Thanks Mom

I hated being poor growing up. Poor, of course, being a relative term here in America. I was given two cars before I graduated college. That phrase alone describes, um, like maybe 3% of the world's population.

But I knew we were poor; we never had enough money to buy Windex. I would shamefully streak our windows with vinegar water and wipe them with newspaper. We were so poor we couldn't afford paper towels, either.

In fourth grade or so our school had an assembly about water. I think there was a guy in a water drop costume and he told us all how bad it is to waste water. I learned:

-To turn off the water while you brush your teeth. (This fact inspired me to run around the house as soon as I heard the sink faucet come on and then berate whichever family member happened to be brushing their teeth with shame for wasting our precious water resources. I was not very popular at home for quite some time largely in part due to this berating.)

-Not to flush dead bugs down the toilet. This was not a problem because my dad always took care of bugs, though I committed to staying vigilant nonetheless.

-That showers conserve much more water than baths. Short showers are the best. I think it took many years for the shame to wane enough to be able to actually relax in a bathtub.

Basically I took these environmental warnings very seriously. I think they partly used scare tactics with us and when you're talking to a first-born 9-year old perfectionist, scare tactics have the potential to rule your life. Which, as you can see from the teeth brushing description, they kind of did.

My mom was her own brand of hippy back then so I knew that she would appreciate my vigilance, but as I became a water conservation Nazi, she had to step in and put a stop to my juvenile extremism--besides, I was making all of my young friends feel very guilty about bath time. So she wisely calmed me down (actually I think she left a sink faucet running and said, "What? What are you going to do about it? The water will be recycled anyway. Get over it!") and I eventually mellowed.

Now, nearly 20 years later, I am working for a web-based environmental group (purely by accident, I assure you) called YourGuidetoGreen.com. And I am learning that my youthful vigilance was right on the money. My boss is very wise, though, and works to ensure that no guilt or stress is associated with a green lifestyle--something both my mom and I appreciate.

I am also learning that paper towels, Windex and other household cleaners are very, very bad for the environment.

Looking back, I am not sure if we really were that poor. Maybe my mom just knew how to make the green lifestyle transition pain-free long before anyone knew about being green. She is just that smart. And wise. And kind. And thoughtful. And I even think she watches how much water the family uses nowadays.

Ripe for Ruin

I don't know about you, but sometimes I am weary of the fight. I am weary of the struggle, the brokenness, the lack of "success." This morning I opened Hosea and read it. Seeking some help in understanding, I turned to google.

And it led me to this from Matthew Henry:

Hosea 5:8-15
"The destruction of impenitent sinners is not mere talk, to frighten them, it is a sentence which will not be recalled. And it is a mercy that we have timely warning given us, that we may flee from the wrath to come.

Compliance with the commandments of men, who thwart the commandments of God, ripens a people for ruin. The judgments of God are sometimes to a sinful people as a moth, and as rottenness, or as a worm; as these consume the clothes and the wood, so shall the judgments of God consume them.

Silently, they shall think themselves safe and thriving, but when they look into their state, shall find themselves wasting and decaying. Slowly, for the Lord gives them space to repent. Many a nation; as well as many a person, dies of a consumption. Gradually, God comes upon sinners with lesser judgments, to prevent greater, if they will be wise, and take warning.

When Israel and Judah found themselves in danger, they sought the protection of the Assyrians, but this only helped to make their wound the worse.

They would be forced to apply to God. He will bring them home to himself, by afflictions.

When men begin to complain more of their sins than of their afflictions, then there begins to be some hope of them; and when under the conviction of sin, and the corrections of the rod, we must seek the knowledge of God. Those who are led by severe trials to seek God earnestly and sincerely, will find him a present help and an effectual refuge; for with him is plenteous redemption for all who call upon him.

There is solid peace, and there only, where God is."

Weary, still I may be. But hopeful that this is bringing me closer to God. And this leads me to press on. Our ways and thoughts are never like His but His are right. And He is working to make our ways His--if we will only ask. In the midst of it all, may I never turn to my Assyria, but to my God. Be encouraged!

Aha! My creation is nearly finished!

I listen to NPR. I know, I know. I, along with all the other liberals, will soon be banished from Sunday school. But alas, I listen.

To be honest, I listen to Family Life Radio on the actual radio. NPR is reserved for podcasts. My all-time favorite--The Diane Rehm Show.

The first time I heard her voice I thought she was dying. I kind of thought it was a joke--no radio station would knowingly give a radio show--that is, an audio, voice-driven show--to someone who required two and a half minutes just to say "Good morning." But I kept tuning in because she did ask good questions and seemed to know her stuff. Plus her guests could not be more interesting.

Which brings me to today. A guest host was interviewing Thomas Hager. (Side note: I've noticed a lot of guest hosts over the years. At first I thought it was because she was perhaps in the hospital or such, but alas, she always returns. I really should try to learn more about her.) Hager wrote, and just released last month, his book, The Alchemy of Air: A Jewish Genius, A Doomed Tycoon, and the Discovery That Changed the Course of History. It's about the discovery (or should I say invention?) of synthetic nitrogen.

