I have a confession to make. I hate using cliches, but sometimes cliches become cliches for a reason: they sum up a situation so well that they are used time and time again, and people always know what you mean. So, when I say I have a confession to make, I'm using a cliche, but I'm using it willingly because it's the best way to express what I'm about to say.
I'm all out of writing aspirations. My ideas have vanished. To have such inspiration in my life, which is God, Ryan, my travel career (oh yeah, I never told you about that...), and the many details in my life that make me so blessed - it's surprising that I'm done saying whatever it is I set out to say years ago when I started this blog. I know this blog had a purpose - and that was to make epilepsy awareness a priority in my life, and to inspire others with the same vision. I started out just trying to understand the dramatic change in my life, and I used writing as my outlet to do that. But, I'm no John le Carre, nor do I pretend to be. I know true artists who give themselves fully over to their talent, so much so that it makes them crazy. Lately, I can't say that I've given myself over to anything with that sort of commitment. In many ways, I'm very lukewarm and cautious about what I give my heart to. But, there was one time in my life when God made me a writer, and it was for HIS plan, not mine. There's one thing that always stops me in my tracks, where the very mention of it lifts my spirits, and the familiar smell of it causes me to pause and forget where I am. Rwanda.
In 2005, I went to Rwanda. I met a woman about my age dying of AIDS. She was beautiful. Her eyes were swollen with tears but she didn't cry. We could only communicate with our eyes, and we could only share our lives by holding hands. I remember the moment so profoundly that it still tears my heart when I think about it. I remember walking over to her with such a sense of inadequacy - I had nothing to comfort her with. We were getting ready for a group picture, and I reached out my hand to shake hers'. She took my hand, but when I thought it was time to pull away, she wouldn't let go. You can still see it in the group picture - her and I are in the front row, crouching together, clasping hands. I remember feeling like it was all a movie playing out in front of me. How could a moment like this really be happening? It felt so completely surreal that my heart couldn't take it. I couldn't let her in immediately. I wasn't ready to feel her pain, or to cry with her, or to tell her story to anyone else. But I buried it somewhere in my soul, never really knowing when I'd be able to dig it out.
Then, there was the 12 year old boy, whose ambition for an education beckoned me to reach into my pockets and try to help him. After all, he had the courage and the vulnerability to ask me to sponsor him. His name is Ronald. He is approximately 18 years old now. And I don't know if he ever achieved the education he deserved. I was unable to provide what I said I would, and I've hated myself for it ever since. Yet, in spite of that, the sole reason why I chose to give money towards his education was because of the feeling I had about his character - his courage, his ambition, his strength - which all shined so brightly in his eyes and smile. God is bigger than the small college budget that I had when I made the decision to hand his future back to God and admit that I couldn't follow through. I'm a firm believer that if you cling to something that you are not equipped to do, you are standing in the way of God's plan of giving the job over to someone else who is equipped to do it. It's not cowardly, it's Godly, and I've forgiven myself. Yet, I still think about Ronald, who, in every way, represents the hope, beauty, and resilience that his country emulates.
My very first full day spent in Rwanda was dedicated to learning about the effects of the genocide of 1994. We visited a genocide memorial, mounted on one of Kigali's many hills. This was yet another moment when I couldn't give my heart over fully to the depths of pain that the hills were still echoing. I walked beside the mass grave underlying a beautiful marble slab. Here and there were bouquets of flowers, and small puddles from the rain that had fallen only recently. You see, we were in Rwanda during the rainy season, which, as it turns out, is very rainy. The smell of wet earth constantly filled my nostrils and awoke my senses to the purest fragrance of what this land is, despite it's shortcomings and violent history. We entered a building where pictures with captions told the story of how the genocide was allowed to take place. The Belgians, the favoritism of Tutsis over Hutus, the sloppy transfer of power that automatically set the stage for ethnic violence - it was all there, spelled out nicely for us foreigners to read. Then, we entered memorial rooms for the victims. Shoes of all sizes, heaped together in a glass case. ID cards with pictures, stamped with the fatal word, TUTSI, although some did say HUTU. It strikes me still that, soul-less personal property, which I always believed to be temporary and irrelevant at the end of life, actually outlived the person who owned it. Their shoes and ID cards were all that was left, besides cold, lifeless bones. But the bones didn't really move me. I had the chance to walk into a mass grave, and see bones all around me, but that isn't what broke my heart. What broke my heart was the final room of this first memorial - the room where clothes were hanging inside a lit glass case. Baby clothes, men's trousers with a shirt dangling above with arms bent at the elbows. The ghosts of Rwanda - staring at you through the glass. This was the most alive these people would ever be again. This was the moment that my heart could finally grasp the tragedy - and mourning could finally occur. My heart opened up to Rwanda, and Rwanda entered and made a home. There will never be anything more moving, or more important, that can fill the space that Rwanda has created.
