Knowledge is...Painful

But so. so. so. SO. important.

I hate to turn people away by getting "political," so hopefully this will be received in the right way.
First,

I'm not going to talk about the marriage or voter amendments that are being contested in the state of Minnesota right now. I'm tired of discussing it.

However, as one of the amendments (you guess) is considered a "big issue" in American politics, some of our on-campus ministry leaders decided to invite some guest speakers to talk about another one last night: abortion. I've solidly believed that abortion is wrong from the get-go, but I saw some astonishing things yesterday, and for those of you who are unsure, who are "pro-choice," or don't think it's a big deal what each person believes about the issue, I challenge you to watch these videos. You can view them on the original website at http://www.abort73.com/videos/

If you don't think you have time to watch the whole video, start at the 4 minute mark; to me, that is the most important part of the video, although all the information is enlightening. Even if you think you know all the facts...this information could be very valuable in any future conversations you might have on the subject. It might save a life.

And let me also add...this is not a "religious" issue. THIS is human rights.

Holy Smokes

Let's take a look at this last week, shall we?

Friday, 9/28: pretty much had the race of my life. That's all.

Saturday, 9/29: well...I don't think anything particularly noteworthy occurred. Oh wait! I performed at the Musical BAR! My set list was as follows: I'll Fly Away (old hymn), Untitled (Simple Plan), Days (Philip Larkin, poet), Dog Days Are Over (Florence + the Machine). Audience was awesomely supportive.

Sunday, 9/30: finally had the conversation/answers I needed concerning [dance] partying (in a nutshell), with a person I didn't expect (although he IS on leadership for FCA...).

Monday, 10/1: Cross Country coach told me I've matured a lot as runner this season (although he seems to think so for reasons I don't exactly agree with) and am having a great season, essentially. Then went and had a killer workout—in the sense that it hurt a lot, mostly because I didn't get a sufficient warm-up, but I still felt super accomplished afterward.

Tuesday, 10/2: Read like 2 1/2 books of poetry since I didn't have class due to the Nobel Conference, didn't do any homework.
BUT ALSO.
Roommate took a guy to the ER to get six stitches after watching him crack his head open while longboarding down the hill behind our dorm and get blood all over our floor and sink.
AND.
Was moved to tears listening to an acquaintance describe the amazing and completely miraculous survival of her roommate in a head-on collision with a guy high on meth, the weekend before school started.
(Oh and you can throw in an hour and half meeting with the Firethorne staff to review works of prose written by our very own schoolmates, which was a little bit awesome.)

Still with me?
K good.

Wednesday, 10/3: Still Nobel, barely got more homework done, but this was probably more due to the fact that I watched my co-worker pass out and start puking up something very strange looking WHILE UNCONSCIOUS, and less to do with me reading another book of poetry. But hey, I wrote a poem about it after I finished watching a lecture on Ethics and the Ocean which completely escaped me for my distraction by the day's events. Poem (minus the name of the girl, anonymized by "---"):


Banana Peppers

rain down on the counter-top
in acidic yellow, scattering
in loops on the floor
that match the perfect O's of surprise
forming in the mouths of petrified bystanders
while my back is turned

one "Oh my goodness!"
rotates my body and suddenly
adrenaline is moving my hands,
flinging aside toxic-yellow peppers,
shoving her shoulders over
to keep the vomit out of her lungs,
kicking myself for forgetting
her name (as if it made a difference)
and no one is coming
and we are alone
and wait it's stopping, "S---..."

She wipes the alien substance
from her face and stares
at me in the stock, wide-eyed terror
of utter confusion, to which I reply,
"It's okay,"
and see the peace and truth of those words
in her acceptance, reflected
in the calm of her eyes,
which neither the supervisors
nor the medics notice
when they ask the girl in the vegetables
if she knows what day it is

"Just so you know," she says,
"the fainting runs in my family,"
as if that really made a difference.



