I'm on the library's most wanted list

This is not normal for me. I'm usually fairly responsible person; I pay my bills on time, I'm prompt, I keep my house fairly clean- well, clean enough. I just have this little problem with library books and that whole bring-them-back concept that libraries are so uptight about. So, for the first time in my life, I had a bill sent to collections and, although I finally did return most of the books (still can't find one) my fines were high enough that I had to set up a 3-month payment plan with the library.

It's embarressing and a little surprising, so I spent some time digging down deep within myself to discover why I struggle so much with responsible library patronage. Here's what I finally came up with:

I don't like returning books.

I mean, I really, really don't like returning books.

I love them. I love to hold them, smell them, listen to that sweet crackling when they are opened, spend hours bonding with them, scribble thoughts in their margins ( another big library no-no, admit turn out), stay awake all night sharing a bottle of wine with them, and drifting off to sleep with them. Returning those who have come to mean so much to me after only a few short weeks seems crude and heartless.

Now, if I were advancing in my spiritual practices, this is where I would talk about the need to release our attachment to the things of this world. I would even rejoice over this discovery of another fetter in need of breaking.
I'm not going to do it. Not just because I'm stubborn (which I am), but also becuase I have discovered freedom in the discovery. Instead of purging myself of this relationship with books which I find so nourishing and pleasurable, I need to adjust my lifestyle so that I no longer damages my credit or taxes the patience of those sweet librarians.
So, no more removing books from the library for me. Research will only be conducted within it's walls; books with whom I would like a deeper relationship I will buy (Half Price Books is my new best friend) and, once the relationship has run its course, will sell back.

If the rules of the game don't work for me, then it's time to change the game. I'm at peace with that, as are all of my new lovely books.

Tweaking Twain: Publisher introduces new and improved "Tom Sawyer" and "Huckleberry Finn"

Read this on the news a couple of days ago. I had to double check the website to make sure it wasn’t a satirical news website. It wasn’t: it’s true. They’re coming out with new and improved Mark Twain, rest his soul.

To make Twain’s classics “Huckleberry Finn” and “Tom Sawyer” more palatable for readers, publisher NewSouth Books in Alabama is working with Twain scholar Alan Gribben to publish the classics with some revisions, such as replacing each occurrence of the word “nigger” with the word “slave.” Gribben claims this word is less offensive to readers and so people will be more likely to embrace the classic novels.

You know, kind of like deep-fat batter frying okra. It’s a southern thing.

Which issue do we tackle first? Well, for starters, I’m offended by the idea that the word “slave” is somehow less offensive. A human who owns another human like any other property- cattle, clothing, a house- is absurd, inhumane, and evil. That this word is somehow more acceptable might be a clue as to why we have more slaves in the United States now than we did before the civil war. It’s just not offensive enough to us.

But let’s get back to that dirty n-word. Is it an offensive word? Absolutely. Is it demeaning to an entire race of people? No doubt. Does it need to be completely purged from our current vocabulary? Certainly. Should we pretend like it never happened? No.

Twain didn’t write fairy tales. And though the protagonists in these books are children, they are not children’s books. He wrote about and for the times, often using humor as the medium for his cutting criticisms of society, a society deeply entrenched is racism, who used words like “nigger” because a majority of them believed that black people were inferior human beings. To turn our eyes from this reality, to pretend it didn’t happen, that it is not a prominent part of our country’s history, is to doom us to ignorance, stagnation, and repetition.

You may disagree with me. You may think that works like Twain’s have no place in a cultured, educated person’s library. Fine. Keep it off your shelves. But for god’s sake, don’t bastardize the man’s writing. If, 100 years from now, someone were to republish my writing removing or changing all the little parts they found offensive, I would rise up out of my grave and knock them over the head. Assuming that Mark Twain was no less spirited than I, let’s not risk it.

Jesus is returning May 21, 2011

Jesus is returning May 21, 2011, according to Raleigh, N.C-based group “We Can Know.” According to its leaders, they have read the scriptures and checked them twice and, sure enough the return flight is scheduled for this coming spring (the weekend before Memorial Day weekend, unfortunately). That’s what the group is proclaiming on billboards across the United States, including two in the KC metro.

Ok, so it’s very easy to laugh at and ridicule groups like these. I mean, the only thing erroneously predicted more often than Jesus’ return is tomorrow’s weather (cloudy with a high of 34). It’s also tempting to shake heads at the thousands of dollars wasted on the billboards in major cities across the country proclaiming their insight.

