in this state I’ve lived in
for 6 months!?”</div>
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<br /></div>
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And thank God for Patty who brought me to that meeting,
because she saw something in me that I certainly did not see. She saw the
potential and drive that I brought to my work, and she showed me that although
I was young, what I had to say was important. That my thoughts were valuable
and meaningful. <u>That I had every opportunity to change my world, even if it
didn’t seem like I had the power to do so.</u></div>
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<br /></div>
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And seven years later, I’ve presented at national
conferences with her, contributed to a published textbook on emerging
technologies in higher education, and been adjunct faculty at the second
largest school in Minnesota, teaching incarcerated men in a level four security
prison.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve started educational
programs on my own, and quite frankly, made shit happen in regards to serving
unprivileged students in Minnesota and beyond.</div>
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<br /></div>
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So you know what? I like who I am. I like who I’ve become,
and I no longer feel like an imposter. My experiences and what I think, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">matters.</i> Do I still have a long way to
go? Absolutely. Just ask my new boss; I feel like I know nothing there. But I
don’t care. Because I’ll learn. Not knowing doesn’t make me any less valuable
of a member of our team, because like everything else in my life, I’ll give it
everything I have. Why? Because I know <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">why
</i>I’m here. My focus is on helping students change their lives through
education. Nothing else matters to me except that fact. I don’t care if I don’t
know all the answers today; I’ll figure them out. I don’t care if people think
I’m crazy because of how much I work with students on stuff they “should know”
or “be able to figure out on their own”. I do what I know is right, and that’s
enough for me. It’s an awesome feeling, to finally be comfortable with who you
are and what you believe enough to stand behind it even if the world thinks
you’re crazy. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Boo-yah.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1xqIR33pKlrwOLQPLJ8QDUnFlwnOhDYf2-BykJphhnAgt6xheKkKE_8EHuJenBLnHYE6CAVQc-5QbcjYBqC3pqa8ezuwwS3OCUy6FT644cXTBg4__nVmerYNVn6H02AB-OD0mJY75z2E/s1600/0dc24ff335a353f8ea7d517c4bc80380.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1xqIR33pKlrwOLQPLJ8QDUnFlwnOhDYf2-BykJphhnAgt6xheKkKE_8EHuJenBLnHYE6CAVQc-5QbcjYBqC3pqa8ezuwwS3OCUy6FT644cXTBg4__nVmerYNVn6H02AB-OD0mJY75z2E/s400/0dc24ff335a353f8ea7d517c4bc80380.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Just Another Ragamuffinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05832727556637679623noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3705865393669270687.post-22460640016021232972012-12-11T10:59:00.002-08:002012-12-11T20:37:17.556-08:00It's Not About Me** You're going to read me swearing in here. If that offends you, please do not read. It is my attempt to stay true to what I was/am feeling, and I won't give that up.**<br />
<br />
Let me start out by saying this year has been hell. Absolute hell.<br />
<br />
It was our first year of marriage, so David and I dealt with all that comes with two people, who are used to being pretty self-serving, joining our lives together. Add to that some pretty nasty medical issues for both of us, David commuting an hour to school each way every day (and us not being able to afford it), David graduating and being in the job search, him ending his military service of eight years, the list goes on. And on. And on. And then, on Valentine's Day of this year, comes the bomb of all bombs.<br />
<br />
My position at the college I worked for was going to be eliminated.<br />
<br />
Funding cuts. Federal government issues. Just my position, no one else. I don't care who you are or what you believe, but just because Obama was/is in office, doesn't mean us government workers don't feel the pain of budget cuts. People who need help (what you might call "entitlement programs", which yes, I believe people should be entitled to an education) ARE having their programs cut, and I am living proof of that reality. <br />
<br />
This came at a time where I was the only one in our new little family that had a job. And even then, we'd been dipping into our savings every month in order to get by on one paycheck. David would be graduating in three months, but still. We had until May for both of us to find jobs, in this economy. Awesome.<br />
<br />
And then yay! March hit, and David was offered a job working in commercial real estate appraisal. Two full months before he graduated. Being offered employment before you graduate RARELY happens. So what that it meant he would be adding an hour to an already two hour a day commute in order to work part time and go to school? We knew the money for gas was worth the beauty of having one of us with a secured job. We could dig a little deeper into our pockets to make it work.<br />
<br />
And then bam! My second to last day at my college, I was offered a position at a new college, closer to home, same federal program. We had money! We could pay off our credit card, actually make a dent in my student loans, maybe even save for a house (that most days seems so far away...).<br />
<br />
But then, I got in the new job, and from day one, it became starkly apparent this was not right. I won't go into details, because I don't think it's fair, but the job was not a good fit for me emotionally, professionally, and physically. The amount of stress I endured during my time there made my physical ailments worse, and I became, lets just say it, a royal bitch at home. Sure we had money and health insurance, but I was miserable. So I toyed with the idea of quitting. But how can you do that!? How can you quit a job in <i>this</i> economy, with no back up? Every person in my life told me I was crazy, to stick it out until I found something else, who cares if you screw over that program by quitting out of the blue, focus on yourself. But something inside me said that option, wasn't really an option for me. For my health, for my sanity, for the sake of the program who needed a permanent person in there, I couldn't stay. And then my friend Mike Matthis (love you!) posted this quote on his facebook:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>"The opposite of faith is not doubt, it's certainty." - Anne Lamott</i></div>