This is why I can't pass over a new book written about Rwanda. This is why I've never been able to really write passionately about anything else. When I said earlier that God made me a writer for His purpose, here's what I mean. I've only written one complete novel, and it was years after I visited the AIDS home and my heart couldn't absorb the intensity of my new friend who was dying before my eyes. One day, I had to do a creative project and submit it in order to graduate with honors. I knew I would write about Rwanda. This was my first literary endeavor, and I thought it would be about Ronald. After all, I thought that was what impacted me the most. However, when I started trying to write a story about the parentless, homeless children in Rwanda, it just wasn't working. It wasn't raw and vulnerable like I determined my novel would be. It felt cliche, it felt staged. And I thought I was failing. But then, my mom inspired me to consider writing about my dying friend who clung to my hand as though her life depended on it. I thought I'd give it a try, and before I knew it, I had one full page written. Then I had three. And in a matter of three months, I had a short novel about Grace and her daughter, Patience (this was the name I gave my lovely inspiration, because I don't actually know her real name, nor if she had children). This is the only time I've ever been a true artist and writer - because I gave myself over to it so much that it almost drove me crazy.
Moments like that are rare and God inspired. I'm coming to terms with the fact that, for some reason, He doesn't want me to be a writer right now. I've spent months writing blogs about epilepsy, and then I tried to take it a new direction, which led to borderline narcissistic ramblings, and eventually, to a general complaint about Facebook. I'm ready to say that this blog is done. Perhaps another time I'll be inspired by God. I hope that when that time comes, you'll be here to join me in it. For the time being, I just wanted to write about the one topic that's easiest for me, because shockingly, I've never blogged about Rwanda. After six years, though, I guess you can see that it's never too late.
So, farewell, my four followers. This blog is done.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Thursday, February 3, 2011
The State of Removal.
It's time for an honest and open dialogue about Facebook and it's function in our lives. Let's say that a rigorous FB user to be unnamed has 203 friends. That's a lot of friends to be had. However, on a seemingly normal day, this committed Face-bookie logs in and notices that she now has 202 friends. 202. The Face-bookie breaks into a cold sweat - and feels the embarassment in her gut as she starts frantically wondering, who? why? She opens her list of friends and starts scrolling down. Who's the missing link? She can't seem to find anyone missing. Then, she remembers - that guy she met in Bioethics class who was obsessed with Josef Mengele and his "experiments." Her feelings were hurt - even though Heinrich was weird - what did she do wrong to lose his FB friendship?
She reviews every detail of their "friendship." Where did she go wrong? Surely it wasn't because she was rude to him - that's definitely not it. She listened to his rants about Mengele with attentive politeness. It couldn't have been because she got married and changed her last name - although that would be convenient if he didn't remember who she was based on her profile - but the day of her wedding, he wrote in huge block letters, "CONGRATULATIONS for giving in to eternally blissful slavery" on her wall! Was it because he was doing some housecleaning and as a result adopted the "less is more" theory? But if so, why her?? Why this nice Face-bookie who ate lunch with him two times and picked up his pen when he dropped it on the floor that one time in class? It just didn't make sense.
On November 17, 2010, National Unfriend Day happened. Jimmy Kimmel promoted it. I miraculously survived mostly unscathed that day - and I didn't partake in the unfriending. It seemed like such a logical, marvelous idea - but there are consequences to unfriending somebody. There's really no turning back. Face-bookies like the loyal user above are running rampant with these misconceptions that FB is more than what it actually is, as Kimmel pointed out. It's not a substitution for friendship, because friending someone on FB means virtually nothing. It's simply "social networking," right?
Obviously not, because then people wouldn't remove friends out of a sense of superiority or revenge, which often happens. I removed a rather nice guy two years ago because he didn't invite me to his wedding. Granted, he invited my parents, and I grew up with him - so it's really not so undeserved - but I regret it anyway. When Facebook is the lowest form of friendship you can have with somebody, and still, someone would remove you, it's equivalent to them telling you, "I want absolutely nothing to do with you - no photos, no updates, no statuses about your sick dog - get out of my life!" Isn't it? Personally, I'd rather not run the risk of making someone believe that I feel that way about them (unless I do...). Of course, there are valid reasons to remove a person from your FB pool...for example, if you meet each other's eyes in the school lunchroom and there is no friendly exchange whatsoever - just cold staring - that deserves unfriend action. However, frequently the reasons are less than deserving.
