Leaders

Americans should broaden their view of leadership.

I have hesitated to publish this post because in affirming the great works that women can do, I may exclude the great works that many men are doing. I do not wish this post to be viewed negatively toward men. I have known many to be strong, faithful, and God-honoring. And I understand that as history would have it and as many cultures would have it, the books tell us that men have been chosen as leaders predominantly. I believe that in many cases, history needed men to serve in the instances they did. 

But times are changing, and as America's history has proven, we fear the unknown. We don't bend that well as a unit. And we can do better. The unknown in this case is wondering what the world would look like if our political leaders comprised more balanced numbers of women and men. Unthinkable maybe because we've never seen it. 

I think America needs to consider qualified persons for a job rather than only qualified white males (a very low percentage of all qualified).

Perhaps the people who fear change think, "It's just not the way we know the culture around us to be." That's a silly way to think. If everyone accepted only the world around them as fact and lived on that way, then Jesus' words, death, and resurrection would have no merit (I could go on about many great innovators). 

In 2009 I worked on a college service team over Spring Break in Inez, Kentucky. After a day of painting, dry walling, and talking with the locals, my group sat around the dinner table. Someone asked the girls, "On a scale of one to ten, how much do you enjoy being a girl." What I heard shocked me. One by one, my female peers said twos, threes, and fours, and when it got to me, I said, "eight" and added "It's not easy at times, but definitely an eight." Sara, a friend of two years, piped in. "Yeah. I cange my answer. Nine. Eight or nine." 

The guys all said it would be a one or two, if they were female. Why is it not seen positively to be female in this country?

I think the group agreed that the numbers were so low because of the negative portrayal that women have had in the media. America's obsession with sex makes it inconsequential to objectify a woman. By pure physicality a woman is generally weaker, and a man is stronger. The problem is not in having biological differences. The problem is in how women and men have believed bent notions that women are weaker other areas, too. 

Many people blame the media for this view of women. Documentaries such as Killing us Softly or Miss Representation thrust a series of images around. Women in provocative clothing and advertisements. Women who are skinny and women who appear less than the man, essentially. In Miss Representation, images in the opening montage flash between these and then to women who have made great strides for our country - Susan B. Anthony, Coretta Scott King, and so on. To guess how correct the producers were, I opened to the first page of my InStyle magazine to see this:

So I agree mostly. If this is the standard for a woman's value, then women might as well leave their intellect and preset of skills to the wayside. It's a magazine for women. Men don't typically read it. So the belief is that women vie for this image, too; it is not just the pressures that men put on women. In any case, through media, women hear that they must be desirable. And I'd be lying to say I didn't believe it, too. People want to be desirable. The danger is that both men and women buy into this belief. 

Media are the easy targets.  

That's one reason women don't have as many opportunities in leadership as men, but not the only one. We have a very serious heart issue that tells us it's okay to diminish the value of our neighbor by miss representing them, and for decades and centuries this notion has begun wars, has started holocausts, has made people fear their neighbor, and wrapped up in misinterpretations, chauvenism, and media influences, we have developed a belief that women are as important as the flawlessness of their skin, among a host of other misconceptions. 

I want to blame media because it seems like the easy out. But I think we have to first look at the state of our own hearts. If we did, then maybe our media wouldn't plague our perceptions so much. Maybe then women (and men) could be objectified less. Maybe a woman's role could have a broader definition, as could a man's. 

I do not aim to equalize men and women. I would be comparing apples and oranges, and it would be fruitless to do so (pun intended). Rather, I intend to say that both can fulfill certain duties in this world, and it would be a shame if the person most fit to lead our nation out of economic struggles were not elected becasue of her gender. 

My gift is not in leading but in teaching. I'm glad the patriarchs of our country considered that okay, you know, since Aristotle's teacher Plato was male. I know of a number of decent men and women who could run for public office, and if I penciled them down, the numbers would probably be similar. 