<a class="leftAlignedImage" href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7113.Anne_Lamott"><br /></a>
<br />
<div class="quoteText">
<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7113.Anne_Lamott"></a>
</div>
And that was it. I followed my heart, I stepped out in faith, and I quit my job.<br />
<br />
And you know what? Following your heart and stepping out in faith feels pretty awesome. For about a day. Then it sucks. It kicks in that you forfeited your health insurance for you and your husband. You are putting your student loans in deferment. Coupon clipping <i>even more</i> than you already did. Dipping into your dwindling savings again. And you apply to <i>any job</i> you can get your hands on, only to be told "no" after nine interviews in one month. <br />
<br />
Which left me with a thought that is the reason behind this whole blog entry. Where the hell was God? Seriously?! What the fuck? <br />
<br />
I've never really questioned whether God was real and personal. Jesus, yes, many questions there, many that still linger. But God? Nope. Never. Until now. All the canned Christian answers kept coming into my head:<br />
<br />
"God's got a plan"<br />
"He's in control even if if doesn't feel like it" <br />
"He's got something better for you"<br />
"He's teaching you to trust Him"<br />
<br />
Well pardon my french, but fuck that. Seriously, <i>fuck that</i>. If this was "God's Plan", to make me sick to my stomach, crying every day, take away my job, that I loved, only to place me in another one that was not right, then He's a pretty messed up God. What an absolutely shitty way to bring about your plan.What a convoluted way to make me follow and trust you. How sadistic. I wanted nothing of it, and it became clear real quick this idea of God could not be congruent with a God <i>I wanted </i>to believe exists, a loving God who cares for me; so I started questioning whether God was real at all. Because I couldn't, in my head, make logical sense of why all of this was happening. A hiccup or two here or there, fine, but <i>all of this!</i> That's just messed up. <br />
<br />
And then last Monday, Augsburg College called me. Let's back this train up real quick; I applied to a job there <i>twice </i>this year, only to make it to the top three the first time, and then the top two the second time, and then get turned down. This job would have answered so many questions for me. It's a short walk to my doctor (who is a specialist, so I need her), five minutes from my house, in financial aid (an area I've felt for a while I would thrive in), and who's mission statement, that serving your world is not an option, but a command from God, I could wholeheartedly get on board with. So when I was rejected, there was no bigger "f-you" slap in the face, and it felt like it was from God. The final "sorry babe, but you're not getting any answers or help here".<br />
<br />
So when they called me, I was shocked. They asked me if I was still interested in working there, because they had another position open, and they wanted to bring me in based off my interview this past summer. If the meetings I had set up went well, they'd offer me the job.<br />
<br />
And guess what? This past Friday, I was made an offer of employment at Augsburg College. Starting January 2nd, I'm their newest Student Financial Services Counselor.<br />
<br />
Yay! Right? I'm so happy, and so relieved, and so at peace with what's coming up in my life. But I didn't know where this left me with my thoughts and feelings on God. Because, let's face it, all the shit I've had happen this year, still happened. There was no need to go through this; if Augsburg was where I was meant to be, why not stick me there this past April when I applied the first time and be done with it? I really didn't know where that left me.<br />
<br />
And then, at Mr. Mike Matthis' suggestion, I picked up Anne Lamott's book "Traveling Mercies: Thoughts on Faith" and started reading it about two days ago. She's a fantastic writer, authentic in every way. It's her authenticity and desire to be raw and honest that finally led me to a bit of truth about God and faith:<br />
<br />
It's not about me.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<i>"It turned out that this man worked for the Dalai Lama. And he said - gently- that they believe when a lot of things start going wrong all at once, it is to protect something big and lovely that is trying to get itself born - and that this something needs for you to be distracted so that it can be born as perfectly as possible."</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
When I first read that I thought, "Yeah, okay. I bet." Like, it's someone grasping at explaining the problem of pain, to relieve the cognitive dissonance they have about what's going on. Been there, done that. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
But I haven't been able to shake this idea. What if, this year wasn't really about me. Without saying too much, the department I'll be working for at Augsburg has had a challenging year of transition. The two other individuals that were hired the first two times I applied had more experience than me. At the time, the fact that <i>that</i> was why I wasn't getting hired, really pissed me off. You can teach someone how to do a job, you can't teach people <i>how to work with and care about people, </i>which I know I have that quality in spades. But after hearing more about all the transition they've had this year, it's a good thing they hired those two people with that experience, because those two have already been moved around and given more responsibilities than originally intended. What if, God was working on something, bigger than me, and I just needed to wait for my turn? Maybe? This whole time I'd been wondering "why me?" when really the question I should have been asking was "why?"</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I think that's where I'm at with everything at this point. I'm back to thinking there is indeed a God (yay!), but the above is the best explanation I can come up with for this year. And I guess for me, that's good enough. It's my time to be happy, so I'm done trying to figure it all out. Time to rest in the fact that we were provided for, and that we are about to embark on another new journey. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