I had one person defriend me last year because I didn't get her a bachelorette party gift as quickly as she wanted me to (or at least, that's my theory). It's amusing how this social networking site, in it's cold aloofness that makes it safe to be friends with people you hardly know, still has the capacity to cause pain. Or rather, just plain annoyance and stress. It hardly seems worth it to chase somebody down and ask them, "Tell me why you removed me from your Facebook! Why??", because, if they did, they're not really your friend and probably won't have a satisfying answer because of the elementary nature of the social networking site. You can hide certain sections of information from people. You can talk behind their back in a message and then write "Have a great day!" on their wall. You can block them, unblock them, and block them again. You can browse their pictures, hate their choice of outfit, and then click "Like" when they are posing with Santa Claus. Basically, Facebook is high school again. We dismiss good manners and revert.
Is it really so authentic? Do we really need to have 400 friends we don't talk to? No. But I'd rather not disappear from 400 people's pages leaving them with the cold embarassment that accompanies it. Spread love. Don't reject people for petty reasons.
Be more authentic by being less authentic. Show your character in your Facebook etiquette. That's all I have to say today.
She reviews every detail of their "friendship." Where did she go wrong? Surely it wasn't because she was rude to him - that's definitely not it. She listened to his rants about Mengele with attentive politeness. It couldn't have been because she got married and changed her last name - although that would be convenient if he didn't remember who she was based on her profile - but the day of her wedding, he wrote in huge block letters, "CONGRATULATIONS for giving in to eternally blissful slavery" on her wall! Was it because he was doing some housecleaning and as a result adopted the "less is more" theory? But if so, why her?? Why this nice Face-bookie who ate lunch with him two times and picked up his pen when he dropped it on the floor that one time in class? It just didn't make sense.
On November 17, 2010, National Unfriend Day happened. Jimmy Kimmel promoted it. I miraculously survived mostly unscathed that day - and I didn't partake in the unfriending. It seemed like such a logical, marvelous idea - but there are consequences to unfriending somebody. There's really no turning back. Face-bookies like the loyal user above are running rampant with these misconceptions that FB is more than what it actually is, as Kimmel pointed out. It's not a substitution for friendship, because friending someone on FB means virtually nothing. It's simply "social networking," right?
Obviously not, because then people wouldn't remove friends out of a sense of superiority or revenge, which often happens. I removed a rather nice guy two years ago because he didn't invite me to his wedding. Granted, he invited my parents, and I grew up with him - so it's really not so undeserved - but I regret it anyway. When Facebook is the lowest form of friendship you can have with somebody, and still, someone would remove you, it's equivalent to them telling you, "I want absolutely nothing to do with you - no photos, no updates, no statuses about your sick dog - get out of my life!" Isn't it? Personally, I'd rather not run the risk of making someone believe that I feel that way about them (unless I do...). Of course, there are valid reasons to remove a person from your FB pool...for example, if you meet each other's eyes in the school lunchroom and there is no friendly exchange whatsoever - just cold staring - that deserves unfriend action. However, frequently the reasons are less than deserving.
I had one person defriend me last year because I didn't get her a bachelorette party gift as quickly as she wanted me to (or at least, that's my theory). It's amusing how this social networking site, in it's cold aloofness that makes it safe to be friends with people you hardly know, still has the capacity to cause pain. Or rather, just plain annoyance and stress. It hardly seems worth it to chase somebody down and ask them, "Tell me why you removed me from your Facebook! Why??", because, if they did, they're not really your friend and probably won't have a satisfying answer because of the elementary nature of the social networking site. You can hide certain sections of information from people. You can talk behind their back in a message and then write "Have a great day!" on their wall. You can block them, unblock them, and block them again. You can browse their pictures, hate their choice of outfit, and then click "Like" when they are posing with Santa Claus. Basically, Facebook is high school again. We dismiss good manners and revert.
Is it really so authentic? Do we really need to have 400 friends we don't talk to? No. But I'd rather not disappear from 400 people's pages leaving them with the cold embarassment that accompanies it. Spread love. Don't reject people for petty reasons.
Be more authentic by being less authentic. Show your character in your Facebook etiquette. That's all I have to say today.
Friday, June 11, 2010
How Long?
I remember hearing about an oil rig explosion which killed 11 workers. That was sad, and I wondered who they were and if they had children. But I thought that would be the end of the story. Before I knew it, there was an oil spill of immeasurable proportions, and the news reports grew more and more grim. People started pointing fingers at the oil company and the government, while many pointed the fingers at every person who drives a car for allowing a disaster like this to occur. Instead of pointing fingers at whose to blame, let's focus on the aftermath and how to decrease the devastation.
