Thursday, December 26, 2013

December 25th, 2013

I'm listening to the slowing sounds of my quieting house, thinking of all the things that happened in this room today, and I realize...I had a really great Christmas.

********

From the age of seven, Christmas for me predominately became about travel. We lived 6 hours from my closest grandparents, even further from the others, so to keep with tradition and spend our holidays with the family, we had to drive. And to be able to spend all day with everyone, we couldn't travel on the day of, it had to be earlier. Christmas at home became a foreign idea.

When it wasn't predominately about travel, and we happened to be home on that day "children call their favorite time of year," that meant we didn't have enough money to make the trip. If we didn't have enough money for the trip, that meant we barely had enough money to eat. Our "feast" was small. Presents were few, if there were any to be found, and often times decorations were even hard to come by. As you may imagine, Christmas atmosphere was always lacking in these times.

Growing up with this as the reality, I felt uncomfortable, not because I cared so much about the traditional "Christmas experience" (although I would be lying if I claimed it wasn't a challenge), but because it created a chasm between me and my peers. Returning to school after Christmas break, everyone wanted to talk about their experiences, and all the gifts they received from loved ones. These conversations weren't so tough at first. The only difference in what I had to share was the conspicuous lack of any time at home, and the feelings of anxiously lying in my own bed awaiting the excitement of the coming morning, and waking up in my own bed ready to embrace all the day had to give. I felt similar feelings, but in a springy hide-a-bed at Grandma and Grandpa's house. Still exciting. But different.

Then came the first year my parents didn't buy me anything. The first day back at school went something like this:

"Hey, Emily! Did you have a good Christmas?"

"Yeah, I did. How about you?"

"Yeah, mine was great. I got...*excited rambling for at least a minute, perhaps longer if their haul was particularly spectacular*. What about you?"

"...*awkward silence*...Well, my parents didn't really buy me anything this year."

"What?"

"I didn't get any presents from my parents."

"Wow."

"Yeah."

Conversation over. And if the subject wasn't graciously changed, I would be treated to stares. As someone who tried hard to blend into the background, this was hardly better than even the most awkward of conversations. I wasn't embarrassed. I harbored no ill feelings toward my parents. I was just uncomfortable with people noticing me. Just knowing they were thinking of me was almost more than I could handle. (And this, friends, is why God let me be home schooled from the age of 12. After I got to live outside of that anxiety for a good long while, I got over it. Immersion therapy works in certain circumstances; this wasn't one of them.)

Along with financial constraints, as my siblings and I got older, my parents felt less pressure to create the "Christmas experience" for us, so there was yet another reason to not force the buying of presents. And in the middle of our constant moving, most of our Christmassy possessions got broken or misplaced, or had no room to be displayed between all the moving boxes. (For a time, we always moved in the winter. Always.) Replacing them was slow to happen, and since we were barely home anyway, it was easy to let Christmassy traditions slide without much comment, because it seemed like too much effort to get an empty house ready for Christmas.

Starting in high school, Christmas for me slowly started becoming more about apathy.

All the while, Christmas in the surrounding culture was becoming bigger, and bigger, and bigger. (Irony rules my life. I'm going to write a book about it someday.)

Thanks to commercialism, the Christmas season snuck up when I wasn't looking this year. All around me were suddenly people putting up trees and lights, and filling up their social calenders, and I wasn't feeling any of it. Filled with the weight of my experience and my reluctance to jump on the bandwagon this year, I started bracing myself for new levels of apathy, and the personal mourning I knew would come after that apathy.

But what I was blind to at the time was that through all the years of stripping me of the things of Christmas, God was working to renew my heart and baptize my mind, and help me to truly cherish Christmas in a way I couldn't have otherwise.

Miraculously, this year we got to stay home, and not because we couldn't afford to see our family. We will see our family, this coming weekend. Christmas is rather inconveniently in the middle of the week, and the two of our number that have "real jobs" couldn't get off work all those extra week days around it. As neither depression nor rush were plaguing our days leading up to Christmas, I started to feel the Christmas Spirit at the beginning of the week. I was pleasantly surprised.