As a Christian and a woman and an English speaker, I have learned that there is a lot at stake in pronouns, but I think it's okay to end this post like this:

If a woman's gift is serving, let her serve, if it is teaching, let her teach; if it is encouraging, let her encourage; if it is contributing to the needs of others, let her do so generously. If it is leadership, let her govern diligently. If it is showing mercy, let her do it cheerfully. 

Roller Rinks

I feel like if you've been keeping up with my blog for this long, then you deserve to know about something. 

In college, sophomore year, a number of my friends decided it would be fun to roller skate in Sheldon at a little roller rink that doubled as a pizza place. About twenty minutes away from Dordt, it was close entertainment. The dress, they said, would be eighties sweat wear.

I wore gray leggings, a short one dollar skirt I bought at a thrift store, floppy pink socks, and an off-the-shoulder top, my hair in a side pony. 

Once there we ate pizza. Tiny hands from tiny children reached swiftly onto the buffet table and grabbed the cheesiest slices. It didn't take long for us to realize that there was an age gap in the skaters from 10 to 19, we of course being the older crowd. Kids weaved in and out, no fear, between me and my friends while we tried to retain body memory and keep our balance, the disco light swirling in all directions on the wooden floor. 

From time to time I took a break, but when they called age groups on the floor to do the limbo, I glided out, having secured my balance, finally, and felt confident enough to do this. The 19-year-old crowd got placed with the 10 and 11 crowd, so it was going to be a tough battle. 

 

One by one we reached over, grabbed our ankles, and avoided the bar. On the third time through I shifted my knees inward, head tucked, butt out, and that's when I heard it. My skirt was ripping off my body as I moved. Fully aware this was what it was, I toppled, sitting, other limboers avoiding me frantically. I felt my behind and a flap from my skirt--my one dollar skirt--hanging by its seams from my waist. Standing up, back mostly away the crowd, I attempted the best possible back skate off the rink. Okay, you know how to do this. Push both legs out and squeeze them back in. Do it. But it had been a while, so I scooted sideways. 

My friends still a bit unsure as to why I had removed myself but fully aware that 11-year-old boys and girls had bent over laughing, discovered the predicament quickly when they met me in the dark corner where I stood. Somebody gave me her sweatshirt to hug around my hips like we did in the nineties. 

If I ever have a child, I'm going to tell him or her that the world is unfair, and that this lesson can most effectively be learned on a roller skating rink. At this moment, for I would like to think my son or daughter enjoys talking to me, we will discuss protocol for roller skating rink parties, and I will help boy or girl conclude that the only way to look good out on the rink is to practice on one's own time in the driveway and to get friends to lower a broomstick and to double check their intended attire with me so that, at least for one night, he or she will have no real story to tell. 

The skating rink girls. What a fun group. 

This was a different night.

The Fall

The Fall

She cannot say it

They met - she saw - he might've been real

In moments she stroked his cheek

Wrapped presents with bows

Told him thoughts and waited for his

That never came

Alone alone alone she was

In his company

The fingers that scribbled those cards

To her for her 

But he never with her

Wouldn't kiss her

Just a prize, her

Three years time, her

Twenties gone and gone, her

And in them never loved her

And here she's 

Colored in the fall, 

And sad,

But fine

And fine.

Social

I realize that "Characters I Love Part 2" never made it on this blog. Actually, not many of my thoughts have made it here. I've been Tweeting - a faster form of documenting one's self. I've been checking up on the immature but hilarious 7 second clips of Vine. And now there's Instagram, which I've pinned to posting only on Sundays.

My favorite character Ron Swanson would hate my Internet behavior these days, because I'm looking more like a Tom Haverford.

I like the controlled audiences of my Instagram, Twitter, and Vine. I can create with limited viewership. To all people I don't have to be all one thing, which is how we are in our daily lives. I'd rather not tell the details of my Saturday excursions to my students, and by confidentiality I need to keep the brunt of school matters off the grid.