Turns out the world was coming to an end about a century ago. A British scientific group back in the 1890's warned the world that the food supply could not keep up with the population growth (see the ridiculous, though well-read, Thomas Malthus). A solution must be sought, they warned, or close to 2 billion people would starve to death. This solution, not surprisingly, would also prove to be very profitable.

As a result, scientists (and inventive people of all skill-sets, I am sure) began racing to develop synthetic nitrogen--the element most needed to grow the food necessary to feed the growing population. A German scientist, Fritz Haber, took home the prize. By developing and patenting the method of turning air into liquid nitrogen, Haber had single-handedly created the science necessary to solve world hunger, ensuring fame and profit for him and his German nation.

Haber partnered with a young Jewish man and they set up nitrogen factories immediately. A new set of Rockefellers were posed to take over the world, using Germany as their stage. With their manufactured scientific element for life, synthetic nitrogen, the future looked fearless.

Then World War I hit.

(While world hunger was apparently solved, the greed and pride of world leaders led to the death of 40 million people in the greatest war ever before seen on earth.)

And interestingly, it was this same German invention of synthetic nitrogen that propelled the German ammunition and in fact enabled Germany to fight in the last years of the war. Synthetic nitrogen not only the most popular way to grow mass quantities of food on soil that should be resting, it is also one the most powerful raw material for explosives in the world. Haber was awared the Nobel Prize in secret (the only time that happened in history) because of the rioting surrounding his very controversial discovery. Our efforts to help fix mother nature's "problem" didn't work out as well as had been hoped. But the story for us doesn't end there.

See, World War I then propelled World War II with its own list of atrocities that no man should have ever had to witness much less experience. Then the economic policies following World War II propelled consumerism spirituality (see http://www.storyofstuff.com/), which (along with a laundry list of other issues, e.g., prayer out of school, Roe v. Wade, etc.) has brought us to today: a confused, post-modern, hardly sustainable world.

Just this last summer, I was listening to NPR in the car while on vacation and sat up straight as I heard the radio announcer. He was describing our current global food crisis. Over a century after the Brits' warning, it seems the crisis was destined to find us. It isn't a food shortage this time, rather it's food costs, but still the irony can't go without being noted.

Here in America we struggle with obesity (Kudos, consumerism spirituality! We didn't need Jesus after all.) and cancer, while the rest of the world starves, unable to purchase and unwilling to distribute food to the masses. While they die for food, Americans are experiencing our own set of economic difficulties and struggling to fight the cancer that strikes harder in the U.S. than anywhere else in the world--a major health concern that can most definitely be traced back to the synthetic fertilizers.

Might it be time we stop trying to "fix" mother nature's "problems?" I have a sneaky suspicion that even our most profitable solutions can't fix a world that isn't broken (see Genesis 1). When will science get back to the basics? When will we take seriously our choices in light of the living God? I fear what we are sowing, knowing that even our soil is manufactured by the single most raw explosive material in the world. What are we doing to ourselves?

Call it what you will

Have I told you lately how much I love my name?

I don't feel even slightly vain for saying that. My name, though it bears much of my identity, has nothing to do with any of my effort or creativity. My name is purely a gift. And I've only truly begun to love it since I got married.

There's something about "Stephanie Starks." It has a ring to it. It rolls off of the tongue. I like it.

I was talking to a friend of mine and used her last name in reference to her household. The "Smith" household, I'll say for sake of example. And she looked at me in kind of a blank, confused way. I laughed it off and explained, "You know, because it's your house so it's your household."

But then she told me how since her parents divorced that name has meant nothing to her. She wouldn't recognize a household with her last name on it--it no longer exists.

I got to feel for a second how isolating that would be. Sure it has a flair of freedom and independence. But I like knowing that I have a household. That Rory and I, though without children, are a family, a household. A unit. A team.

My maiden name was all well and good. Stephanie Cary is just as nice--though it does seem to lack the tv anchor-person sing-songy tone that Stephanie Starks carries. And I love my family and where I came from.

But when I say Stephanie Starks or sign it on the back of checks, I get the distinct feeling that I am in the presence of something new with the power to create something bigger. I am on the verge of building a family, a legacy all my own. Well, all mine and Rory's, but you know what I mean. We are a family already, I am learning. But it's very powerful to be so bonded and united as to share a name and build a household from it.

Marriage is horrible. Ugly and awful and cruel and revealing and strengthening and true and sanctifying. (See all previous blogs.) But uniting and humbling and bonding and creating, and, well, I like that part. And I am glad it's with my new name--Starks.

So this new household we've made/are making will be nothing like anything before. It's all our own. And we get to make it whatever we like.

We may not have chosen our name or created our name but it's ours all the same. And it's nice to share something that sounds so pretty to the ear.

Thanks, Ror.

