Category: Personal

Voting Record

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It seems that the world has been put on hold as the election approaches (at least from the perspective of the US media). All conversations revolve around the election. So that’s what your getting here – totally random thoughts about the election.

I tried to explain to Emma earlier why tomorrow was a special day after she in her totally three year old logic stated – “I can get a haircut on Tuesday because Tuesday isn’t a special day.” After I attempted to explain the concepts of President, the United States, and voting she got really upset and said she didn’t want anyone to be faster than her (Emma in 2040!). I had to play the mommy as linguistic anthropologist to understand that she thought “running for president” meant a footrace and that she didn’t want anyone besides herself to win. So I clarified to be told by her that she wants “Mr. Cain” to win because he has a better name. Then she informed me that velociraptors are her favorite dinosaur because they have the most fur. Some days I just don’t ask.

But her comment about names struck me because there are so many out there who are voting for one candidate or the other because of similar inane reasons (including name). My last post was a rant on such uncritical voting habits, so I thought this post should be a confession of my record and the sometimes flimsy reasons behind my voting habits.

I mentioned here before that the first election I remember was 1984 when in the first grade mock ballot I attempted to vote for just the VP candidate Geraldine Ferraro because I thought a woman should have a turn at President. The first election I voted in however was in 1996 – Clinton vs. Dole. At the time I felt like there was no choice but to vote for Dole no matter who he was or what he stood for. He was a Republican, Clinton wasn’t. I was a Christian so I had to vote Republican. I was in my freshman year at Wheaton College and was surrounded by similar attitudes. Dole won by a landslide in the mock campus election and the handful of people who came out for Clinton were called some seriously evil names.

Not much had changed four years later for Bush vs. Gore, at least on campus. I was in grad school at Wheaton at the time. I recall the student newspaper reporting on some political science students who had worked at a Gore rally. The backlash of that was intense – students and alumni writing in to express their astonishment at the sin the college was letting its students participate in. Even though the students had expressed that they themselves weren’t democrats (they just went for the experience), they were guilty by association.

I was torn in that election. I knew that there were a number of issues that I agreed more with Gore on than with Bush, but I still couldn’t get over my evangelical upbringing enough to vote Democrat. Sad, I know.The issues that stick in my head that were deciding factors at the time were the facts that Gore had recently sided with pharmaceutical companies to keep cheap generic drugs for AIDS out of Africa and (I can’t believe I’m saying this) that I liked what Bush had done for education in Texas. So I voted for Bush. I remember being in Bruce Benson’s Christianity and Postmodernism philosophy class that evening as the returns came in. I think the only three Democrats on campus were in that class as well. We took an extended break to watch election coverage in the lecture hall and they formed a small but vocal cheering section for Gore. I recall being somewhat indifferent about who won (a good thing given that it took forever to find out). I voted for Bush out of obligation, but the part of my that cared about the issues wanted Gore to win.

Then came 9/11 and the Iraq war, and by 2004 I was part of the anyone but Bush camp. I liked Nader, but didn’t want to throw away my vote, so I voted for Kerry as a lesser of two evils choice. I was pregnant with Emma at the time and had been put on strict bedrest just a week before the election. Getting out to vote was one of the two times I broke that strict bedrest rule. The election occurred right before everything hit the fan with our jobs at a Baptist church (we were scary emergents, you know the rest), so the women prayer warriors still cared enough to call to see how I was doing stuck on the couch all day. I mentioned to one of them that I had gotten out to vote (not mentioning who I voted for) and she praised me for being willing to risk my health for the sake of electing God’s candidate. I let her assume whatever she wanted to assume…

So here we are on the eve of one of the most exciting elections I can recall. It has also seen some of the saddest elements in our society emerge as the sexism and racism still present in our society surfaced. I am fascinated to see Christians (some at least) break away from the party allegiance and vote independently. I have a feeling that this change is permanent and that we are entering a new era of American politics. Early in this race my wish was that it come down to Obama vs. McCain. At the time that outcome seemed impossible, but I thought then that I could live with either candidate. McCain has disappointed me since then, and Palin seriously frightens me. So contrary to my toddler’s name affinity, I’m voting for Obama. I don’t see him as a savior, or our only hope, or all those other far-fetched accusations I’ve heard. I think he will be good for our country and the world. I’m not going to rehash the issues here, but just say that for the first time I am casting a positive vote for someone whose vision I support.

So after this long journey across the political spectrum, I’m voting Obama tomorrow. What’s been your journey?

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Roland “Stormy” Goss – 1920-2008

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My grandfather passed away this week and we are headed to Dallas this weekend for the funeral. His death wasn’t unexpected, but it is still unreal. In the past decade I only got to see him a couple of times – he was in hospice care and I rarely made it to Dallas. But growing up I spent lots of time with him. Every Sunday evening we had a family dinner at his place – my cousins, brothers, and I building blocks and playing with Star Wars figures in living room while the “big people” chatted away in the dining room.