A blog, on the other hand, some like to visit...maybe not as much as they like these other forms. It's like watching the movie versus reading the book. A tweet allows readers to fill in gaps of the story on their own. They believe tweets based on what is typical of the person tweeting, and then they can still have time to read twenty others in only a minute. But a blog requires a bit more work (if it can be called work?) and that people take time. 

I should maybe slow down or at least revisit the blog more, but I'm not sure that giving all social media up is the answer to fixing our broken selves. It seems like when people give it all up, they're attempting some self-actualizing regimen. I guess it makes sense. If what's poisoning you is this multifaceted scope into the lives of your neighbors and it's causing jealousy or deeper longings to emulate their expensive vacations or recreate the styles they have Pinned, then maybe it's best to do away with the poison altogether. But I have a feeling that people like the poison too much to stop.

Why it can be poison: the short bursts of information catalog themselves into our brain quickly, be they amusing or enlightening or shocking, and we can bring this wit up later and entertain our friends. (Basically what people did in Twain's time when they read his epigrams). We don't have to spend much time on it, which we like, because reading and making connections is difficult, and maybe we're so "strapped for time" that if any one item takes up too much of it then we feel as if we're missing out. Perhaps the danger for me is in believing I'm only spending tiny moments in the day viewing one piece, but soon a series of pieces devour time. When that happens, it is time to step back.

It is always smart to assess what you have been creating with the social medium. Products of our work affirm us. We feel meaningful because of it, because others can see it.

I once wrote a blog about my Facebook posts through the year and then explained them more in depth. (Now tell me how narcissistic you can get.) I felt affirmed by that, probably, because it was a way to document my life. I think why people are so fascinated by Facebook or other forms is because their scrapbooks interact and no longer sit on a dusty shelf for wallflowers at a party to page through... I don't know; I'm getting lost in my analogy here, because wallflowers also apply to the Facebook world, but I digress. When the cover image is what becomes the obsession, then the inside is left empty. We have to be careful. Our profile pictures are nice, but we make so many uglier faces in the day. Remember that for other people, too. Jealousy stems from neglecting to see that all people are broken, and instead we focus on the parts of their lives that appear better than our own. 

And now that I have spent time writing this morning instead of scrolling through Pinterest, I'm going to post this link to Facebook, check the numbers of people who clicked the link by the end of the day, and probably go on believing that any of it was no real danger.

Characters I love, part 1

Lady Sybil Crawley  from Downton Abbey

Right from the get-go, Lady Sybil is a fierce young woman. Fierce as in she has ambitions to see the world change, which is not the character that a young woman of standing ought to have had early in the 20th century. Her family intend to marry their daughters to upstanding men, mostly because the estate is in jeopardy, but she pays little attention to that and instead immerses herself in global issues. The first of those issues is women's suffrage. She stands at rallies, trains in her cooks' kitchen, and learns to nurse wounded veterans. She maybe thinks too little about what her ambitions do to her family, but all-in-all they learn to look at issues beyond themselves, and they learn to love a new in-law with different political and religious beliefs. Thanks to Lady Sybil, her sisters Lady Edith and Lady Mary Crawley don't look very lady-like at all.

Doug

A middle school (high school?) kid who pays attention to his conscience and is sensitive to the needs of others, Doug is the kind of guy who is much more appealing than how he views himself. He is selfless, surrounds himself with funny and light-hearted friends like Skeeter, and pays a little too much attention to fellow nice girl Patty Mayonaise. Though people like BeBee and Roger Klutz often poke fun of him, he generally remains level-headed and combats ridicule with a cool demeanor. The social world of middle school is tough, but rest assured, Doug Funny, guys like you have a future full of people that appreciate you.