You see, I've found that MSNBC and CNN, among others, think that all we need to know is that there is an investigation going on to determine who to blame, that BP has tried some new strategies, and that the president wants to kick ass. Well, I think the people of Louisiana are telling a different story - and instead of taking what MSNBC and CNN feed us, we should listen to what's going on in Congress - we should hear for ourselves what's being said and who's saying it. Unfortunately, though, the closest we come to that, many times, is C-SPAN. We should pay attention to the fact that the leaders of Louisiana are trying to solve this problem and that the powers that be are hesitant to give up control to the people who have the will and determination to actually get something done. Louisiana is at risk of losing it's precious marshes, and life has all but been sucked out of them already.
I'm wondering why our nation isn't in a state of emergency. And I echo the question of one of my dear friends when she asked, "Where is Sean Penn now?" I've noticed that he's not floating around in oil infested water. Why is that? Where is the support of the rest of the nation? Quit arguing. Quit threatening to kick ass. Get rid of the beaucracy that holds up action and renders plans useless because they are approved too late. Every citizen in this country is watching the pathetic response to this emergency, and we should be enraged. So do it. Be angry. Protest. Wake up from the apathy.
Enough is enough.
You see, I've found that MSNBC and CNN, among others, think that all we need to know is that there is an investigation going on to determine who to blame, that BP has tried some new strategies, and that the president wants to kick ass. Well, I think the people of Louisiana are telling a different story - and instead of taking what MSNBC and CNN feed us, we should listen to what's going on in Congress - we should hear for ourselves what's being said and who's saying it. Unfortunately, though, the closest we come to that, many times, is C-SPAN. We should pay attention to the fact that the leaders of Louisiana are trying to solve this problem and that the powers that be are hesitant to give up control to the people who have the will and determination to actually get something done. Louisiana is at risk of losing it's precious marshes, and life has all but been sucked out of them already.
I'm wondering why our nation isn't in a state of emergency. And I echo the question of one of my dear friends when she asked, "Where is Sean Penn now?" I've noticed that he's not floating around in oil infested water. Why is that? Where is the support of the rest of the nation? Quit arguing. Quit threatening to kick ass. Get rid of the beaucracy that holds up action and renders plans useless because they are approved too late. Every citizen in this country is watching the pathetic response to this emergency, and we should be enraged. So do it. Be angry. Protest. Wake up from the apathy.
Enough is enough.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Those like me.
I recently discovered epilepsy.com, a website founded by people living with epilepsy - in other words, those like me. I am in love with this website. It's helping me to get outside of the scientific and into the hearts and minds of others who are living with the condition. I know I said that I'd make this blog into a blog about other things besides epilepsy, but it turns out that I'm a liar. I find myself nodding in agreement or posting an answer to someone else's question on a daily basis - this is such a fantastic gift for those living with epilepsy.
One of the things that I'm amazed about is how I've come to embrace epilepsy - I didn't ever think that I would like being epileptic, but I think I do....does that make sense? Embracing what others consider a disability is unusual - but more importantly, it's empowering. As I read others' stories about their experience with epilepsy, I'm amazed. I have so much to learn about my own affliction - I thought I knew everything, but I don't! And ironically, two years of learning to embrace a condition has caused me to learn a great deal about it, and it's allowed me to give feedback to other people's comments and answers to their questions. It fills me with the deepest satisfaction to know that I'm interacting with my peers. They may be 66 years old, or a mother of three, or a college student going through nursing school - and I can relate to all of them.
In particular, there have been many discussions about leviteracetam, or Keppra, which happens to be a medication that I'm intimately familiar with. I've read about others who are scared of taking the medication because of what they've heard about it - and I've read horror stories about how leviteracetam messed up people's lives, and so on. The pattern I'm noticing is the amount of despair exhibited by so many who visit the website - the tone of their questions suggests shame, anger, humiliation, and sadness. I remember a time in my life when I felt the exact same way. In so many ways, I'm a neurologist's dream: the medication works for me. But there's story after story and comment after comment that screams the opposite: no medication works for them, and they hate being epileptic. Part of me wishes I'd found this site soon after my diagnosis, and yet I'm so happy that I've only found it now, because had I been exposed to the depression and angst of so many others, epilepsy might've gotten the best of me.
Do you ever notice how the obsession with despair blur all possibilities of hope? Epileptics need to vent and relate to others who understand them, but sometimes that's where the therapy stops. As a result of this revelation, I've got to commit myself to being positive and offering encouragement whenever the opportunity arises. After all, I think that's what I may be good at.
Maybe God chose to let me have epilepsy so that I could help others who have it. I think that's why He likes me better as an epileptic.