During my childhood, he was building and losing his fortune in the Texas oil business, but what remember most are his stories. From stories of his dad the policeman who was involved in the pursuit of Bonnie and Clyde, to his football days at SMU, to WW2 we never tired of hearing those tales. A former officer in the U.S. Navy, he would show us the dagger he “liberated” off of a dead Nazi SS officer. He told us about his ship almost sinking in the D-day invasion at Normandy. And in helping General Patton win his rivalry against British marshall Montgomery by coordinating the naval end of the crossing of the Rhine River and getting Patton across first. And also of his best friend dying in the foxhole next to him.

Stormy wasn’t able to remember who I was the last few times I saw him, but he remembered these stories – the defining moments of his life. I’m sure we will all be remembering these stories as the family gathers this weekend.

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Vespers at the Orthodox Church

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This past weekend we headed to downtown Austin for the oldest festival in Austin – the 76th annual Mediterranean Festival at St. Elias Orthodox Church. The church, officially an Antiochian Orthodox church, has since become a pan-orthodox community – proximity of geography achieving what centuries of dogma never could – an ecumenicalish orthodoxy. So here the Coptics, Syrians, Greeks, Russians (to name a few) worship together (in English nonetheless) and share their cultural heritages. The Mediterranean Festival is a chance for that heritage to be shared with the larger community. Taking the term “Mediterranean” lightly the offerings included Greek, Turkish, Eritrean, and Romanian foods and folk and belly dancing lessons. As great as these elements were, what intrigued me the most was the evening vespers service I attended at the church itself.

While the bands got going and the alcohol began to flow (clear sign that this was an Orthodox not Evangelical fest), Saturday evening vespers commenced as scheduled at Saint Elias. It was immediately apparent that most of us attending the service weren’t regular attenders. There were of course the gawkers who wandered in throughout the service, stood listening for a couple of minutes, got tired and sat down, and then got bored and wandered out. Then there were those of us who stuck it out with the whole stranger in a foreign land demeanor. We stealthily (or not so much) watched the few regulars for when to bow or cross ourselves or pray aloud. I gave up on that after awhile and just listened.

Although almost entirely in English, I understood little of the service. I am unused to sung prayers or liturgy of any sort for that matter. I’m not part of that whole ancient/future stream of emergent; it’s just not in my realm of experience. So, I had no clue what the role of the parade of priests (or whatever title they hold) was as they each performed different aspects of the service. I recognized a few familiar verses and prayers and I caught phrases referencing the salvation of the pious orthodox and some stuff about heretics, but mostly I heard repeated over and over again the phrase “Lord, have Mercy.” It was devout, but from my vantage point, utterly confusing.

So I was torn in my response to the service. I felt out of place. I wasn’t unwelcome, but it was obvious that no concessions were made to help make the service accessible to outsiders (who this night at least were in the majority). My low-church, seeker-sensitive/evangelical roots balk at such a system although I intellectually know that such a reaction is unfair and unloving. This was about a prayer service, not about what I expect from church. So I attempted then to simply acknowledge the beauty of the service and of the faith reflected in it. It was beautiful and the repeated prayers for mercy were moving (although the icons done in sentimental 1930’s styles were more cheezy than transcendent). But then as I sought to see the beauty, I wondered if I was merely being condescending. Was I acting too much like the outside observer patronizing a cultural event not so much as to enter into it and become part of it, but to stand apart and look down upon it.? Philosophical discussions about the possibility of either and all that gets lost in translation aside, I left the vespers feeling more like an outsider than when I entered in. I didn’t want to be an anthropologist, but I discovered I wasn’t a participant either. I was assuredly out of place.

Perhaps that is a good thing, perhaps not. Whatever the case, it has had me thinking and asking questions about such experiences and what they mean for my faith and for the church…

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Coming Home Environmentally

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Having recently moved back to the town I grew up in (Austin, TX), I’ve had ample opportunity in the past few weeks to reminisce.  Austin is a very environmentally friendly town and I am enjoying exploring the eco-options for shopping and doing life around town.  Yet as I reflect on my experience as a youth here, I recall that my introduction to environmentalism was a rather conflicted experience.

 

I attended the local science academy for Jr. High where I took classes like Environmental Science and joined the science club.  Our activities included beach and river clean-ups and advocacy programs to get recycling bins in the local schools.  We went river rafting, camping, and bird watching.  One of my classes even created a garden on the school grounds amidst the broken glass, discarded syringes, and used condoms littering the neighborhood.  Appreciating nature and learning to care for it was a vital part of my education.  And we didn’t just talk about it – we lived it out.