Michael Bluth from Arrested Development

With no shortage of mistakes of his own, Michael must also bear the weight of his chaotic family. His narcissistic mother rarely shows affection except for momma's boy Buster; his sister is married to a man presumed to be gay (and so the marriage is a paradox, you see) and who has no career direction or realistic perspective of his acting skills (their daughter Maeby somehow grew up intelligent and street smart); his father is a conman; his other brother Gob is a magician and incapable of taking on the family business. Nobody else is able to handle the family business, in fact, except for Michael, who mostly just feels he should keep his family relations close. His optimism is appealing, though the characters of his life will always stress him out.

Sully from Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman

He is very good looking. I mean if seven-year-old kids like me could pick that out, then...it is unlawful to be so handsome. Literally.

Hannah Horvath from Girls

She also appears on my annoying characters list for being selfish on top of a host of other negative characteristics. But I love her as well, not because she has the best of personalities, but because she doesn't, and that reminds me of me, and my friends, and other twenty-somethings I know. There's a bit of a lost nature to us and a need to ask questions we expect to be answered simply but know cannot. She is creative, however, and doesn't think before she does something atrocious...and yes I mean atrocious....but does contemplate it afterward. She voices opinions and always remains honest. I feel that honesty in these years is important because if you're always trying to look the part of whatever profession or position you're in, you may not quite feel like yourself, which is the crisis of fellow character Marnie Michaels. 

Also, nothing is glorified. And the main character seems sloppy. But, yeah, I can be, too. Like how I traipsed around my apartment in underwear for three hours this morning because I just. didn't want. to get dressed. 

Characters That Annoy Me

I must admit, if these were real people (except for Chris Harrison) I'd be less harsh. But we all have those shows we love counterbalanced with characters we love to hate. 

Dawson Leery from Dawson's Creek

It's a shame that James Vander Beek's latest role, where he plays a spoof of himself to thwart his reputation as Dawson Leery, was zapped along with the show Don't Trust the B in Apartment 23. Now it looks as though the melodramatic, uptight, sappy Dawson will stigmatize his actor forever. Dawson makes, creates, and critiques films; because of this immersion he perpetually overanalyzes insignificant events, hides from more important duties, and often leaves his friends to make sense of the world for him.

 

Andie McDowel

Also from Dawson's Creek, she appears in the second season as an also uptight, driven, bib-wearing eventual love interest of Pacey Witter. Her grades are immaculate, and she seems to be well-liked by those around her (I can't figure out why), but when she starts showing signs of severe depression, she behaves maniacally, forcing Pacey and others to piece her back together. It is not her issues that make this character bothersome to me. In fact through her situation Pacey proves himself to be dependable--he appears on my most loved characters list--but she is terribly selfish, before and after she receives abundant help. Also, I could do without her fake grin and those bibs. 

Roger from Doug

He was insecure himself. Every kid in town knew that, or at least that's what they learned from their moms, but they still had to deal with his torments, his name-calling, and his green skin and orange hair. He reminded me of my own bullies, always aiming for weak spots; for Doug, it was always about his love for Patty. The foremost reason why Roger bothers me, however, is his laugh, probably because my twin bullies with side pony tails cackled just like him. 

CeCe from New Girl

She is the tall model best friend of Jess Day. She contrasts Jess's quirkiness, and she is more grounded than other characters, or seems to be, what with the eye-rolling and such, but I find her to be rude. She falls in lust with Schmidt and soon it becomes, sans her admittance, real love but she dumps him to live a conventional Indian life, as if baring her skin modeling led us to believe she would do such a thing. In the meantime Schmidt has to learn to move on, and begins dating an old friend. What bothers me most is that CeCe calls off her wedding plans and immediately expects Schmidt to dump his fun girlfriend and be with her. How conceited. Likewise, she uses Jess as a buffer. CeCe seems more put-together in light of Jess and is constantly reminding her of the status quo while Jess remains loyal, even at the cost of her own life goals (refer to CeCe's wedding episode). Maybe the characters in her world sometimes deserve to be given reality checks, but if she doesn't like their behaviors so much then she needs to find new friends and learn to be less rude.