And today? Thursday, 10/4: Read more poetry, but also some entries in a public journal sitting on a bed in the campus center set up for some psych/art project. And what after that? Got up, walked five steps to the Interfaith Space, opened and shut the door, and rattled off in tongues for a good three minutes (I think). Why not yesterday, I asked myself, when I found myself almost completely helpless in the face of a physical crisis of another human being?

Ha. I should know by now, that we don't ever really get answers to these questions. I don't know what I said today either, except for the one English plea thrown in that foreign prayer: "God, love them." Those people who are hurting, but still have the courage to pour out their souls in writing, albeit anonymously. It was just...

Well, let's just say that there's been a lot of "movement" in my life lately. In every sense of the word.


"Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance."

James 1:2-4


God bless.


P.S. Check out "Days" by Philip Larkin (http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/178046), if you get a chance. It's a short but powerful poem (that I also happened to read for the aforementioned music and spoken word event called the Musical BAR).

The Answer Before the Question

No, not like Jeopardy. Forgiveness. Actually came up in a leadership meeting for Cross Country that I attended today (which no one took seriously). Well, sort of. We were asked to write down/circle four values on a large list which we individually believe are most important in...life as a student-athlete, I guess. Anyway, one of mine was forgiveness, as my experience in Rwanda and reading of both Heidi Baker's book and Donald Miller's (Searching for God Knows What) have recently affirmed as crucial in Christian life.

In my evening ponderings, I remembered a conflict I recently had with my coach over caution versus laziness (basically) in regard to running injured. I hadn't really forgiven him for that, and I'm not going to say that I don't and won't keep returning to my previously angered state at the "injustice" of it all. But as Matt Thiessen so "eloquently" puts it in the Relient K song, "Fallen Man," "because the judge of you is someone I could never be, / Is why you should thank the Lord that it is Him, and it's not me." God's in control. He has it covered. And though I sometimes "want" to be upset that I have been wronged and accused of less than my best effort (a sensitive topic, not just for me, I'm sure), at times like these I remind myself that God is bigger, and that the message of Christ "preached" (try not to add a negative connotation to that word, you who are religious skeptics) is more important than any grievance of my own.

This is why I believe in the power of the answer before the question, the "yes" before the "do you forgive me." Because the fact of the matter is, that question may never come in this life (or after), and if you bear that grudge while waiting for an apology, you'll find yourself in a lonely spot, lacking the shared love of Christ.


Amis be aha.

Blessed are the Peacemakers...and Procrastinators?

Probably not. But I only put off this post because I knew I had some really good stuff to say and I wanted to say it right. (Now, of course, I still don't think I'm going to get it all right but at least I'll get it out. Maybe I'll edit it later. But probably not much.)

Anyway.

So there I was, on Tuesday, August 14th, in the middle of the chapter on the seventh beatitude from Jesus' Sermon on the Mount ("Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God," Matt. 5:9) in Heidi Baker's book, Compelled by Love, when I get a call from one of my ex-boyfriends. And by "in the middle," I mean I had stopped reading in the middle of the chapter on my lunch break at work, and when I got out of my doctor appointment that afternoon, I had a new voice mail from "somebody that I used to know" (Gotye reference completely necessary). It was a fairly big surprise, honestly, but I found I was strangely happy about it, and I called him back on the drive home. He was a bit busy with college prep stuff (as I now I am), so he said he'd call back after dinner. I still didn't know what the conversation was going to be about, but again I was oddly optimistic.

So he calls me back. After a bit of 'oh, how's your summer been' small talk (I haven't seen the guy in just over a year), he launches into probably a half-hour-long speech (not atypical of him, though that is not to his discredit) of  'I'm tired of hating your guts,' essentially, which finally turned into an apology. As harsh as the first part sounds, I knew what he meant; it's exhausting to harbor so much ill-will against a person, however deep the sentiment is buried.