Then I looked around me and saw no tree. No lights. It was too hot for snow. And I remembered it had been so long since I got a present that I had no reason to expect one. And really, when I thought about it, I didn't even want one.

Then I realized all those things didn't change my mood at all.

And then I got really excited.

When you catch the Christmas Spirit it's infectious, and will only grow until its course has been run.

And so today, at home with my parents and little brothers, fed by music and sumptuous food, was a marvelous day.

But it looked almost nothing like Christmases of my earliest memories.

At this point, I am so far removed from North America's traditional "Christmas experience" that I don't even know what that means anymore, or how most people celebrate Christmas. What I do know is it's still my favorite holiday, but for completely different reasons. And it feels more honest than ever.

I don't want to change a thing.

"Then let us all with one accord
Sing praises to our heavenly Lord
That hath made heaven and earth of nought
And with his blood mankind has bought"

Saturday, December 14, 2013

The chapter titled, "You mean, we get to sing together?"

I like to liken my life to a story. In our age of literacy, stories are often found in books, and formatted for such. Thus I find chapters a useful metaphor for identifying sections of my story-life.

I've been living in a weird chapter.

Before I elaborate, come with me back to the beginning. What beginning? The beginning of me.

I was born in church.

That isn't technically true. I was born in a hospital. On a Friday. My memory of that time is fuzzy, but I can say with almost strict certainty that my mother didn't drag her tired self and my wee frame to participate in services two days later. But a week and two days later? Yeah, I'm pretty sure we were there. And every Sunday morning, Sunday night, and Wednesday night after. We lived (and still do) in the land of A Church on Every Other Corner, after all.

When my family moved to a new town in a new state six years later, we found a new church to go to, and I remember feeling like those people (and us after we became a part of the group) were the most progressive I'd ever met. Why? They didn't meet on Sunday nights. Or Wednesday nights. Just Sunday mornings. (I remember one time, since we didn't have church in the evening, my family went to Opryland one Sunday afternoon. Only radical people went to theme parks on Sundays.) You mean, it's not required to "go to church" three times a week?

But you know what? We got together for parties pretty regularly. And Bible studies. (Yeah, that's right. I said parties before Bible studies. We celebrated a lot.) And small groups. And meetings. So while our gatherings looked different than the ones to which I was accustomed, I still was just as churched as I had ever been. Probably more.

Then I grew, and rather than just hanging around watching my parents participate, I became a participant, even at some times when my parents weren't. Church was a bigger part of my life than ever.

Here now we return to the current chapter. Several months ago, I began traveling more, almost exclusively on weekends. This translated into frequently missed church services, and my greatest experience of disconnection from the structure of the modern-day American church. It was odd. But not as odd as what was coming.

In October, my church ceased having meetings on Sunday mornings entirely, and we started just meeting for a Bible study every week. I won't go into the details of why that decision was made, but I will say I was kind of excited about the future of our little niche in the body of Christ. As for myself, however, I thought, "This is going to be interesting. What am I going to do? I've never not 'gone to church' before."

I didn't have long to think about it, though, as I was barely home on the weekends in November. Sundays became travel days, and I would worship the Lord in the car by singing all by me onesies, reflecting, praying, listening to WNYC's Radiolab, and staying on the road. I haven't "been to church" in weeks.

Last night, a dear friend of my family and the ministry he works for had one of their "Worship in the Boro" nights, and I was glad to attend. But as soon as the music began, I thought, "This is strange. I'm not sure I know what to do with myself." Everything felt familiar and foreign simultaneously. "So, I'm supposed to sing now, right? We're all going to sing together. That's pretty cool."

"Oh, now we're all supposed to stand up. So I guess I'm going to stand and sing. And what am I supposed to sing? The melody? I think I'll harmonize. I can harmonize, right?"

"Wait a minute, now everyone's clapping. So now I'm clapping. Sort of. This feels so weird. People actually do this in church every time they meet. Really? Really."

This monologue may seem unnecessarily dramatic and exaggerated, but this is truly an accurate representation of how surreal the whole experience was. I was born in church, remember? Not only that, I'm a musician. Singing has summed up the majority of my church participation. Yet there I was feeling out of place in a service full of singing.