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I wrote this, in a way, to let God know that I get it. I would say I'm sorry, but I don't know if that's what He requires. I felt how I felt, and I believe I was allowed that. But I also write this for anyone else out there who feels like lately, they just can't seem to catch a break. For those who've allowed themselves to really ask the difficult questions of "why". Allowed themselves to go beyond what "they should be believing" as a person of faith, and have the courage to really challenge what the hell is going on. It's <i>okay</i> to do that. But also know, perhaps God is working on something else, something that has nothing to do with you, and for now, that's all you need to know. </div>
<br />Just Another Ragamuffinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05832727556637679623noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3705865393669270687.post-68493625393110292952012-08-27T11:07:00.004-07:002012-10-08T10:13:06.660-07:00Why I’m choosing to vote “No” on Minnesota’s Marriage Amendment this November<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Disclaimer: I’m not writing this to open up discussion. In fact, unless you are still undecided on how you want to vote, and want to talk about that, please do not comment on this at all. I am not looking to start a debate, not looking to hear why I am wrong, or to hear “the devil’s advocate position”. I’ve been thinking about/struggling over this topic for years, and this is what I have come to for <em>myself.</em> So please, only continue reading if you are sincerely interested in hearing my thoughts, not to try to propose your own. I have disabled comments, and if email me your thoughts, I will delete them before reading them.</span><br />
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This Sunday, David and I went to the Minnesota State Fair. Upon entering the gates, I was stopped by someone with a clipboard. She didn’t waste much time, just got straight to the point, <br />
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Clipboard Lady: “What is your opinion on same-sex marriage?”<br />
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Why hello! Welcome to the fair. My response was almost as abrupt as her question, <br />
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Me: “I support it.”<br />
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Clipboard Lady: “Can you tell me why?” <br />
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To be honest, this is the first time someone has ever asked me why I support it. Normally this topic comes up under the guise of facebook fighting over some stupid thing that’s happened in the news, like whether or not to eat chicken sandwiches from a place that does not support same-sex marriage. So other than the conversations David and I have, I had never really formulated a clear reason for what I believe, so I spouted out the first thing that came to my mind. <br />
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Me: “Because I believe in human rights and doing what’s fair.”<br />
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She commented on what a simple answer that was, and for me, it really is that simple. Turns out she was recruiting people to volunteer for the “Minnesota United for All Families” campaign, a campaign David and I have supported since it’s origination, so we signed up to volunteer the weekend of September 8th. I was told I’d be talking to people about the amendment. It was then that I realized I better figure out what I want to say/what I really think!<br />
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For me, writing this is like coming out of the “Christian Closet”, meaning, this is the first time I’ve gone on record as supporting same-sex marriage. As most of you may know, I grew up Christian for the most part, went to a Christian university, and identify as Christian. So sitting here, typing these words, is terrifying, because I know many people reading this will not agree with me, and will potentially be praying for me <em>because</em> of this. But the older I get, the more desire I have to be myself, not what other people think I should be. <strong>So here it is; I support same sex marriage, and I don’t find that to be at odds with my faith.</strong><br />
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Two blog posts I came across (both below) helped me to reaffirm what my heart was already telling me. <br />
<strong>“Why I regret voting Yes on Prop 8”:</strong> <a href="http://www.elizabethesther.com/2010/08/why-i-regret-voting-yes-on-prop-8.html">http://www.elizabethesther.com/2010/08/why-i-regret-voting-yes-on-prop-8.html</a><br />
<strong>“Apologizing to my Gay Neighbors”:</strong> <a href="http://www.elizabethesther.com/2011/09/apologizing-gay-neighbors.html">http://www.elizabethesther.com/2011/09/apologizing-gay-neighbors.html</a><br />
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I believe in the separation of church and state, and because of that belief, I do not think it is okay to legislate my religious beliefs. Whether or not I think “being gay” is a sin, does not and should not change the way I vote on this issue. The bible is very clear about taking care of your body, and treating it as a temple, and I will not be rallying around laws to determine limits on caloric intake any time soon, so how is this issue any different? For me, it is no different. We live in a society where I believe consenting individuals should be able to make their own choices, whether or not it aligns with my religion or not. <br />
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I’ve also heard the argument that same-sex marriage will hurt the institution of marriage, and potentially the kids these couples will (maybe) adopt. Hmmm. Well, I’m not quite sure these thoughts are research-based (like literally, I really don’t know if research shows this or not, because I haven't looked), but I do know this:<br />
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Research <em>has </em>shown that children of divorce are more likely to divorce later in life. Research has also shown that divorce has a negative impact on the children from the union. I am a child of divorce, so therefore, according to the research, I am more likely to get a divorce, thus potentially hurting or imposing negative impacts any children I have with David.<br />
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Now imagine if someone told me that because of this likelihood, that I was legally NOT ALLOWED to get married, ever. That. Is. Terrifying. <br />