We all have afflictions - and it varies for everybody, but you can only conquer the affliction by embracing it; not running from it. Acknowledge every part of yourself, not only the parts that you like. =)
One of the things that I'm amazed about is how I've come to embrace epilepsy - I didn't ever think that I would like being epileptic, but I think I do....does that make sense? Embracing what others consider a disability is unusual - but more importantly, it's empowering. As I read others' stories about their experience with epilepsy, I'm amazed. I have so much to learn about my own affliction - I thought I knew everything, but I don't! And ironically, two years of learning to embrace a condition has caused me to learn a great deal about it, and it's allowed me to give feedback to other people's comments and answers to their questions. It fills me with the deepest satisfaction to know that I'm interacting with my peers. They may be 66 years old, or a mother of three, or a college student going through nursing school - and I can relate to all of them.
In particular, there have been many discussions about leviteracetam, or Keppra, which happens to be a medication that I'm intimately familiar with. I've read about others who are scared of taking the medication because of what they've heard about it - and I've read horror stories about how leviteracetam messed up people's lives, and so on. The pattern I'm noticing is the amount of despair exhibited by so many who visit the website - the tone of their questions suggests shame, anger, humiliation, and sadness. I remember a time in my life when I felt the exact same way. In so many ways, I'm a neurologist's dream: the medication works for me. But there's story after story and comment after comment that screams the opposite: no medication works for them, and they hate being epileptic. Part of me wishes I'd found this site soon after my diagnosis, and yet I'm so happy that I've only found it now, because had I been exposed to the depression and angst of so many others, epilepsy might've gotten the best of me.
Do you ever notice how the obsession with despair blur all possibilities of hope? Epileptics need to vent and relate to others who understand them, but sometimes that's where the therapy stops. As a result of this revelation, I've got to commit myself to being positive and offering encouragement whenever the opportunity arises. After all, I think that's what I may be good at.
Maybe God chose to let me have epilepsy so that I could help others who have it. I think that's why He likes me better as an epileptic.
We all have afflictions - and it varies for everybody, but you can only conquer the affliction by embracing it; not running from it. Acknowledge every part of yourself, not only the parts that you like. =)
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Always hungry.
Who I am is defined by what I do. Literally. Usually, this is used as a lesson in a movie script or as a point of encouragement, but for me, it's unsettling. I define the very reason for myself based on how I spend my time, where I work, what I do, and how long I do it. I reason that my purpose is wrapped up in what I create around me and how I use my mind, body, and soul. I'm never fully settled, or content, in any point in my life. I always want to be more.
That's why, when I have a decent job, and a great life with my husband, I still beat myself up for not going the extra mile to do something extraordinary. I don't want to leave this world as just an ordinary person. I want to do it all. I want to travel to far off places, help as many people as I can, try everything at least once, and learn new things at every turn. For some reason, wherever I am in life isn't enough for me to be satisfied. I don't feel that I'm living the dream. I think I'm holding back from what I really want, and I think I've done that for a long time. I wanted to do respiratory therapy, and now I'm not so sure. The drive is still there, but I fear in my heart that even if I achieve that goal, I'll still have the feeling of standing at the far edge of a field, ready to run across to the other side and resenting myself for pausing. How would it be if one day I woke up, and realized that my life is ordinary?
This is the one hurdle I've never been able to jump, and it's been the unrelenting weakness I've felt my entire life. I achieve one goal, and I'm on to the next without really taking that first goal very far. I'm all about achievement, proving myself - to myself. I don't really understand it - I just know that I'll never be good enough for the bully inside me. The ironic thing is, I've been complimented on what this bully has brought out of me. People think I'm an extremely driven person, and the truth is, that I'm actually a tormented driven person. People admire my drive, I admire other's contentment.
I thirst for God, and I believe that the answer to my woes lies in Him. But I'm having a difficult time making that first step back to Him. I never fully give myself away to Him - I hold back and try to maintain control because I don't want to lose it. Even in my years of being extremely close to the Lord, though, I still had this unquenchable hunger. I wish I knew what I was hungry for?
That's why, when I have a decent job, and a great life with my husband, I still beat myself up for not going the extra mile to do something extraordinary. I don't want to leave this world as just an ordinary person. I want to do it all. I want to travel to far off places, help as many people as I can, try everything at least once, and learn new things at every turn. For some reason, wherever I am in life isn't enough for me to be satisfied. I don't feel that I'm living the dream. I think I'm holding back from what I really want, and I think I've done that for a long time. I wanted to do respiratory therapy, and now I'm not so sure. The drive is still there, but I fear in my heart that even if I achieve that goal, I'll still have the feeling of standing at the far edge of a field, ready to run across to the other side and resenting myself for pausing. How would it be if one day I woke up, and realized that my life is ordinary?