What just happened?

I sat there marveling at how something that was once such a routine part of my life had turned into an almost new experience for me. My contemplation of the situation accompanied me home. My first inclinations said, "This is not as it should be. Church shouldn't be something you don't know intimately. Singing shouldn't make your eyes open wide in wonder."

Then I thought, "Why shouldn't it?" Music is one of the most marvelous gifts we on this earth have been given, and the human ability to make it spring forth without the aid of any outside thing is the most wonderful musical reality I know. Being wide-eyed is a natural reaction to that.

My thoughts continued in that direction, and I began to realize that "going to church" isn't something I should take for granted either. There is no mandate for how we as followers of Jesus should congregate, where we should congregate, when, or how often. If we aren't sensitive to the purpose and necessity of our intersections with one another, then "going to church" can become a dead ritual. We'll do things mindlessly, never once considering their intent, or stopping to receive all the goodness they can afford us if we don't rob them of their vitality. No wonder I've seen so many dead people in church.

So weird as this chapter may be, maybe it's also just as good. Many of my expectations obviously have been diminished, so perhaps I'm in a place to receive something new. Something new and sincere in all of its fullness. I'm actually kind of excited about it.

Friday, December 13, 2013

Healthcare through the lens of idealism.

Before I get to the point, here's a story I hope will bring you some measure of mirth.

As I was preparing for the composition of this post, I was on a mission to Jesus juke myself. Jesus juking can be one of the most infuriating things to happen to a person when it comes from another. When you lament, "I can't find my keys!," and a well-meaning friend encouragingly (or so they think) responds, "You only need the keys to the Kingdom!," how should you respond? Telling them how wrong they are won't work, because then it will be obvious that you indeed do not have the keys to the Kingdom. So you bite your tongue, facepalm if you're alone, then try to move on with your life. But I think the chances of a Jesus juke being supremely funny are raised when one does it to oneself. Unless you have the same sense of humor as Eeyore, a jab at yourself can automatically be understood as a joke, whereas the same comment to someone else might not be as quickly understood. I do admit to being biased in this area, as I have a self-deprecating sense of humor, and nothing is more self-deprecating than poking at the holes in your own spirituality.

After considering my thesis idea, a phrase popped into my head which I knew came from Scripture, but whose context I did not know as intimately. The way I was remembering it was casting a shadow of condemnation over what I was preparing to write. Nevertheless, I looked it up, preparing to compose an introduction like this: "The Bible says this....but....here's what I have to say," only more imaginatively, and hopefully humorously, of course.

But, once I found the context of the phrase on my brain, it didn't mean what I thought it meant in relation to what I wanted to write. At all. It could actually be taken to mean exactly the opposite of what I was assuming. Jesus juke foiled.

That's probably a good thing.

Moving on.

If you get to know me well at all, you will soon find that I don't like politics. Vehemently. The only reason even acquaintances might not know this about me is that I try to not regularly call attention to negativity. But if I let my passions reign unchecked, it would be public knowledge. Strangers who pass me in public would know. Something else I dislike almost as much as politics is participating in discussion of said subject. Aside from the obvious reason of disliking the subject itself, the reason I don't like talking about politics is that whenever people ask me questions, I feel that to answer them with my honest opinions, I'm always dodging the subject. This is only a problem because I still care too much about the perceived quality of conversations with me, and I've gathered that people who dodge the subject are generally found to be annoying. My conversation skills really do not have a lot going for them, so every little improvement I can make is a good thing.

If I don't want to dodge the subject, then, why don't I stop doing it? That would make sense, Emily. Just quit complaining about your socially divergent habits, and save the Internet from yet another page of dribble nobody wants to read. I don't stop doing it because I can't. I am a radical idealist at my core, and I don't know how to live any other way. Idealism is not practical in almost every circumstance, certainly in politics. This is why I'm not a politician, and why I'm grateful for all the people out there who are up for the challenge. As often as I feel like situations may not have been handled as well as they could have, I throw no stones as I know my own leadership would lead nowhere fast. Leave me to the underground. That's where I thrive.