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Which is why I’m voting “No” to the marriage amendment this November. I do not believe that a group of people should be discriminated against because of their personal choice as to who they consensually marry. My call, as a Christian, is to love. Honor God, love people. That’s it; that’s the basis of what Jesus was saying. He never used the political system to change the hearts of people; he used love and acceptance of the person. I’m not convinced that using political power to get people to comply with “God’s word” is an effective strategy in loving his people. If anything, I think it sends a big message of “not welcome here” to any gay or lesbian individual, and for that, I am so sorry.<br />
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I am sorry to anyone who feels hurt or abandoned by the church. I am so sorry that the church has made you feel like you were not welcomed or loved by God, just as you are. I’m sorry that anyone made you feel like you were “less than”, like you were condemned and hated. I cannot apologize enough for how misconstrued this whole thing has become. Mostly, I’m sorry I stayed silent for so long. My call is to stand for what’s right, and the way the church and select Christians have treated you, is simply, <em>unacceptable</em>. It’s the exact<em> opposite</em> of what Jesus called his people to, and I’m so sorry I haven’t said anything before now. <br />
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To hear about how others are reconciling with the GLBT population, read this awesome blog post:<br />
<strong>“I hugged a man in his underwear. And I am proud”:</strong> <a href="http://naytinalbert.blogspot.com/2010/06/i-hugged-man-in-his-underwear-and-i-am.html#!/2010/06/i-hugged-man-in-his-underwear-and-i-am.html">http://naytinalbert.blogspot.com/2010/06/i-hugged-man-in-his-underwear-and-i-am.html#!/2010/06/i-hugged-man-in-his-underwear-and-i-am.html</a><br />
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<br />Just Another Ragamuffinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05832727556637679623noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3705865393669270687.post-59471228176853547612012-04-15T20:07:00.003-07:002012-04-15T20:38:32.025-07:00It Gets Better"A broken bone can heal, but the wound a word opens can fester forever." - Jessamyn West<br /><br />For those of you who've read my facebook statuses over the last couple of weeks, I've been trying to raise awareness of the new documentary that just came out entitled "Bully". As the title suggests, it's about the bullying epidemic in our country, and follows the stories of kids and families who have been impacted by bullying.<br /><br />And cue the thirteen year old version of myself entering the scene.<br /><br />There's this kid in the movie, Alex, whose parents cannot for the life of themselves understand why their child didn't tell them about what was going on at school or during his bus rides. Why couldn't he just tell <span style="font-style: italic;">someone </span>about what was going on. Of course I came up with the obvious answers: he had not developed fully enough to understand that his parents are a safe space, that he didn't realize yet that he doesn't have to put up with that garbage, that the "it gets better message" just hadn't reached him yet. But when it comes down to it, I don't know if the twenty seven year old version of me is any more prepared to face my own scars that bullying left behind than the thirteen year old version of Alex was. At twenty seven, I could still barely tell my husband that night after the movie about the bullying I was subjected to growing up. And it SUCKED. I was eventually able to share things with him I've never told anyone. Ever. It made me realize though, that although things get better for these kids, and I truly believe that and hope those kids choose life long enough to hear that message, that the things you've heard said about you, never fully go away.<br /><br />I can still picture the faces of the kids who taunted me. Some of them even started being nice to me in high school, but I never forgot, and still haven't. The girl who barred me from her basketball court in gym class, simply because I wasn't popular enough to play on her court? I haven't forgotten you. The two boys who on the bus in seventh grade made fun of me numerous times about my weight? I haven't forgotten you. You may have grown up, maybe into bigger and better people, people who don't bully anymore, but your words, much to my dismay, will never leave me. I still struggle with who you told me I was back then. So thanks for that.<br /><br />But I'm lucky. I didn't let these little punk asses take my life away from me. I grew up, made quality friends, and married a wonderful man who thinks I'm beautiful, no matter what I weigh. But some kids, aren't so lucky. Some kids believe the words of these bullies and internalize them so much, that it becomes their new reality, and inevitably, they take their own life because of it. My heart breaks for these kids, who don't know yet that the person making fun of you? Is really, actually, just an asshole who is trying to put you down because they're just as confused as you are about who they are.<br /><br />The movie is a must see for not only anyone who has kids or works with kids, but really, for anyone with a heart. Period. Anyone who plans on participating in our culture and society, thus inevitably coming across kids at some point, should see this film.<br /><br />What brought me back to this blog was the realization this year that silence is simply not an option anymore. Silence, because I'm too scared to speak the truth, cannot happen anymore in my life. So I am pledging to speak up for the silent, to speak truth when it needs to be spoken, and to take a stand, even if it makes me look like an idiot. To, no matter how hard it may seem, always choose love.<br /><br />And really, I do encourage you all to go check out the movie if it's playing near you. You can see if it's at a theater near you by clicking <a href="http://thebullyproject.com/">here</a>. If enough people go see this movie, it will be able to spread to more theaters throughout the United States, spreading the message of love that so desperately needs to be told.Just Another Ragamuffinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05832727556637679623noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3705865393669270687.post-51134711858136831162012-03-19T07:18:00.003-07:002012-03-19T07:31:18.453-07:00Follow up on the bathroom writing...As I mentioned in an earlier post, I wrote to Brainerd High School. <strong>Here is what I originally wrote:</strong><br /><br />To Whom It May Concern,<br /><br />This past weekend, the National Guard held a Family Readiness Training Academy for families of soldiers about to return from overseas. My husband, a soldier in the National Guard, was there as a part of this training. While there, he called me and told me that there were not one, but two swastikas drawn inside the bathroom stall near the teachers' lounge. He also noticed a third swastika drawn on a flyer outside of the teachers' lounge, advertising a blood drive. In addition to the symbols, there was also racist language written on the bathroom stalls.