Loving the Poor: Not a Special Calling

The Bible calls some of us to special gifts. Shepherding. Teaching. Discernment.

Other things we're all commanded to do. Pray. Read the Bible. Share grace. Pursue justice.

Yep. 

We're all supposed to pursue justice. That doesn't mean just legal justice. It means economic justice too. 

This realization has been percolating for a while, and perhaps stems a little from a book by Mark Cahill, entitled One Thing You Can't Do in Heaven (this isn't an endorsement really, but credit where credit's due). In essence, it's a calling for every Christian, even the awkward, introverted ones who say they're not good at it, to share their faith journey and the story of Jesus. He posits that sharing this way isn't a special gift as so many claim (often to get out of an uncomfortable task), it's a mandate.

I see the same kind of mandate in terms of seeking economic justice. Look at the story of the Good Samaritan, or the widow who gave two pennies, or the Beatitudes, or commandments to care for widows, orphans, and immigrants. Look at the compassion Jesus had for the hungry masses. And look at his contempt for the money changers at the temple, the Pharisees, and the unrepentant wealthy. (I've provided links to Bible chapters containing most of these stories if you want to check it out.)

Given my background as a middle class, White, educated woman now in an upwardly mobile situation, I feel like I sometimes get some kind of extra credit for caring about income inequality, the poor, food insecurity, educational inequity, and similar causes. Like if I came from life in poverty, of course I would care, or if I were poor now, clearly, but it makes me extra "good" that I care anyway, even though I know where my dinner is coming from and how I'm going to make rent next month, so my efforts somehow don't benefit myself (I would argue that's wrong, but that's not the point of this post - For more on this topic, see my post about privilege and not pulling the ladder up.)

By extension, other people from my middle-class background (or upper class backgrounds, perhaps even more so, since I come from a somewhat mixed-income community) get a pass if they don't know or care much about poverty, as though it's not "their" issue or they don't have to be part of the solution (and that also means they get to keep their misconceptions and incorrect narratives about those living in poverty, too - I've been seeing that a lot in social media posts lately, and it's really [I was going to say not cool, but more accurately] infuriating to hear over and over the negative stereotypes about all of the poor and all of the racial minorities ). Also by extension, this cause becomes primarily the burden of those who grew up in poverty or are there now, and since it's already their cross to bear, why give props for their efforts?

[[Tangent: Coming from a very rural, relatively low income county, Rebecca has experienced a tiny sampling of this - she would never complain about this, since she's not motivated by this stuff, but it was really interesting to watch someone from a high-income, suburban background receive the award for commitment to underserved medicine at med school graduation even though Rebecca was actually from a background like that, had spent almost a year as an Americorps VISTA working for Free Clinics of Michigan, attended rural med conferences every time she got the funding and academic leave to do so, and had signed up for the National Health Services Corps (NHSC), the same program the actual recipient was doing. (Okay, so I wanted to brag about my wife a little - can I help it if I'm proud?) Despite all of Rebecca's efforts, despite her knowledge of the day-to-day realities of the uninsured and underresourced, her opinion and choices were less valued, ironically because she came from that background, and probably also because she truly needed the loan forgiveness money tied to NHSC. And this is a case where the outcome really doesn't matter at all, because the award didn't confer any particular privilege. Would that this is worst case scenario.]]

Committinginthemitten is calling crap on that. First, poverty is everyone's, and especially every Christian's, problem to solve. Second, I don't deserve bonus points (and neither do the rest of my fellow middle and upper class privileged friends.) Half the time, I have no idea what I'm doing or what's going on and am basing concepts on the stories of those who have lived it, or on research reports on the topic. I'm glad people listen, and I've tried to get educated, but my job is to amplify those other voices and ideas. Giving bonus points to me or asking my opinion might seem easier, sometimes, but it's a form of paternalism and classism, and that's not going to get us where we need to be, which is all together looking for equal opportunities and better outcomes.

Pursuing economic justice isn't a special calling. We're mandated to turn away from unfair opportunities, to listen to unheard voices, and to behave as Christ did, especially when it's hard and involves sacrifice (are you listening, Kim Davis?). I'm still working on it. Honestly, it feels icky a lot of days to realize how many things I have to change and how many inconveniences I'm going to face, and that if the world becomes more fair, my life will actually be harder. I feel like a huge hypocrite writing about this, since I feel the weight of all the small decisions I made today that didn't fully commit to this, but to conclude: (I think this quote is correctly attributed - let me know if not)

“I did then what I knew how to do. Now that I know better, I do better.”
― Maya Angelou

I'm Asking: Please Stop Slut Shaming Kim Davis

As a member of the community the Rowan county clerk seeks to oppress, and as someone who in fact has a marriage certificate not from her home county or even state because of similar oppression, I ask, please: stop slut shaming Kim Davis. At issue is not her past sexual history, but her current refusal to do her job.