Hannah Horvath from Girls

I've read many reviews of Lena Dunham's HBO series because the fresh-out-of-college-and-aimlessly-searching thing really hit home. It is a time when twenty-somethings are trying to grow into adulthood behaviorally, relationally, spiritually, financially, etc, and they don't generally do a very good job of it. Hannah Horvath embodies this type to the nth degree. She is careless, impressionable, and selfish. She rarely picks the better of any two decisions. 

But I'll soon tell you why she is also on my list of favorites.

Pam from the 7th and 8th seasons of The Office

Again, another selfish character. In these later seasons Jim builds a company, because of which he must travel to Philadelphia and spend part of his time away from Pam. It is a big professional improvement from working in sales at the Scranton branch of Dunder-Mifflin Paper Co. There, he was content but not challenged or happy. Pam, without her full consent, lets Jim work on this new company. Their marriage falters, Pam feels lonely, and so Jim comes home and turns down bigger opportunities in Philly to support her and their children. Pam is happy at Dunder-Mifflin and in Scranton, and it isn't until a long time later that she finally allows Jim to have his dream. 

Pam can't see beyond her unhappiness or that Jim has talents that exceed the mundane office life that led him to use his creative energies playing tricks on Dwight instead. Did she think they would all be 60 and doing that very same thing? Things change, Pam.

Stephanie, Michelle, and Danny Tanner from Full House

Danny Tanner raised brats, and Stephanie and Michelle Tanner are proof. Michelle meddles in her big sisters' business constantly, makes excuses for herself, and father Danny rarely has a reprimand for her behavior. Stephanie lies perpetually, mostly to compete with her big sister DJ. Her middle child syndrome surpasses even mine. 

Chris Harrison from The Bachelor and Bachelor Pad

His most noted line is, "Ladies and gentlemen, this is the last rose of the night." As if we can't count, Chris. He only reinforces the contenstants and never gives real advice. "Whatever the circumstance, you gotta do what's right." Duh, Chris. "Look, we've spent some time together, and I know that you're here to find love...".

If I were hosting the show, I would antagonize the contestants a little more, maybe give them a smaller budget for dates, like $15, introduce other bachelors and bachelorettes that have nothing to do with the original casting, introduce family members sooner, hold the show in the dead of winter, take away the tanning beds, make the bachelor spend money on the ring from his own pocket (then we'd see how serious he was), have contestants attend church together and raise their own money to go to the Bahamas and Switzerland. Other than all of that, I'd stay the heck out of the bachelor/ette's business and make them choose for themselves like real people do. 

Big Bird from Sesame Street

Seriously, talk about the puppet that gets the most air time and doesn't deserve it. It was this big guy (girl?) and his skinny ankles and rotund tummy that led me to start questioning how valid these animals were. I couldn't figure out what he was--maybe a grown-up chick that never developed into a chicken but instead had a case of giantism? And how were the real people on set okay with this? Was it an adult thing not to question these important matters? I don't know. He had a way of talking down to kids like me, too, like we couldn't learn our ABCs without his high-pitched voice and association words. With him, every situation became a proverb. I never felt fully safe in the hands of his teaching skills or the way he sang and danced, and he led me to believe that you could get to China through a drainage hole. You can't, Big Bird. You just can't. 

Characters I love, coming soon. 

"I now walk into the wild"

At twenty the idea of wandering intrigued me. That was the year Into the Wild came out in theaters and that I read John Krakaur's book. That summer I worked at a camp in Alaska, probably to feel what it was like to get away, which is what Chris McCandless did. Scenes of golden skies in South Dakota and Montana, the red dirt of New Mexico, and the vastness of Alaska lured me in. I was hooked and felt reinforced that the conclusion of my life would not be an image of me at twenty-five and married with a child on the way; rather, it would be that I would keep discovering places and the people those places held. That notion is scattered all over the early parts of this blog. I'd be a fool not to point it out.