The latest hot-button topic that I will inevitably circumvent if you attempt to seek out my opinion is the Affordable Care Act and the state of the healthcare system in my country. Ask me if my feelings on the new law are positive or negative, and I won't give a straight answer either way. What I will say is this:

I.Don't.Like.Insurance.

I don't. At all. On the surface, it seems like a good idea. I understand why the idea of insurance was cultivated and then instituted as a standard practice in paying for unforeseen incidences. Who plans to have a heart attack? Who plans for their house to burn down? Suicidal persons and arsonists. That describes neither me, you (I'm assuming), nor an overwhelming number of persons in the world, so it makes sense that most of us aren't going to have large sums of money on hand to pay for all the trouble we run into in our lives. I get it.

What I don't think the first visionaries in insurance expected, however, is this: buying insurance can quickly move from being a smart life decision to preying on a person's fear. Societal wisdom has said, "This is the way you need to handle all the mishaps and tragedies you will face in your lifetime, otherwise you're sunk," then as soon as obtaining insurance becomes a struggle, persons will often become overwhelmed with the stress of working enough to cover all of our modern-day insurance expenses, or they live in worry and panic every day that they live without being insured, afraid to truly live lest something happen to them. Either way, there is no release from the burden. The advance weight of things over which we have no control was never meant to be our responsibility.

Also, in some sections of my culture, I have seen a cavalier attitude develop as the result of insurance being the norm that is unsettling to my conservative core (And please understand, I mean this word in its true sense, not in the political tint it has come to represent. Efficiency, economy, conservation: the longer I live the more I realize these are things that motivate the way I live my life in almost every way, even in the expression of my personality. Nobody is better at being expressively conservative than me. That's only a slightly hyperbolic statement.) Since insurance companies have overwhelming become the ones who directly pay for things, it can be easy to dissociate from who the responsible parties really are: you and me. Forgetting this is only a problem when unnecessary expenses aren't given a second thought, which I think would be less likely to happen if people paid for everything directly from their own reserves. For example, I haven't met anyone who would disagree that medical tests are over-priced, but I don't know how many people have given thought to whether all of them are beneficial. Doctors, who are supposed to know more about how our bodies work then we do, prescribe a test, and we think "Well, the insurance is going to cover it, so might as well." But maybe, if we took time to think about it, and do more research, we'd get closer to finding an answer or solution down a different, better avenue. I don't, nor will I ever, suggest a blanket boycott on medical tests, but in my own experience, I have been through countless medical tests that have never provided me with any useful information, and even at the time I felt like they were being done "just because we can." I've even had doctors say equivalent phrases to me when suggesting these tests. "Just because we can" is never a good reason to do anything. Except sing. So all that money was spent to find out nothing. If your life is anything like mine, I suspect you've had a similar experience. Out of sight does equal out of mind in this case, and when it comes being smart about how you live your life, this is not a good thing,

Lastly, insurance shrinks even more the space where generosity and goodwill live. If all of a person's needs are met, then there's no reason for anyone to be compelled to help them. Having lived a life that's placed me in a lot of helpless positions, I've seen what good is done for the world when generosity and kindness are allowed to flourish.We lose something important when they aren't. I know what it's like to not even have a place to live or food to eat, and as terrible as that may sound, the beauty that has come from those situations is irreplaceable. More people need to see that. Feel it. Taste it. Breathe it. I'm not quite sadistic enough to suggest that more people need to suffer, but just almost.

What then is the solution for our country? Ideally, it's that the church would love so much like Jesus that the debate that's been going on would quickly reach its end. Until that happens, by God's grace, I'll be doing what I can to make that a reality in my own corner of the world, and coming to terms with the fact that I am required to buy something I don't even want. Radicals and idealists always chafe under governmental restrictions, so my plight is nothing new.




Since I've let vent my emotions over one contested subject, I'm trying hard to convince myself that now is not the time let fly on marriage. Dissent is like a flood, which is why I leave little room for it; once released, it's hard to stop....