If she were the perfect picture of chastity according to her religion and every religion, what she is doing would still be illegal and immoral. If having made one or three or four or seven mistakes prevented any of us from having sincere religious beliefs, I suspect all places of worship would be empty. Kim Davis is entitled to her past, to her current religious beliefs, and to the belief that the deity she worships has forgiven her. None of that is the issue. 

And while I have only ever been with my wife, if I hadn't, that would not invalidate my request for a marriage license. The law doesn't require chastity. And the law doesn't rely on religion. And Kim Davis is not required by law to remain county clerk, nor is she entitled to remain county clerk by right if she is unwilling or unable to complete the tasks required. 

She deserves jail time and fines for contempt, but her sexual history does not condemn her. Neither does mine. Neither does yours.

So stop slut shaming her, friends. Let's commit to being better.

Personal style: What's Committinginthemitten wearing?

Getting dressed in the morning. It's one of those things we all have to do. I think for a long time, I viewed it as an obligation rather than an opportunity. Perhaps because of the emphasis on modesty (discussed in Eff Your Beauty Standards and In Definition of: Modesty) or the lack of money (see Confessions: I'll Probably Never Stop) or a million other anxieties or the worry that I would look too gay or too straight or too something, for a long time I didn't put much effort into getting dressed.

I followed rules that were externally imposed: Not exposing too much. Not wearing certain colors. Not combining certain textures. Reserving dresses for Sunday and jeans for casual days.

Enter full-time work at a company that's very casual and flexible in terms of what I wear to work. Enter the revelation that I might be beautiful. Enter the idea that I might get an opinion about what I like and what looks good, or even that it's okay to wear things that don't "look good" - being beautiful isn't the admission ticket I owe the world for existing.

So here are some principles that guide my style choices. None of them (not even the one on leggings, I promise!) are rules that I would impose on other people. And if I ever wanted to break them, I could. But they've been working for me lately in terms of feeling "put together" or like my clothes make a statement I agree with.

1. I don't have to wear shorts.

I think other people look great in shorts. I think other people feel great in them and need them to stay cool. And I suppose if I made a habit of going to the gym, I would wear shorts for that. But I've never really felt good in shorts - ironically, they feel more restrictive to me than dresses or skirts. So I don't wear them. People have tried to tell me that they look fine. I don't really believe it, but even if I did, I would feel uncomfortable in them. So I've given myself permission not to wear them.

2. I don't wear athletic shoes unless the activity requires them.

This is based on advice from Crazy Stupid Love, which is not actually a place to get fashion tips, but I've been loving the way I feel when I skip athletic shoes and wear - well, anything else. I grew up in athletic shoes almost all the time, except sandals in the summer and "dress shoes" for special occasions. I guess it still feels like a special occasion, a little, when I pick out a pretty kitten heel or tall cork wedge or a cute ballet flat. I still wear athletic shoes if I'm say, doing yardwork or painting a house or exercising (except I don't really consider exercise a separate part of my day and have mostly chosen work tasks that incorporate it into my life . . . ), and I get that a lot of other people need to wear really supportive shoes all the time. But I like the way I feel in other shoes and have decided to enjoy that.

3. Dresses and skirts are for whenever.

I wear dresses on casual days, to work, for dinner dates, and to church (I wear pants a lot too). I'm absolutely in love with Banana Republic maxi dresses this season. - I have three of them now, all purchased on deep sale. One is new, so we'll see how often I wear it, but the other two get worn at least once a week, it seems, along with a jersey maxi from Target. I typically wear a tank under them if I'm going to work since the neckline makes me self conscious if I bend over. Or I'll tie or belt a dress shirt over them if I need to seem a little more business than casual. I also got into pencil skirts over fun tights with boot cuffs (yes, I did make my own boot cuffs from old sweaters). 

4. Men's dress shirts are way better than women's.

I'm fortunate to have a small enough bust that I can comfortably wear men's dress shirts, and I do. Most of the time, people probably don't realize they're men's, given the current "boyfriend shirt" trend. Why not buy in the women's section? For starters, the fabric in a men's shirt tends to be better quality. It breathes  better, is less transparent, and requires little or no ironing. Second, the cut, at least in my case, feels more professional. Since the objective isn't to show off my figure but instead to look and feel ready to work, having things right to my breast  or shoulders was counterproductive. Third, I'm able to thrift these better because sizing seems more standard - 15-15.5 necklines in a slim or fitted cut usually work, especially from Banana Republic (are you noticing a trend?) and Express.