When you're 20 and a Romantic (unknowingly) a film like Into the Wild reinforces your ideals. It did for me. I saw beauty in vast open lands. Beauty in truth. Beauty in raging waters and de-cinching yourself from society, which McCandless proclaims is evil. Set in 1990 with a soundtrack from Pearl Jam's lead singer Eddie Vedder, the story intrigued me. Grunge corresponded with teenage angst and rebellion. I wished to embody those ideals. For many Christian Reformed folks, it would be a sin to revere these people. But I agreed with McCandless. I wanted not to be bothered by bills or by my need to be noticed or by hating inadequacies in people who were supposed to teach you well in life and to provide a little wisdom. Like McCandless, I wanted to be free of the rat race, the failing economy Americans so readily believe is their foundation.

But I think I lied to myself a little. McCandless renames himself to Alexander Supertramp to strip himself of all connections. He burns his money and leaves his car in the desert and intends to cut ties with his parents forever and to cut ties with his beloved sister. He may have had reasons for leaving society - fine - but to leave his sister, that is very sad to me.

Maybe I can say it is sad now because after my travels to Alaska and New Mexico and after seeing life on my own terms, I moved in with my sister and her husband for a spring and a summer. Kearsen and I laughed about our kid stories, and Josh became a friend who understood my kind of humor and had a humor of his own. We took their dogs out on walks together, we cooked, we garage saled, we sat out on their deck, all of us adults and able to talk about the past and our perceptions of it. By the time I left them I had just turned twenty-three, and my whole family chipped in and bought me a bookshelf. I thanked them all, but probably not as well as I should have.

There is a world of difference in two years for some people. Twenty might as well be twelve, and twenty-three might as well be eighty (well maybe for some...not for others). My point is, I knew I wanted to keep travelling, but I could never - ever - say goodbye for good to people I really loved. That would be callous.

The love Kearsen and Josh showed me, though they may not know it, changed me. One other event cemented this notion. That summer, my family lost our cousin Brandon to a storm in the Tetons. I don't deserve to recount his memory because others knew him more intricately than I, but I'll never forget Uncle Bob telling us in his own way not to disconnect, to "tell [our] parents [we] love the Lord." To see his family mourn and to see them comfort another of our families after their son Josh passed away, that makes a McCandless-type decision unfathomable.

I am embedded in a culture of young people, many of whom glorify getting away. I see high school students question authority because it is their time to do so, only to realize adulthood a few short years later. The point is that they will get to realize it, because they have chosen to let their lives continue and to cope with more simple answers to some of life's hardest questions. They will become another version of generations before them, which is not something to dismay, I keep reminding myself.

I once considered McCandless brave to become a "leather tramp" because he proclaimed that "Jack London is king." He quoted authors that most high school peers and 90% of college peers wouldn't care to consider.  For me there is so much appeal in that, in investing time into the lives of people who have felt more deeply and who have the intellect and education to communicate what they're feeling. There is appeal in taking their words as your own because these authors want you to, but that is another post for another day.

McCandless thoughtfulness appeals to me, but I do not wish to separate myself.  Christ already suffered the greatest loneliness one could ever feel. Choosing that loneliness it is not even something I would request. And I can't believe McCandless did. Or maybe he didn't. He fantasized it, but wasn't truly persuaded, and by testing the limits he ended up in a place he didn't really intend to be. He died out in the wild.

His story reveals two conclusions. One, that societal immersion is inevitable but comes with unrecognized evil. Two, that definite departure might also be evil. McCandless was so distraught by the workaholic lives of his parents that he sought another extreme.

I love this story because it has led me to this: my life is not my own. I belong body and soul, in life and in death, to my faithful savior Jesus Christ. And secondly I belong to my neighbor. Either way, I am not my own.


To read the 1992 article from People magazine, follow this link: http://www.people.com/people/archive/article/0,,20108737,00.html