Now I'd be lying if I said it wasn't a huge relief to hear all those words, but what caught me was his explanation of what spurred this reconciliation on. He was packing for college, of course, and he came across some old memorabilia from me, along with, I think, a program or something for a funeral of the parents of two of our mutual friends, when he recalled a sermon, I believe, on peacemaking. Again I was glad to hear that his inspiration to start our relationship anew (just as friends) came from God, but it was only after I got off the phone with him (we talked for almost an hour, without arguing!) that I remembered I had been reading about peacemaking earlier that day. I smiled to myself. There is no such thing as "coincidence."

But the correlations made between what I read and real-life occurrences this week don't stop there. (Good grammar there, English major. Oh yeah.) At work the day before (or maybe that morning, I don't remember), a man probably in his late forties, early fifties made a purchase of almost $200 at my register, and was bitterly angered that I had the nerve to ask him for his ID when he handed me his credit card. I calmly explained to him that there was no way for us (implying the store/company and all its employees) to confirm that the name on the card was his unless I saw his picture ID; otherwise, there could be liabilities to our store for fraud. Quietly seething, the man took his card back, handed me two hundred dollar bills and said, "I'd buy a lot more here if not for that [standard]," to which I replied, "I'm sorry to hear that, but we have no way of identifying you as the card holder." From there, the conversation was actually quite civil, as I sent him on his way with a "have a good day," which he returned. My heart was hammering in my chest--from fear or power, I have no idea--as I greeted my next customer, but I felt good. I thought, Hm, I handled that pretty well (considering that hard-headedness seems to run in my family). Later, after I had the phone call with my friend (I can call him that again, thank God) and finished the chapter on peacemaking, I remembered the incident and thought, Thank you Jesus for teaching me what it means to turn the other cheek. My belligerent customer felt the need to attack me directly for a policy I did not institute (though I do support it), but by returning it with civility without discrimination, we avoided what could have been a serious bruise to both of our egos, at best, and a nasty shouting match (plus poor store reviews) at worst.

Maybe this doesn't seem like much, but I have one more (related) situation to report. Although I did not read this in the same chapter ("Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness"), I came across a statement which, while seemingly obvious to some, is nonetheless a very important fact: "There is no inherent value in persecution for its own sake, but there can be a blessing through it." Then in the whole chapter, Baker goes on to describe joy in suffering. While I still find this hard to wrap my head around, I am brought back into Rwanda during that quiet moment when I finally lay down in my feverish state and began to praise God, whisper-singing to Him and thinking, "This is what Karen was talking about. This is what it means to suffer, and have joy." Even then, I knew it didn't make any sense. All I knew was that I was happy, that God  loves me more than I have, and maybe can ever love Him. Even in my sickness, my one fear, I found joy. And it was beautiful. So as far as making peace with yourself goes, I think that event is a good example.

Like I said, I'm sure I didn't say all I could have, but let me just give a shout out to the new friend I made at work just a week ago who lent me the book that has so affected my life (though I won't name names). While I didn't agree with everything she (Heidi Baker) claims in Compelled by Love, and I still have some lingering questions, there is no doubt in my mind that God put this guy in my life to give me that book, at the very least; if there is anything beyond that...we shall see.

In the mean time, thank you all for being with me and do await another post soon on returning to college, running, and (ideally) a life lived purely.

God bless.

The Fourth R

Written a few weeks ago, work in progress. Pretty "modern"/avant garde, for me. More to come on the subject later.

"The Fourth R"

Running

through blades of glory

fashioned like sea creatures

flown in on the breeze,

                                            stuck—then,

launching over mud puddles

bitten into the earth by a finger

on the hand that feeds

eternity

                     (MIGHTY over

                                 human matters)

with vomiting rainclouds, purging

me of my disease,

                                           stagnation: excepting

the licentious serpent

only just; three thousand miles

easily evaporates good intentions.

Grief eats away

from sweeter breath

blown softly from a tongue

in cheek reality, once gently mocking

my qualms of losing grace, now

e c  h   o    i     n       g harshly

as a hopeless, despairing “truth”:

           DEATH DEATH DEATH

but the feet move forward,

patiently awaiting

a reminder;

redemption.