<br /><br />I am writing to encourage you to do something about the hate symbols and words on your bathroom walls and posted flyers. Not only are they completely inappropriate, but I feel that if you plan on hosting family and community events where there will be children, you make efforts to clear your school of hateful speech.<br /><br />I am aware that the markings are probably that of a student at your school, someone who is not yet mature enough to realize how detrimental perpetuating these kinds of beliefs are. But what I would like to see is a school who will be proactive about not only taking these messages down, but educating the students that this behavior is not acceptable.<br /><br />I know it's very easy for me to sit here and criticize you and your school. I do not know how you handle these issues, you may very well educate your students on these matters, and if you do, then I commend you. I understand it's difficult to monitor each and every thing written anywhere in the school by students. But I am emphatically asking you to take down what is currently on the walls of your school so as to show that as a community, you do not condone that kind of behavior.<br /><br />Regards,<br /><br />Shannon Watson<br /><br /><strong>And this is what the principal wrote back:</strong><br /><br />Dear Ms. Watson,<br /><br />Good morning. My name is Andrea Rusk and I am the principal of Brainerd High School. I apologize for not responding to your email earlier as my secretary was out of the office last week and just forwarded your email to me.<br /><br />Thank you for emailing our school in regards to the symbols found in a restroom and a flyer in our building. We respond immediately to these types of reports and will do a better job of monitoring our spaces for these types of hate symbols. You are correct; some of our students are very immature and do not realize the hateful behavior this has on our other students and community.<br /><br />I have contacted our administration and our custodial staff to respond immediately to your email.<br /><br />Thank you again for taking the time to contact our school in regards to this.<br /><br />Sincerely,<br /><br />Andrea Rusk<br />Principal<br />Brainerd High School<br /><br />I then wrote her back, thanking her for her response, and letting her know I'm finding the same kinds of stuff on the bathroom walls at my college, and will be working with our counseling department to take care of that. I just wanted to give an update and say that <strong>sharing your voice can work!</strong>Just Another Ragamuffinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05832727556637679623noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3705865393669270687.post-63047555886779556302012-03-15T07:16:00.008-07:002012-03-15T13:24:04.931-07:00First World ProblemsI've been doing A LOT of thinking about my future lately. Okay, so maybe it's not thinking... maybe it's more... worrying. Yes, worrying seems to be the appropriate word. I feel like that's all I do. Worry about how we'll pay rent. How will we be able to afford to keep living? Will we have to move? What if David doesn't find a job? What if my stuff here at work falls through? And of course, what about my precious kittens!? Their birthday's coming up, and momma needs to make them a kitty cat food cake...<br /><br />And then I remember. I remember that I'm doing all this worrying while watching Teen Mom 2<em> on my DVR, on our flat screen.</em> That I'm texting David about "if he's heard on that job yet" from my <em>smart phone</em>. That I worry about paying for the gas going in my 2010 Mazda 3, with<em> bluetooth speakerphone capabilities</em>. The groceries I so tirelessly clip coupons for? Are to make this Indian Butter Chicken recipe I found on pinterest this week, which I found while searching on my laptop, one of the <em>four computers</em> in our apartment.<br /><br />These, ladies and gentlemen, are what I like to call "First World Problems".<br /><br />Now let me backtrack. These problems, to me in this point in time, hurt like hell. I'm scared, I feel lost and unsafe; they are <em>real to me.</em> And they should be. It's my life, and this is what is going on in it, and I don't feel bad about feeling... well, bad. But what I'm urging myself to do is to keep it in perspective. Be scared, be afraid, but then remember just <em>how lucky I am</em>. I have a clean bed and warm place I come home to every night. I am in the top 1% <em>of the world.</em><br /><em></em><br />Which reminds me of a video Rob Bell put out a few years ago. Whether you like him or dislike, think he's a heretic going to hell or really, don't think of him at all, what he has to say in this video is, to me, dead on:<br /><br /><br /><object height="315" width="560"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/K4tEZVNB-IA?version=3&hl=en_US&rel=0"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><br /><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/K4tEZVNB-IA?version=3&hl=en_US&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="315" width="560"></embed></object><br /><br />Maybe I need to remind myself that I am "rich", despite how it feels to be the one at the discount food store buying crystal light that expired last September (yes, I did that this week, and you know what? It tasted GOOD). Maybe, what I have <em>is enough</em>.<br /><br />Which leads me back to this idea of "First World Problems". Below is a blog I found some time ago; it cracks me up every time I read it. I've provided the link below, the blog's description, and a few posts from readers I could definitely see myself saying at some point in time.<br /><br />I write to challenge myself, but also all of us, to really sit back and reflect on how blessed we are, even when it doesn't feel like it.<br /><br /><a href="http://first-world-problems.com/">First World Problems Blog</a>: <em>"It isn't easy being a privileged citizen of a developed nation. This blog is a catalog of the unending ways it's lonely at the top. Contact the honkies in charge at info@first-world-problems.com and tell us how you've suffered."