This is the one hurdle I've never been able to jump, and it's been the unrelenting weakness I've felt my entire life. I achieve one goal, and I'm on to the next without really taking that first goal very far. I'm all about achievement, proving myself - to myself. I don't really understand it - I just know that I'll never be good enough for the bully inside me. The ironic thing is, I've been complimented on what this bully has brought out of me. People think I'm an extremely driven person, and the truth is, that I'm actually a tormented driven person. People admire my drive, I admire other's contentment.
I thirst for God, and I believe that the answer to my woes lies in Him. But I'm having a difficult time making that first step back to Him. I never fully give myself away to Him - I hold back and try to maintain control because I don't want to lose it. Even in my years of being extremely close to the Lord, though, I still had this unquenchable hunger. I wish I knew what I was hungry for?
Just a few odd thoughts for the day.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Haiti.
Dear Haiti,
I'm thinking of you. I didn't think much of you before, I'll admit. My focus has been on other times, other places. My Haitian friend always told me life was hard there; but she certainly loved you very much. Now the whole world is watching. It took a 7.0 earthquake to get the world to stop and see you - a beautiful island, independent, and torn by tragedy and corruption. Now books will be written AND read - about you and your people. Your tumultuous history, your struggle for sovereignty and freedom. The wealth that was deprived you. I'm sorry that it took so long to notice - that it took so much death and destruction for us to notice.
I want to go to you. I long to go to you. Nothing would please me more than to be there, sifting through broken walls and dismantled lives, side by side with you. Why it feels so close to my heart, I don't know. Why I feel like I've lost a distant cousin, I don't know. Your children, siblings, and parents will be missed. I hope you find all of them. I hope that no one gets lost in the rubble because it's too much to clean up. As you travel by foot to the hospital in search of your friends, know that the delay is not because they are unimportant. The world is watching, waiting, and praying that you will find your friends and family. The doctors are doing everything within their abilities to save their lives.
I'm sorry that everything is so scientific. I'm sorry that the day after, an article is published about why Haiti is prone to dangerous quakes. I'm sorry for the unintended "I told you so" attitude that is filling the gap that should be filled by prayer and compassion. When you go to your home, and see it in a pile, I pray that God will give you the clarity to remember that you were able to survive it's collapse and that God is your home. He is your roof, wall, and floor that will never collapse. When you see your child's school on the ground, remember that learning happens everywhere. Learning doesn't need walls. And if your child is among the missing, you know where to look. Remember that love, like learning, has no walls. Your love for them will help you to endure through the hours of recovery. You will not sleep, nor will you stop to eat. You will move planks, boulders, metal, and glass. You will cut your hands and feet but will not notice. You will hear the cries of other parents, and you will brace yourself. That afternoon you saw them - the memory of their tiny voice and beautiful smile renews your strength. You will find them and hold them again, even if they cannot hold you back. But when they are able to put their arms around your neck, and you feel the warmth of their body, you will be whole again. How I wish I could help you find them.
Husbands, wives, lovers - as you search all of the likely places for your partners, be prepared. Their workplace is eerily quiet. As you survey the scene, a hole grows in your stomach. But you hear a familiar voice calling your name. Blood rushes to your skin and you run in the direction of the voice. When you can't find them at work or at home, you go to the hospital. There are many bodies to look through. When you find them, you will take a moment to remember the beauty and color they added to your lives when you see their empty faces. How I wish I could comfort you. Children, when you said goodbye to your parents that day when the earth shook, remember that YOU are their purpose. They'd be pleased to know that you survived. Don't stop searching for them. Don't give up hope. Soon you will know, and when that time comes, you must take care of them.
Brothers and sisters, as you run to each others' houses in urgent hope, what you see won't make you stop crying their names and tearing through the ruins. When you hear them quietly call your name from beneath the mess, your heart pounds through your chest and you dig until your fingernails are nearly coming off. When you don't hear them, and you can't decide where to start digging, you take your best guess and it won't always take long to find them. I'm sorry that no one is there to help you.
As you're pulled from the wreckage, Haiti, I'll be watching and waiting. You're cut up and bruised, but breathing. You will never forget that day, and you will use that day and all the days following to build a better future. All I can do is pray for you. I wish I could do more.
Sincerely,
Missy
I'm thinking of you. I didn't think much of you before, I'll admit. My focus has been on other times, other places. My Haitian friend always told me life was hard there; but she certainly loved you very much. Now the whole world is watching. It took a 7.0 earthquake to get the world to stop and see you - a beautiful island, independent, and torn by tragedy and corruption. Now books will be written AND read - about you and your people. Your tumultuous history, your struggle for sovereignty and freedom. The wealth that was deprived you. I'm sorry that it took so long to notice - that it took so much death and destruction for us to notice.