Their folly, though, is just a humorous, well-advertised example of the folly that many of us commit regularly: spending our energy on anxiety, excitement, and hope for an anticipated future rather than living fully in the here and now. Running through our heads and our conversations are phrases such as, “I’ll be happy when…,” “I can’t wait until…,” “If only…” “What if…” and “Are we there yet?”

When our eyes are always looking forward and our hope is always in tomorrow, discontent robs our peace and anxiety clouds the beauty of the moment.

The danger doesn’t end with a life squandered, for there are other dangers lurking in this folly. An anxious, discontent, fearful people are easy to control and manipulate. Every great dictator, autocrat, and cult leader knows this and leverages it to great advantage. Where there are not obvious reasons for discontent and anxiety, such as the economic depression that Hitler used to his advantage, they can be manufactured: “a woman over age 40 has a better chance of being killed by a terrorist than of getting married!” (false, by the way)

So what about vision casting, goal setting, and dream building? These are useful in discovering one’s guiding intention for daily living, and in fact can help in determining what is important in life and what small things can be released. They become dangerous, though, when they remove focus from daily life, present companions, and joyful contentment.

Nourish your dreams and your visions, but live fully in the present without dwelling on the past or manufacturing anxiety over the future. It’s what Jesus would want- ask him yourself in May.

For my mother, on her 60th birthday

I don’t remember the day when I first realized my mom was a woman and not just my mom. Perhaps it was the day that she went shopping for a new suit to prepare for arguing in front of the Supreme Court. Or maybe it was the day I found, in an old photo album, a black and white head shot from her early 20s and almost cried at the image of such a beautiful, stylish woman. Or it could have been the first time we shared a bottle of wine and laughed long into the night.

Probably it is an ever growing realization. She is a strong woman: of that I have never had any doubt. Defense attorneys would tremble when facing her in the courtroom, and she has never backed down from a life challenge. It was in the midst of battling breast cancer that she set the goal of hiking the Grand Canyon, a goal she accomplished less than a year after her last treatment. No doubt about her mental or physical strength.

And her power of negotiation is a wonder to behold. She possesses an unstoppable combination of complex reasoning, pure eloquence, and endearing charm. People not only give her her way, but come away feeling better for having done so. Though it infuriated me as a teenager, I now find myself attempting to emulate her.

But these qualities weren’t the ones that surprised me when I discovered my mother is a woman. In fact, they may have blinded me to her deeper qualities, those closer to the core of her being: passion and tenderness.

My mother, as it turns out, is not only strong, courageous, and determined, but she also pours her heart into the people and things that she loves. Her children have never doubted

for a second that she is on their side, cheering the loudest and crying even more than we do when we lose. Her friends value her intense loyalty and steadfastness, for they know and feel a love that is full and tenacious where it chooses to love. Professionally, she has consistently chosen the path that follows her heart rather than the money, which is why she has laid aside practicing law in order to teach it. And now she pours herself into her students, whether it is accompanying one to court who has been harassed by the justice system, or bringing one who lived thousands of miles from home to her own home and family for Thanksgiving.

I suppose it is natural that one who is so passionate is also tender, but this is the one I forget the most. It is difficult to remember that this strong, powerful woman can be wounded. And so sometimes I slip and say a harsh word, and immediately see the hurt in her eyes. Or I will hear the pain in her voice when she relays the story of discovering that a few of her best students cheated on an exam. What is truly amazing is that each time her heart hurts, she become not colder or more callous. She does not build impenetrable walls around herself. No, she instead becomes more compassionate, loves even more deeply, and continues to extend herself to those around her.

These qualities combine to make the most incredible woman I know. The day that brought her life to earth is to be celebrated indeed, for my mother has made the world a more beautiful, more joy-filled place, and will continue to do so for many years to come.

Happy Birthday mentor, friend, hero, comfort, mom. I love you.