</em><br /><em></em><br />“My back hurts from carrying my $2000 laptop around.”<br /><br />“My roommate has a different song that plays for every different person who texts her. 'Party in the USA' friend has been texting her for the past two hours.”<br /><br />“I wanted to watch YouTube videos; however, I found it to be too much effort to roll over and take my computer off hibernate, so I had to wait forever for it to buffer on my iPhone.”<br /><br />“I can’t fit all of the gift cards I received at Christmas into my wallet.”<br /><br />“I have to wear a regular motorcycle helmet because the two Bluetooth models I purchased can’t share music with each other.”<br /><br />"Family Guy’ is on two different channels at the same time and I can’t figure which one has the most potential.”Just Another Ragamuffinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05832727556637679623noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3705865393669270687.post-20966659508604868342012-03-13T07:02:00.003-07:002012-03-15T09:36:06.944-07:00They're Just Kids...Since my last post, I've had two different people indicate that perhaps I was a little harsh in my words towards the individual who wrote on the bathroom stall. Their reason? This person is a high schooler; despite how wrong their comments were, they don't know any better, <em>yet</em>. Their brain isn't fully developed, so even though they are wrong (and each person who questioned me agreed that the behavior was wrong), I shouldn't judge them<em> so</em> harshly because kids do stupid things at that age. I was even encouraged to think of the mean and ridiculous things I said or believed at that age. And they're right, I <em>did</em> say and do stupid and probably hateful things at that age.<br /><br />But here is what I have to say in response to this question: how will we change the minds of kids, and teach them that the things they are saying and doing are indeed wrong, if no one is willing to say it?<br /><br />For the record, I don't think this is "kids being kids". This is systematic thinking that is being passed down throughout the generations. My husband later told me that he saw an additional two swastikas drawn in the school; a larger one on another bathroom stall wall and one drawn on a blood drive flyer outside of the teacher's lounge. This additional information prompted me to write the school and ask that they take efforts to take down these symbols, especially if they intend to host community events where kids will be present, and will probably be using the restrooms (this was a military family readiness academy, hosted by the National Guard for the families of soldiers coming home from overseas).<br /><br />I agree that a person's brain takes a long time to develop; some say it may not be fully formed until the age of 25. But I do not believe that it means that kids can't be taught the values of what is good, right, and kind. Here is an example of a kid who gets it:<br /><br /><iframe height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/0dgviWuYxFs?rel=0" frameborder="0" width="560"></iframe><br /><br />Kids have enormous influence in the lives of each other, as evidenced by the new wave of teens committing suicides for being bullied, specifically as it relates to their sexual orientation. My hope is that we can become a people, and a world, that learns to love our neighbors, no matter who they are and what they believe. To be a people who pour love into <em>all people</em>, despite our differences.<br /><br /><iframe height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/aBUMugqDRHg?rel=0" frameborder="0" width="560"></iframe>Just Another Ragamuffinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05832727556637679623noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3705865393669270687.post-21955610580244160842012-03-10T13:58:00.009-08:002012-03-10T18:06:52.541-08:00Niggs, Wiggs, and Hicks<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:verdana;">My husband is at National Guard Drill this weekend. Somewhere through the course of the weekend, his endeavors led him to Brainerd High School, a high school located in central Minnesota. While there, he texted me this picture:</span><br style="font-family:verdana;"><br style="font-family:verdana;"><a style="font-family: verdana;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrDcRAhLkdRPeqhSA3T1GmvIHRhhwDk6W6bYHSMZYbZbpUjT08FyEt1mO7_VKJJdl3YoCVg3P8BCPKPVy9Fv8pcvZZwU84Slr5MBzrYk-OU-AjQFkXJg4MiXxegJCyMheUPnsh7fqBaaE/s1600/imagejpeg_2_3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrDcRAhLkdRPeqhSA3T1GmvIHRhhwDk6W6bYHSMZYbZbpUjT08FyEt1mO7_VKJJdl3YoCVg3P8BCPKPVy9Fv8pcvZZwU84Slr5MBzrYk-OU-AjQFkXJg4MiXxegJCyMheUPnsh7fqBaaE/s320/imagejpeg_2_3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5718391495950781122" border="0" /></a><br style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">You may not be able to read the words in this picture, but it's a picture of a bathroom stall wall at the high school. Above a drawn swastika, it reads,</span><br style="font-family:verdana;"><br style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">"Fuck niggs and wiggs, hicks will rise."</span><br style="font-family:verdana;"><br style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">Which to that, someone has written "ya!".</span><br style="font-family:verdana;"><br style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">I don't know why, but for some reason, I am still, absolutely astounded when I hear about things like this. But to be honest, I shouldn't be. I have a degree in sociology and am on my way to a masters in social justice studies. I, more than most, should be keenly aware of the racism that still exists in America today. I know about the racial disparities in the criminal justice system. I know that </span></span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:verdana;font-size:130%;" >where</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:verdana;"> you live in America dictates </span></span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:verdana;font-size:130%;" >how</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:verdana;"> you live. I know that while many people are fighting for justice and for real and lasting change in this country, institutional discrimination is still alive and well. Take a look at the New Jersey Turnpike Study if you don't believe me; it will blow your mind.</span><br style="font-family:verdana;"><br style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">And yet, I see something like this, and I am still stunned. I am still disgusted. I want to cry.