I want to go to you. I long to go to you. Nothing would please me more than to be there, sifting through broken walls and dismantled lives, side by side with you. Why it feels so close to my heart, I don't know. Why I feel like I've lost a distant cousin, I don't know. Your children, siblings, and parents will be missed. I hope you find all of them. I hope that no one gets lost in the rubble because it's too much to clean up. As you travel by foot to the hospital in search of your friends, know that the delay is not because they are unimportant. The world is watching, waiting, and praying that you will find your friends and family. The doctors are doing everything within their abilities to save their lives.
I'm sorry that everything is so scientific. I'm sorry that the day after, an article is published about why Haiti is prone to dangerous quakes. I'm sorry for the unintended "I told you so" attitude that is filling the gap that should be filled by prayer and compassion. When you go to your home, and see it in a pile, I pray that God will give you the clarity to remember that you were able to survive it's collapse and that God is your home. He is your roof, wall, and floor that will never collapse. When you see your child's school on the ground, remember that learning happens everywhere. Learning doesn't need walls. And if your child is among the missing, you know where to look. Remember that love, like learning, has no walls. Your love for them will help you to endure through the hours of recovery. You will not sleep, nor will you stop to eat. You will move planks, boulders, metal, and glass. You will cut your hands and feet but will not notice. You will hear the cries of other parents, and you will brace yourself. That afternoon you saw them - the memory of their tiny voice and beautiful smile renews your strength. You will find them and hold them again, even if they cannot hold you back. But when they are able to put their arms around your neck, and you feel the warmth of their body, you will be whole again. How I wish I could help you find them.
Husbands, wives, lovers - as you search all of the likely places for your partners, be prepared. Their workplace is eerily quiet. As you survey the scene, a hole grows in your stomach. But you hear a familiar voice calling your name. Blood rushes to your skin and you run in the direction of the voice. When you can't find them at work or at home, you go to the hospital. There are many bodies to look through. When you find them, you will take a moment to remember the beauty and color they added to your lives when you see their empty faces. How I wish I could comfort you. Children, when you said goodbye to your parents that day when the earth shook, remember that YOU are their purpose. They'd be pleased to know that you survived. Don't stop searching for them. Don't give up hope. Soon you will know, and when that time comes, you must take care of them.
Brothers and sisters, as you run to each others' houses in urgent hope, what you see won't make you stop crying their names and tearing through the ruins. When you hear them quietly call your name from beneath the mess, your heart pounds through your chest and you dig until your fingernails are nearly coming off. When you don't hear them, and you can't decide where to start digging, you take your best guess and it won't always take long to find them. I'm sorry that no one is there to help you.
As you're pulled from the wreckage, Haiti, I'll be watching and waiting. You're cut up and bruised, but breathing. You will never forget that day, and you will use that day and all the days following to build a better future. All I can do is pray for you. I wish I could do more.
Sincerely,
Missy
Friday, December 11, 2009
Dr. Laura and me.
At the risk of sounding like a complete jerk, I'm going to bring up something that I find both sad and amusing. Dr. Laura's radio show. I laugh almost every time I listen to her - either about something she says or the ridiculous reason that someone is calling in. "Should I dump my boyfriend, Dr. Laura, if he's cheating on me?" "You should've dumped him before you let it get this far. It's all your fault that you're miserable now." "Oh, Dr. Laura, thank you so much! That's exactly what my sister said, but I wasn't sure, so I called you...."
Or...I like this one better...
"Dr. Laura, I'm trying to get my son involved in sports, but he's not into sports, and he has a hard time making friends."
"How old is your son?"
"He's nine."
"Well, at that age, he should be more social. And you say he's into artsy stuff? Have you thought that perhaps he's gay? Children at that age aren't that shy unless they're hiding something...."
The audacity of that woman! I can't BELIEVE some of the things she says, and the way her needy callers salivate over her common sense - or completely wacko - suggestions. It's actually quite infuriating once I stop laughing and really consider that these people truly rely on her for the decisions they make in life. And some people call her about some enormous, life-changing situations. When I disagree with her, which is half of the time, I want so badly to call her and tell her on the air....but what's the use? She would whip out some sort of psychological babble that would end up making me into the weirdo. So I'll blog about it instead.