How do I style them? Lots of options here. I used to always belt them to show off an hourglass figure. Then I decided that was optional. Now sometimes I'll tie a knot in the bottom (over either pants or a pencil skirt) or even tie or belt one over one over a dress. I sometimes use an infinity scarf, or I've been known to wear a short necklace inside the collar and a long one outside of it. 

5. I don't wear leggings as pants.

If you do, no judgment here. I always feel a bit exposed when I do, so I make sure to wear a long tunic, men's dress shirt, or perhaps a knee length dress over them. I resisted this trend a long time, until I realized the layering options I would have and the opportunity to stretch summer dresses into fall.

6. I pick at least one accessory most days.

Necklace, earrings, bracelet, fun eyeliner, scarf, belt … lots of options. I find that wearing accessories makes me feel good about my day. I used to worry, if I wore a lot of them at once or wore statement pieces too often, it would be too noticeable. But I love wearing a button statement piece at the same time as a long tagua one, so people can deal.

That's enough for now. I included recent pictures from a day I think I really pulled off an outfit below - my fabulous gay friend Jack said this was nailing the East Village trend of shopping at Old Navy, thrift stores, and boutiques.

I realized I was really pulling it off, so I snapped a picture for you.

Tahari (thrifted) short blazer (kind of boxy), burgundy long-sleeved T and denim pencil skirt (from Old Navy, of all places to be getting stuff for a presentation), sensible watch, and super fun vintage button necklace (which can be yours if you go to Town Peddler in Livonia and purchase it)

In Defense of: Christianity's Irrationality

Christianity isn't rational. Believing in a Triune God isn't rational. The narrative told in the Bible requires suspended disbelief and background in different cultures and interpretation of history. I couldn't see that as a child, maybe because developmentally children can't see that, or maybe because I couldn't see anything other than what was in front of my face.

I was taught "apologetics," which is basically training in how to proselytize and defend the Bible, Jesus, Christianity, etc when people called them out as irrational or objected to agreeing with me that Christianity is the best belief system. And in the process of that training, I was also taught how to poke holes in other belief systems, how to show their irrationality front and center. These other beliefs seemed ridiculous to me. The doctrine of abrogation used in Islam appeared preposterous and untenable, for instance.

Until I started looking at the Bible and church teachings and stories I'd heard over and over and oversimplified and normalized since childhood. Until Rebecca (who didn't grow up in the church and hadn't heard some of the obscure Bible stories) and I started reading Genesis. Until people started applying Bible verses to my relationship with my helpmate to try to break us up or withhold our rights. Until I started seeing the divisions between branches and denominations of Christianity, even though all agreed that the Bible is infallible and could use apologetics to "prove" it. 

And at some point, gradually, like my creeping mint plant, the realization swept over me:

Believing in Jesus isn't rational. It's not supposed to be convenient. It's not supposed to be normal. Setting aside self interest is hard. Laying down our burdens and control is hard. Interpretation of a canon written across hundreds of years is hard. 

And that's why arguing people into it, as I was taught to do with my proselytization training, has never worked to bring anyone I know closer to Jesus. 

That's not to say it's impossible to bring people closer to Jesus. But every time I've seen someone step closer, it's because of the irrationality. It's the self sacrifice they see that's inconvenient and countercultural. It's in the mess and the joy during sorrow. It's not because of the safe Jesus or the tame domestic Jesus. A friend in high school who has since been following Jesus admitted, well after, that he got to know my sister and me because we smiled. All the time. Genuinely. And he didn't get why but he wanted to.

I've had better conversation and better love for people by seeing the mess. By asking questions and listening and looking for the image of God in the midst of brokenness. 

And in our current culture, maybe looking for beauty in brokenness is the most irrational of all.

A Decade Later: Most of What I Learned was not in Class

That's not to say I haven't learned in class. I've been immensely blessed with a high quality academic experience. The foundation in educational psychology, pedagogy, language, and cognitive development has allowed me to do much, both professionally and personally.

But the ten year anniversary of my start at Michigan State has me reflecting on a lot. I met Rebecca ten years ago this month. I couldn't tell you what date. At the time, starting college seemed like the next thing, the societal expectation, the means to start a career as an educator. It was a big deal and a big transition, but I met a lot of people and had no good way to know who would transform my entire world and who was meant for just a moment, and I didn't know what to pay attention to.

Rebecca and I didn't become good friends until partway through freshman year, when some dorm floor drama pushed us together. I had never met someone who literally grew up in the country on a working farm. East Lansing felt small compared to the rolling suburbs I grew up in, and huge and loud to her.