</span><br style="font-family:verdana;"><br style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">And </span></span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:verdana;font-size:130%;" >that</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:verdana;">, is why I am writing. After a five year absence from this blog, I can no longer stay quiet about the things happening in this world that are simply </span></span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:verdana;font-size:130%;" >not right</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:verdana;">.</span><br style="font-family:verdana;"><br style="font-family:verdana;"><br style="font-family:verdana;"><a style="font-family: verdana;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjATZjD-msmXZ4hXQborkTuSdWgotM0UOoyp5BP4grH0MxeaO-sxZpr-KDOVORLEDAbhEu7j6rlZSiqKTMAy0VOaLMz1T1HhVX72AFq1IOXFYjRzRK8jqfUXYIjAkBMvNKCMtVJw-SQ86c/s1600/pinterest.com.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 306px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjATZjD-msmXZ4hXQborkTuSdWgotM0UOoyp5BP4grH0MxeaO-sxZpr-KDOVORLEDAbhEu7j6rlZSiqKTMAy0VOaLMz1T1HhVX72AFq1IOXFYjRzRK8jqfUXYIjAkBMvNKCMtVJw-SQ86c/s320/pinterest.com.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5718394181367370658" border="0" /></a><br style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">Amid all the recipes, home decorating tips, and friends' baby nursery ideas on pinterest, I came across this photo the other day. Something about this photo awoke something that has been sitting idle inside me for far too long. Silence. Silence about what I know to be true and the courage to say it.</span><br style="font-family:verdana;"><br style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">I can say with full confidence and assurance that what is written on that bathroom wall, is wrong. The fact that the school has done nothing to take it off, is wrong. The fact that someone wrote "ya!", is wrong.</span><br style="font-family:verdana;"><br style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">Unfortunately for us, the word "racism" is thrown around far too much in this country. Too often, people accuse each other of being or acting "racist". Just so we're clear, I'm going to provide us all with the sociological definition of racism. Racism, is "the idea or belief in the superiority of a given race of people and therefore the inherent inferiority in other races." This bathroom wall writing, is a clear example of one individual valuing their superiority over another. "Rising" assumes the need to elevate, or "rise", over another. To become superior, while making others inferior.</span><br style="font-family:verdana;"><br style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">It is this kind of thinking that is, I hate to say it in such crass terms, ass backwards. This thought is a thought that divides us as a people, and as a country. So here is what I have to say to this individual....</span><br style="font-family:verdana;"><br style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">Hello name-less, face-less, cowardly person who had to voice his thoughts on a bathroom stall, where no one could identify him,</span><br style="font-family:verdana;"><br style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">You are wrong. I am ashamed of you, and I feel sorry for you. I truly do. I don't know if anyone's told you this recently, but you live in the year 2012. In 2012, we don't, or shouldn't I should say, believe that some are superior while others are inferior. We are </span></span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:verdana;font-size:130%;" >all</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:verdana;">, children of God, and have worth that you can't even begin to understand. As Brad Paisley so wonderfully sang, "welcome to the future". In this future, you are welcomed, but your hateful thoughts and actions are not. As John Mellencamp put it, "if you're not part of the future, than get out of the way." So please, next time you feel the need to elevate yourself above others, making yourself higher while pushing others down... don't. If you're not willing to change, and accept </span></span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:verdana;font-size:130%;" >all</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:verdana;"> of us, then just keep it to yourself.</span><br style="font-family:verdana;"><br face="verdana"><span style="font-family:verdana;">Oh, and next time, don't deface public property. Besides being illegal, it's just not nice.</span><br face="verdana"><br face="verdana"><span style="font-family:verdana;">Love,</span><br face="verdana"><br face="verdana"><span style="font-family:verdana;">Shannon</span></span>Just Another Ragamuffinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05832727556637679623noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3705865393669270687.post-53514182308452331452007-11-07T11:41:00.001-08:002008-12-10T10:21:30.295-08:00Senseless Acts of Violence<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj244iRL7-okjyDe2TtEwrHYgrXyAv93wdV4Y4OeYlnZk3yFm7x10UbicjILgbt9QRzr9leTcKD5nRd3uwmRyP4ezB5IOY_JtYjQ7elkt0CmWEN3e1Oap_JoqlD3D75bGt07ehIodcWhDk/s1600-h/Picture+430.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj244iRL7-okjyDe2TtEwrHYgrXyAv93wdV4Y4OeYlnZk3yFm7x10UbicjILgbt9QRzr9leTcKD5nRd3uwmRyP4ezB5IOY_JtYjQ7elkt0CmWEN3e1Oap_JoqlD3D75bGt07ehIodcWhDk/s320/Picture+430.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5130186889656491554" border="0" /></a><br /><p class="MsoNormal">One week in March about three years ago I received the privilege of meeting a little boy named Juan. I met Juan at the Lighthouse Community Center in Watts, California. Watts, for those of you who aren’t familiar with the area, is not your typical all-American town. Located in the Los Angeles area, Watts is the gang capital of the United States, responsible for the origination of the Bloods and the Crips. What brought me to this lovely part of the world was a mission trip I was on with my college, and one of our activities was to spend each afternoon at the Lighthouse Center tutoring the kids involved in their after-school program. Being somewhat of an academic myself, I was quite excited about the prospect of being able to use my talents to help others. Little did I know what I was getting myself into.