An upper for the teacher

As a teacher, opportunities for celebration, both large and small, pop up everyday. A few highlights from the last couple of weeks:

1. One of my students walked into my room with a shopping bag full of clothes. “These are for D____,” she said, “because I know he’s homeless and doesn’t have anything. I bought these for him. I know what it’s like to be homeless; I was homeless when I was 10. So, would you please give these to him?”
2. All of the statistics are stacked up against one of my students. His parents are unemployed and have absolutely no money. They live with his grandparents, who also have very little. He spent most of last year in prison. But I have watched this young man fight the odds and rewrite his future. He has been one of our most diligent students this semester, and it looks like he’s going to earn our college’s presidential scholarship: a two-year full ride.
3. Finally, all those college science classes are paying off. A couple of my more ambitious students are reading science lessons on their own. They came to me last week and again this week with questions about cellular biology and genetics. Fun to pull that dusty knowledge off my brain’s shelves. Even more fun to watch their eyes light up every time they learn and understand a new concept.
4. On the last day before Thanksgiving break, I substituted at our family literacy program. We’ve teamed up with the local school district for this program. While their children attend a half-day of pre-school, parents (all mothers in this case) attend ESL classes. I taught both the morning and afternoon sessions of ESL on Friday and loved it. These women impress me beyond words. They have undertaken the task of learning a new language and culture in a new country in order to increase their own and their children’s opportunities. They do so not only with great strength and determination, but also with beautiful grace and humor. Spending a day with them lifted my spirits (which were already fairly high) and instilled a fresh sense of hope in me. Oh, plus I got to watch the kids play in shaving cream, and you just can't put a price tag on that kind of fun.

Even as winter approaches new life springs about me everyday. What a very good place to be.

Using the Bible as a rulebook is like using a Monet as a power drill

You won’t get the job done effectively and you risk ruining both the wall and the Monet.

This article is inspired by the recent decision of an appellate court in Texas concerning an arbitration agreement in a contract between a Christian School and a teacher. According to the contract, employees agree to seek “Biblically based mediation” to address employment conflicts.

I’m not going to address the legal aspects here; that’s my mom’s job. What I am going to rant about is the idea that there can be any such thing as Biblically based mediation.

If you think that the laws of our country can be confusing, open to a wide spectrum of interpretation, and at times even contradictory, the Bible, when used as a rulebook, is a million times more so. Consider these facts:

*The Bible has been used to both defend and oppose slavery.

*The Bible has been used to both promote and destroy women’s rights.

*Faithful Bible followers embrace the use of alcohol, even using it in religious ceremonies, while other Bible followers condemn alcohol as an evil tool of Satan.

*Reformed theologian John Calvin, mister sola Scriptura himself, watched on approvingly as a man was executed for heresy. The man’s crime? Suggesting an alternative theory to the nature of the bread and wine used in communion.

*The Bible commands people to “love your enemies,” while also instructing specific groups to annihilate their enemies.

*Biblical law requires that a man who rapes a woman marry that woman.

*The Bible is used by both rich and poor to prove their favoritism in God’s eyes.

So, if you want to risk inconsistent, unjust, possibly oppressive and most likely sexist mediation, then go ahead and sign an employment contract with such an arbitration clause.

If, however, you would like to work toward a life that is life-giving and freeing, appreciate the Bible for what it is- an ancient document containing the history and tradition of many cultures and several people including beautiful poetry, rich tradition, and even some enduring wisdom- and don’t try to use it as something it’s not- a rulebook, life guide, legal standard, or moral ideal.

How do you translate that?

Last week I substituted in our ESL program for the first time. These students are awesome, by the way. They were all eager to learn and hard-working, and they had amazingly positive attitudes.

Ok, back to the lesson. They were learning to conjugate verbs in the present perfect tense, and to help them practice this as well as their listening skills, their instructor left a handout with the lyrics to Pink’s “Glitter in the Air,” with blanks in place of many of the verbs. We listened to the song a few times so that they could fill in the blanks.

After listening to the song twice, we went over the lyrics to ensure that everyone had the right verbs in the blanks. I then asked the class if there were any other words or phrases that they didn’t understand.

One young man raised his hand and asked me about the song’s phrase, “Have you ever been touched so gently you had to cry?” After I explained the word “gently” he asked, “Why would you cry if someone touched you gently?” A very good question indeed.

I looked over to the women’s table (for some reason they tend to segregate themselves by gender, and all of the men looked clueless) and asked, “Can any of the women answer this question?” One looked at me with understanding in her eyes and answered, “It would make you cry if you had never before been touched gently.”

Yes, that would make someone cry. Yes, that would melt a heart. Yes, that would break something open that needed healing.

And so I started to wonder how many people in the world need to experience a gentle touch that would make them cry; how many people need a gentle word to relax their spirit; how many people need an embrace that feels like home.

The next line of the song is, “Have you ever invited a stranger to come inside?”