 

At the time, I of course dove into environmental causes with the sort of obsessive passion only a Jr. High girl can display.  In that age of big hair and towering bangs I encouraged my friends to stop their bottle a week aerosol hairspray habits.  I wore a pendant that said “Save the Dolphins” and wrote (horrid) poetry for the student section of the Austin paper about keeping our oceans clean.  I did my best to take 5 minute showers (I had a timer) and read everything I could about the watershed issues involving the local aquifer.  My gestures didn’t amount to much, but they were the manifestation of the little I knew and of what I believed.

 

But those beliefs about caring for the earth that I learned at school were rarely echoed at home or in church.  In fact they were often directly discouraged and ridiculed.  Environmentalism was referred to as an anti-Christian value with environmentalists serving as the butt of many jokes.  My parents constantly warned me against loving the creation more than the creator.  In their eyes loving God and loving creation were either/or options – one couldn’t faithfully do both.  I was the rebel treading dangerously close to sin by getting involved with environmental causes.

 

At the time I fought that message knowing that it just didn’t make sense.  But as I left the science academy and the support and encouragement to care about the earth, the message of my church slowly won me over to apathy.  For a long time I just stopped caring about creation – I didn’t recycle; I didn’t think about my lifestyle choices, I just didn’t care.  I didn’t actively hate environmental ideas or endeavors; I just didn’t care enough to be proactive – which in all practical reality amounts to the same thing.  It took years of distancing myself from such anti-environmental beliefs before I was able to truly care for creation again.  It was an emotional journey to finally accept that loving creation is part of what it means to love God.

 

Now, nearly two decades after my Jr. High introduction to environmentalism, I have returned to Austin with new eyes.  Recycling advocacy seems almost quaint these days as many local schools have student gardens and environmental clubs.  I have access to eco lawn care and dry cleaning.  I painted my house with eco-friendly paint and discovered a place to recycle all of my moving boxes.  Once again, all small everyday gestures, but part of what it takes to commit to a lifestyle that loves God by loving creation.  I am enjoying the opportunities offered by a supportive community.  And twenty years have even changed the attitudes of my family and the church.  Creation care is no longer a rebellious sin, but a spiritual discipline to be explored.

 

So my reminiscing on the past has helped me to re-establish myself here with environmental commitments already in place.  I look forward to the journey ahead and am pleased to discover that, environmentally speaking, it’s good to be home.

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Ten Reasons I Know I’m Back in Texas

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1. I can order Dr. Pepper anywhere I go.

2. The Iced Tea tastes good.

3. Local craft stores have big displays with supplies for making homecoming mums. (see picture)

4. At the seminary orientation we were served biscuits and gravy for breakfast and King Ranch Chicken for lunch.

5. Local fast food restaurants serve carrot raisin salad as a “healthy side” option. (not that I would ever eat it…)

6. People spell “y’all” correctly. (okay second grade spelling lesson for all y’all Midwesterners – the apostrophe replaces the dropped letters. So when contracting “you all” the apostrophe goes between the “y” and the “a” NOT the “a” and the “l”. This isn’t a pet peeve of mine or anything…)

7. I can go swimming without freezing to death and wear a tank top without being “immodest.”

8. My neighbors have a palm tree in their yard.

9. I have access to eco-friendly cleaners and lawn-care options.

10. It’s hot (duh).

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Update… briefly

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So life is crazy once again. I haven’t had a spare moment to get online and write this past week. Mike is gone all the time and both kids decided to give up naps. I’ve yet to perfect the one-handed nursing and using a laptop maneuver and the laptop doesn’t scream if I ignore it for two seconds… Add to that the fact that I still can’t lift even the laundry basket without feeling pain and the chaos mounts. Mike keeps telling me that the highest expectation I should have for any day is just getting to shower. Granted half the time I can’t even accomplish that, but it frustrates me none the less. So one of these days I get around to actually writing all the random blog posts I have in my head…

But as an update to the last post, I wanted to say that we did find a house in Austin. Amazingly enough we are closing this week (I had no clue such a short wait was even possible). It’s a great place that is still in Austin (although it feeds into a suburban school district). The neighborhood is really diverse. We are in an older neighborhood (Lamplighter Village) – just a block west of us is subsidized housing and a block north there is a fancy newish subdivision. Just east of us is the commercial district that of course has the ubiquitous Starbucks and the big grocery store, but also a Halal market, a used book store, and both an Indian and Ethiopian take-out. We met our next door neighbors who have lived there since the neighborhood was built (back when they could raise goats in their backyard) and they seem really nice. The house is a 3/2 with energy efficient updates and there is a playhouse in the backyard (Emma’s excited). We hope we can feel at home there and become part of the community soon.