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="">On my first day I showed up in a purple t-shirt, thinking I was safe by avoiding blue and red, the traditional colors of the Bloods and Crips, only to find out I was sporting the Latin King’s color. Great, my first day and I was already a target, and all the kids let me know it. Shortly after arriving I was assigned to help Juan, who was new to Lighthouse, with his math. I quickly found out that Juan was at least two or three grades behind where he needed to be not only in his math but reading skills. I had one week to explain the math concepts he <i style="">should </i>have already been taught in order to understand his work now. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="">Throughout the week I realized more and more how much of his world was controlled by the influence of the gangs in his community. It was something he saw everyday and something he was fed to believe was inevitable: eventually he too would probably end up in a gang. The catch was, it didn’t seem to bother him. In the same way I was prepped in my upbringing to go to college and get an education, Juan was prepped to enter into this gang-banging lifestyle. He often spoke of gang shootings and drug busts his family witnessed, which often left me speechless, partly because I wasn’t sure if he was telling me the truth and partly because of what that meant for his life if he was. Later I realized his stories were probably accurate because I witnessed a drug bust of my own on the way to the tutoring center at the end of our week. Everything I saw in one week in Watts, Juan lived with on a daily basis. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="">By the end of the week I could see the difference some one on one attention was making on his comprehension of the subjects. As I left Lighthouse the last day I couldn’t help but wonder: what if I didn’t have to leave? What if I, or someone like myself, kept with this kid everyday, investing the time to make sure he actually understood his math? Or told him that he could actually go to college and explained how? Imagine if someone was there everyday to help him figure it all out and prevent him from seeing the gang as his only life option. What could his life look like? </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="">Everyday in our country more and more kids are growing up believing that the way to survive a broken, unstable neighborhood is to join a gang, and everyday these kids come one step closer to becoming adults who have adopted this lifestyle and must now suffer the consequences: incarceration or death. In Los Angeles alone this year there have been 709 homicides, many of them unsuspecting citizens caught in the cross fire of gang-related wars. This is a serious problem that demands a solution. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="">Jill Leovy, a crime reporter for the L.A. Times newspaper, has been spent the last year compiling all the homicides in L.A. this last year in her blog: <a href="http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/homicidereport/">http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/homicidereport/</a>. Ms. Leovy is doing her part to bring awareness of this horrendous problem, and for that I commend and appreciate her and encourage all who read this to check our her amazing site. Still, it leads me to wonder what I as a twenty three year old graduate student who resides in Minnesota can do. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="">Most importantly, I can continue to care. Caring is one of the most powerful emotions a human can posses and share, and by reading the LA Times blog it forces me to recognize those who lost their life and continually reminds me that this world is not done being perfected, and that humanity has a long way to go before we can end senseless violence by replacing it with love. Second, I can pray that my heart will break for the things that break my Father’s. I can pray that the God who sees and knows all will provide his constant care to not only Los Angeles but all gang infested areas in the United States and around the world. Third, I can choose to dedicate my life to making a difference. Becoming a big brother/big sister or a volunteer tutor for underprivileged are just two ways someone can join in the fight against gang violence and help remedy the problem. Lastly, we can continue to educate ourselves about gang-related issues in Los Angeles as well as in our own communities. We cannot begin to fight a sickness if we aren’t even sure what the diagnosis is. </p>Just Another Ragamuffinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05832727556637679623noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3705865393669270687.post-1065033018484158102007-10-15T20:11:00.000-07:002007-10-15T20:12:21.922-07:00Be the change<p class="MsoNormal">"You write in order to change the world, knowing perfectly well that you probably can't, but also knowing that literature is indispensable to the world... The world changes according to the way people see it, and if you alter, even by a millimeter, the way... people look at reality, then you can change it." - James Baldwin<br /><br />I joined a scholarly writers group made up of faculty members at my at my grad school today, many of whom are authors with published works in scholarly journals and even popular news magazines such as <i>Newsweek</i>. I see two problems with this scenario:<br />1. I am not a faculty member at St. Cloud State University.<br />2. I can't write worth a damn.<br /><br />And so I am starting this new blog. Now don't get me wrong, I can obviously <i>write</i>, I'm doing it right now, but I can't write <i>well</i>. Furthermore, what I choose to write about <i>doesn't change the world</i>. I want to change that, and seeing as I have to start somewhere, this is it.<br /><br />I want to make it clear from the outset that my faith WILL influence and bias what I choose to write about. A person cannot separate what they do from why they do it. Just a disclaimer.<br /><br />I am also going to try to stay as far away from my personal life as possible. If you want to know why I'm not married yet at 23 having graduated from my Christian college, why the heck I live in the middle of no where Minnesota, and what dirt I may have on so and so from high school, you won't find those answers here. This blog is primarily to bring up issues that concern, interest, inspire, and confuse me. God has placed this world and his people on my heart, and I fully intend on fulfilling my purpose in this world by attempting to get people thinking about the same issues that plague my mind everyday.<br /><br />So, if you've made it this far, thank you. I hope that through my writing our hearts can break for the things that breaks our Father's.</p>Just Another Ragamuffinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05832727556637679623noreply@blogger.com2