If I had known then what I would survive and learn and see and do in the next decade, I probably would have packed up and returned home. I know she would have. I wouldn't have believed it if you'd told me. I had a five year plan and still believed those work out. 

That plan, and the subsequent one, didn't include leaving my student teaching year because I realized I wasn't meant for elementary education full time. Or falling in love with a woman. Or marrying one. Or the kind of grad school I've done or not working in public education. Definitely didn't include losing a brother to suicide. Or losing a chosen family member and a grandmother in law right after.

If you'd told me that would happen, or that I would survive it, or that I could ever feel like I was thriving again after, I wouldn't have believed you. If I had believed you, I would have crawled into a hole, paralyzed with fear.

And if it hadn't happened, I never would have known how much grief and joy and anger and hope my heart could hold. Some of you have told me I'm brave. Sometimes I feel that way, but most days, I think I did what anyone would do if the last ten years had happened to them. 

Makes me wonder what's in the next ten. 

PS for those of you who know something is up, there's still an announcement coming up, but I no longer have any time table at all. Might have something to do with my reflective mood though.

Some Straight People: I love you, but I don't get you sometimes

Okay, so I've explained that using friends from a certain group to protect against accusations of prejudice that group is tokenism, and I promised that was a setup for another post.

This post has been tumbling in my brain for several months now, but I knew it would strike people as judgy. So the previous post is intended not to condemn me or absolve me, but just to frame things.

I have lots of straight friends. This is an objective fact. Given that straight people are a majority of the population, it would be hard for anything else to be true. I also have gay friends, many of them, mostly that I've met in other ways, and we both happen to be gay. This post is about some of the straight friends. Not all, not even a lot of them. It's about the ones who have been in a relationship for years, in some cases with children, in most cases with the general expectation that they'll eventually marry, who haven't gotten engaged or gotten married. And it's especially for the ones who are together with the intention of staying together but are eschewing marriage altogether.

So this isn't tokenism. I'm not really identifying them simply by sexual orientation or another trait out of their control. I'm identifying them by a behavior. This is still going to sound judgy. That can't be helped. But it's not stereotyping or discrimination. I'm not proposing policy that would force behavioral change.

So here's what I'm saying: straight people who love each other and have been together forever but aren't married,

I don't understand you.

I know you have reasons for putting off the rights and benefits of marriage. I know you have reasons, if you have children, for not completing the legal process that will help to protect them. I know that the tax situation gets complicated and doesn't benefit everyone. I know that if you ever changed your mind, divorce is rough. I know that.

I also know that straight privilege is probably a factor, whether you've realized it or not. Because a hospital is less likely to refuse a parent to see their child if they're heterosexual. They're less likely to refuse to let you make medical decisions. If your situation changed and you needed to get married, you didn't need to move to a different state or investigate whether your home state would recognize an out-of-state marriage certificate, so you could always pop into the courthouse on pretty short notice.

I have straight friends. I have straight friends in this situation. I love them. I'm not asking them to change. All I'm saying is that from my perspective, when I've had to fight to have my relationship legally recognized and protected,

I don't understand.

And maybe the world could do with a few more people who admit when they don't understand things.

When You Say: I Have Gay Friends . . . So I can't be a Homophobe

I often hear people say, "My <<insert family member or other consort>> is gay, so I'm not …" and what follows is always the use of that gay person as a talisman to ward off <<probably not specious>> accusations of homophobia or bigotry, then followed by a negative stereotype or judgment about the gay community. Many times I've been told, before or after a statement like this that I don't count in that stereotype (see post On being a unicorn).

And I realize that in other conversations, I'm probably being used as that talisman. I'm probably the <<insert family member or other consort>> to prevent tenable accusations or "PC" challenges to the statement. My experience or opinion may be considered to apply to all members of the LGBT community or I may get a special pass.

Tokenism at its finest. It's easier to know one gay person than to get educated, easier to take my view than learn multiple ones, and easier to forgive me my faults because I am named and have a face.

But I am not a token or talisman or representative of an entire community. Please don't use me that way. Especially if you're trying not to look prejudiced as you withhold rights from my community. 

I try to be fair and understanding here, and I try to present a well-rounded view, but I'm not actually a unicorn. I have feelings. I have flaws. You're allowed to think so and say so, about me specifically. It might hurt, but not as much as if you imply that I don't belong in the community where I belong.

But if you're saying it about an entire community, like I said in Speaking the truth in love, and you want to make my community suffer (yes, that's what withholding civil rights does), you're a homophobe, which means you should probably evaluate if you're being a good <<insert family member or other consort>> to the token you're holding up. 

Because I have some very prejudiced friends, but that doesn't mean I approve of the bigoted lifestyle.