Creative Writing Flux

I wrote this sometime in early March for my Creative Writing class, but I put off posting it because I couldn't figure out how to finish it. Still not sure what to do with it, but its Rwanda- AND Writing-related so I figured I'd  put it up :) Enjoy!
(Also, I've been particularly inspired lately, so I'll include a couple poems afterwards that are also Rwanda-/Writing-related.)

"The Banana Tree"

          The slicing of my brother’s skin elicits peals of laughter from a band of missionaries, and even though I know he’ll grow again, I cringe as his living water spurts, threatening to stain the clothes of his assailants. A corncob’s throw away, the one in the sun hat molests my sister’s fruit like it’s hers for the taking, but for a lack of ripeness, the missionary abandons her game. I try to use the sub-Saharan breeze as a propeller for my leafy wings to reach out to my siblings, but nature confines me; I am rooted to the spot, as I have been for the past ten years. The tiers of my sister’s heart remain visibly unharmed, but I see she mourns the disfigurement of our brother. As for me, the most revenge I can hope for is the browning of the missionaries’ coverings, and I wonder if they can see the juices of my frustration slicking my skin like the sweat screaming from the unconditioned American foreheads bobbing through the forest of our youth. Do they know? Do they know that they are being watched? No one knows—but maybe, some have faith.

"At a Choir Concert"

notes dance above the heads
of unseen singers as their songs
echo upward with a shimmer,
like the exchange of a silver baton
in a 1600-meter relay: sharp,
crucial, ephemeral—if not,
disaster

but, perhaps, wearing maroon
robes burned with age and
experience wards off consequences...

in the sea of pew people,
only I'm thinking
of cassava leaves
and African sun.


"Shaken Days"

sweeping slowly, a brown hand
around the wooden handle
of a broom; on the same street,
a chocolate hand in mine
swinging slowly to the rhythm
of our sandals in the sand
with a thousand miles behind us
and a million more to go

when she speaks, I let the r's and w's
roll over me as they bounce off her
protruding belly—one year from now
she'll be teaching those letters
to a mouth more wanting of sustenance

in twenty years, I wonder
if she'll remember the story
I've already misplaced in the mass
of memorialized strangers—
her story of those shaken days.

(P.S. Check out my recent publications, "Expectations" and "Identity"!  http://www.literaryjuice.com/#/poet-tree-april-2012/4562721175 )

A Monday

Second Monday of Spring semester. It’s snowing, and for some reason I think that’s significant. Mondays are going to be pretty easy for me this semester (sorry to those of you who actually have normal schedules), but this morning was rather…stressful. For my Ethics of Development class today, we read an article on US aid (from USAID, of course)to Nepal for health/medical care in 2002 or so that focused on abortion—do the Nepalese agree to the terms nixing abortion (legally) to get the full $400k+ or disagree and take the $200k+ cut? While the answer was pretty straight forward to me in theory (i.e. on the Moodle discussion forum), in practice (class) I was shakin’ in my boots to say a word to an audience of nonbelievers, albeit “good” and intelligent people. But I did. Mostly because my professor asked me point blank to voice the opinions I had stated on the forum (which my classmates failed to read because of some sort of as-of-yet-unidentified computer/internet error), but still I spoke, and even though no one chastised me for my opinions, it was probably the single most terrifying thing I’ve done in a long time. That might surprise you, but I think it’s true.

So how does this relate? Well, as you might imagine, I felt extremely convicted. Why was it so hard to share in an environment that was genuinely not hostile? I had made most of it up in my head. I mean, the silence as I spoke was deafening (and awkward, for me at least), but it was civil. That’s when I realized that I can do this. That all the things I want and need to say will get said, but only if I take the initiative. In Rwanda, I think I learned this when I spoke in tongues for the first time (and may or may not have said “I want to speak” in two different languages that did not immediately register in my brain). I want to speak, I can speak, I should speak, I will speak. Rwanda changed me, and I know that greater things are yet to come, greater things are still to be done—on this campus, in this country, on this Earth.

As for me, I will serve the Lord.

God bless.