So anyway… that’s the craziness for now.

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House Hunting

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So we’ve spent the past few days in Austin searching for a place to live. There is a part of me that would love to live in the quirky, educated, central part of the city – the parts that inspire the “Keep Austin Weird” bumper stickers. You know the ones connected to public transportation and near co-op’s and farmer’s markets. But homes in those areas are just a few hundred thousand outside our price range. Frustrating that living within our means and within our ideals are hard to do concurrently.

But as we’ve looked in the pockets of town we can afford – generally the low-income, ethnically diverse areas (a plus in many ways) – I’ve noticed a pattern. Surrounding these neighborhoods are convenience stores and fast food places. No real grocery store, no access to healthy food choices. In fact the closest access to any groceries whatsoever is a Wal-Mart some miles away. It’s a pattern I saw in Chicago as well. The poorer a neighborhood, the harder it was to find healthy food options. If one doesn’t have a car and gas money the choices stocking the aisles at the local 7-eleven are what’s for dinner. And people wonder about the links between poverty, nutrition, and school/work performance…

I just find it frustrating and am pissed off at the latent injustices in our socioeconomic system. And stressed at how much more difficult house hunting is when not just economics and aesthetics but personal values are involved. Knowing that where we live reflect who we are and what we value – and that many of those values will have to be compromised – makes it all that more complicated.

Decisions, decisions…

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Come Back to Texas

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Come back to Texas
Its just not the same since you went away
Before you lose your accent
And forget all about the Lone Star State
There’s a seat for you at the rodeo
And I’ve got every slow dance saved
Besides the Mexican food sux north of here anyway 

– Ohio, Bowling for Soup

So after 12 years of living in Illinois, I’m headed back to Texas. I’m pretty sure I’ve lost my accent (although I never stopped saying y’all), the only rodeo I’ve been to was in Illinois, but I’m excited about returning to good Mexican food.

The house is (mostly) packed and we roll out of here on Monday. We don’t have a place down there yet, so we are moving in with my parents. It feels kinda strange to be 30 and married with two kids and be moving back in with my parents, but its how things worked out. Mike starts school in a couple of weeks and I hope we can get settled soon. At this point it’s till rather surreal.

I don’t know when I’ll have regular internet access again as we trek down there. So until then…

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Michigan and Cultural Collisions

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So I spent the last week in Michigan. Since we have nothing else going on in our lives right now, Mike spent the week speaking at summer camp for high schoolers. I got to hang out with the kids at his parents house down the road. Basically I spent my time avoiding the swarms of mosquitoes, holding a crying baby, and watching Emma have a great time with her grandparents. Fun times – but no chance to get any work done.

What I found amusing this past week were some of the juxtapositions of cultures and ideas I witnessed. Rural Michigan is interesting because you have traditional farms up against small towns being destroyed by Meth. I also saw in one town a biker rally – leather, studs, lots of tattoos – and right next to the bikes was an Amish buggy hitched to a fence.  In some ways the worlds are changing too fast for any balance to be achieved.

Then there were the experiences at the camp. I visited one evening to hear Mike speak on contentment and priorities. I sat in the back with the kids, so I got to observe the high school girls in front of me. They of course didn’t pay any attention to Mike, but instead spent the whole time playing MASH. So much for contentment…

Then I was down at the lakefront talking to a friend from college (whose dad runs the camp) about how pesticide and fertilizer runoff from nearby farms is destroying the lake and has already poisoned the camp’s well. She, an environmental educator, was describing how to help restore the ecosystem. Great ideas, but at the same time the camp staff were right by us painting the boathouse and were washing their paintbrushes in the lake. Kinda hard to work for one goal when others subvert it.

But I only got to observe…

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Thoughts for the Moment

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It is a strange day. Via Christus (our church plant) officially ended last week. It was a necessary but sad ending. So today has felt rather strange as we had a quiet morning at home not hosting a church service. Life is full of transitions these days and it is often the small details of such that impact me the most.

Aidan is sleeping at the moment. He is doing very well – gaining weight and doing all the stuff babies do at this stage. I’m getting along. The blood clot has dissolved enough that I am regaining use of my leg. I haven’t been able to do much more than hobble to the bathroom the past couple of weeks, so walking (somewhat) again is a treat. I’m also getting off the heavy duty meds which thankfully means the fog in my head is clearing. I still have months of tests and treatment to go to get all this resolved, but the intense and painful part is ending. I think I was so desperate for life to return to some form of normal after Aidan was born that the pain and tedium of this was driving me nuts. But things are looking up.

I have a few posts in my head that I hope to post this next week. I hate living under a fog and look forward to being myself again soon. Until then…

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