Her show actually got me thinking about something. A woman called in and asked if she should support her husband as he makes a career change, even if that means they wouldn't be able to buy a house for their small family. Dr. Laura actually said to her that it was her husband's job to HAVE a job and to keep it even if he hates it, because a job isn't supposed to make you happy, it's supposed to pay your bills. Huh. I wonder how much Dr. Laura gets paid, and whether or not SHE likes her job. And Dr. Laura was sure to include that her husband was happy in his job - but perhaps he didn't have to make a career change to be happy. This was one of the many instances in which my jaw dropped while listening to her show. If jobs were meant only for the purpose of making money - then Compassion International wouldn't be around. Not-for-profit humanitarian organizations wouldn't be around. The people who begin these noble causes around the world don't do it so they can support their family in their house-buying pursuits - they do it out of a calling. Can't a job be a calling? Isn't it worth it to make sacrifices to fulfill a dream? Sure, some people work to survive, and it doesn't matter to them whether they like their job or not. However, I think Dr. Laura missed the whole point. If a person senses that their job is a dead end for them, and they find no fulfillment in how they're using their time away from their family, that's what I call a symptom of not living the dream. Because regardless of how much money they make, they ARE sacrificing forty hours per week or more, advancing their bosses' dreams. It seems a little counter-productive. Can't a dream extend beyond stability?
Take my husband and me, for example. We're both on the brink of life-changing decisions. And trust me, it's scary. We're looking at a state that is totally different than the one we're living in - he has acquaintances and business partners there, but that's about all. Our family and friends are here. I too, am making a career change. I'm going into the medical field. Trust me, it gets petrifying to think about. I'm completing my EMT-Basic certification requirements really soon, and then I'll be able to practice. The next step is more school. I'm planning to go into respiratory care, and if we're not totally broke later, I want to specialize in a very specific topic of international health: tuberculosis. My husband, on the other hand, is embarking upon his life-long dreams of keeping the family business alive and doing what he does really well: entrepreneurship. All the while, there are bills to pay, and incidentals which we haven't totally figured out yet.
Basically, we're going our own way, and I like that.
Or...I like this one better...
"Dr. Laura, I'm trying to get my son involved in sports, but he's not into sports, and he has a hard time making friends."
"How old is your son?"
"He's nine."
"Well, at that age, he should be more social. And you say he's into artsy stuff? Have you thought that perhaps he's gay? Children at that age aren't that shy unless they're hiding something...."
The audacity of that woman! I can't BELIEVE some of the things she says, and the way her needy callers salivate over her common sense - or completely wacko - suggestions. It's actually quite infuriating once I stop laughing and really consider that these people truly rely on her for the decisions they make in life. And some people call her about some enormous, life-changing situations. When I disagree with her, which is half of the time, I want so badly to call her and tell her on the air....but what's the use? She would whip out some sort of psychological babble that would end up making me into the weirdo. So I'll blog about it instead.
Her show actually got me thinking about something. A woman called in and asked if she should support her husband as he makes a career change, even if that means they wouldn't be able to buy a house for their small family. Dr. Laura actually said to her that it was her husband's job to HAVE a job and to keep it even if he hates it, because a job isn't supposed to make you happy, it's supposed to pay your bills. Huh. I wonder how much Dr. Laura gets paid, and whether or not SHE likes her job. And Dr. Laura was sure to include that her husband was happy in his job - but perhaps he didn't have to make a career change to be happy. This was one of the many instances in which my jaw dropped while listening to her show. If jobs were meant only for the purpose of making money - then Compassion International wouldn't be around. Not-for-profit humanitarian organizations wouldn't be around. The people who begin these noble causes around the world don't do it so they can support their family in their house-buying pursuits - they do it out of a calling. Can't a job be a calling? Isn't it worth it to make sacrifices to fulfill a dream? Sure, some people work to survive, and it doesn't matter to them whether they like their job or not. However, I think Dr. Laura missed the whole point. If a person senses that their job is a dead end for them, and they find no fulfillment in how they're using their time away from their family, that's what I call a symptom of not living the dream. Because regardless of how much money they make, they ARE sacrificing forty hours per week or more, advancing their bosses' dreams. It seems a little counter-productive. Can't a dream extend beyond stability?
Take my husband and me, for example. We're both on the brink of life-changing decisions. And trust me, it's scary. We're looking at a state that is totally different than the one we're living in - he has acquaintances and business partners there, but that's about all. Our family and friends are here. I too, am making a career change. I'm going into the medical field. Trust me, it gets petrifying to think about. I'm completing my EMT-Basic certification requirements really soon, and then I'll be able to practice. The next step is more school. I'm planning to go into respiratory care, and if we're not totally broke later, I want to specialize in a very specific topic of international health: tuberculosis. My husband, on the other hand, is embarking upon his life-long dreams of keeping the family business alive and doing what he does really well: entrepreneurship. All the while, there are bills to pay, and incidentals which we haven't totally figured out yet.
Basically, we're going our own way, and I like that.
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