It's Easier to Hate Them

Isaiah 64: "Do not be angry beyond measure, O Lord, Neither remember iniquity forever"

I feel that way some times. About my own problems, that is. "Please don't remember that I lied. Please don't hold my selfishness against me. Please don't hate me forever."

But then when I meet other women who suffer because of the men in their lives, well, then I want God to be holy pissed off and burn their houses down. Burn 'em up! Destroy the mean horrible selfish b*******!

There's a girl I've had the pleasure of meeting and I recognized something special about her the day I met her. She's beautiful and kind, thoughtful and hard-working. She's inviting and non-judgmental and has everything in the world going for her. She has her degree and is well-traveled. And is working at a strip club. For about $100 a night. And sleeping with some of the guys she meets.

I can't make sense of it. I try to understand the mainstream attitude of strip clubs--it's just fun, the girls make good money, there's nothing wrong with it. I even hear the characters on one of my favorite tv sitcoms Friends talk about strip clubs fairly often. It's light-hearted and humorous banter. But I don't see any of the female stars working there. Why not? For all that isn't so bad about them, what's right with these "clubs"?

Rob Bell talks about the value of people in his book Sex God and how there is a part of every person who knows that harming another is inherently wrong. He says it's because we're made in the image of God.

So would that be enough for my friend? If she knew she was made in God's image (which she kind of already believes in a Hindu/yoga/goddess type way) would that be enough to keep her from dancing? And why does it bother me SO MUCH that she's working there?

That serial rapist/killer told James Dobson that pornography is what slowly hardened his heart so that he no longer saw women as people, but as objects.

And that's when it hits me: how much I detest men who refuse to acknowledge the inherent value in themselves. Because it must be a man who so loathes his own self that he would make women worthless.

So does Hugh Hefner despise himself? Hard to say. I think most of the porn kings do hate themselves. So what with these decent guys my friend finds at these clubs? She likes them and defends their honor even.

And for some reason this is why I hate her father. I don't know him. I don't even know if he's still living. And I regret saying hate, because I can't really hate someone who already hates himself--I have too much sorrow for him. But I am mad. Angry. A little bit seething.

And how did I, a girl with a very strained relationship with her own father, end up with a clear sense of some value above stripping? Is that the Jesus in me? Will Jesus help my friend, then? Will He please make her new and show her the inherent value and worth and beauty within because of her true Father?

I don't know why I think my sin is less evil than the porn kings. I want to say that there is something so inherently wrong with destroying another's value, that the demeaning of another, weaker vessel is past punishment. But then I think of how I devalue those I lie to. How I wounded my younger sisters when they were younger and weaker and looked up to me. How I may not be selling porn, but I sure as heck do my own part to scar and destroy others.

And so I agree with Isaiah. Good, kind, wise Isaiah. Please don't remember iniquity forever. Because if they have a chance, then so do I. And if I have a chance, then so does my friend. And I want more than anything for her to have a chance.

Truth...From a piece of flair?!

For those who don't know what flair is on facebook (and this is addressed primarily to my mom because every single other person I know is fully aware of facebook flair), flair is a cute, demographically-charged phrase for what I used to know as buttons. The little perfectly round buttons that clip onto backpacks and t-shirts that once served to signify support for an election candidate or something you stood for. I had one as a teenager:

"It's better to have loved and lost than to live with the psycho the rest of your life."

And that pretty much summed up my fear of relationships at the time.

But I was given a new piece of flair the other day from a friend and it summed up a new life position for me:

"Be the kind of woman that when your feet hit the floor in the morning the devil says, "Aw crap. She's up."

I love the image that phrase creates. It's an image of strength and confidence. And also of battle.

I am not one to shy away from battle. It's in my nature and debate and conflict fit comfortably alongside. But I have had a hard time learning what is worth fighting for.

In the beginning it was politics. This came easy seeing as how I was raised in a conservative home-school environment where Republicans were the highest esteemed officials in the church--I mean, the world.

But as I grew older I realized I had a fatal liberal flaw; I could see both sides. Not to every issue, of course, but even abortion wasn't an easy decision to side on at first. And when I searched the issues I found that there was a lot more going on in the world than politics. There was life.

And life for majority of the world, well, life sucked. I learned about dictators in Africa and the caste system in India. Both resulted in unnecessary suffering--especially for children. I'd like to say that I wanted to help them by bringing them Christianity. But it wasn't necessarily spirituality that drove me to it. It was the urge to fight wrong deep within me. To save the helpless. To punish the evil. It was uncontrollable.

And then the Lord began a deep work within me. He began showing me where change first takes place. Initially I felt lasting change could only start from the home. And He's right. But now I realize that change can only begin within. It's me that's the problem, as I admire Donald Miller for poignantly stating in Blue Like Jazz.

But before I delve into self-loathing or my inner evil that I have been dissecting since high school, I have to share the positive side to being me. (And by that I mean the glimmer of me that was made in the image of God and is daily being perfected in Christ.) Whereas I used to shudder at my natural urge to argue and fight, my strong and defensive instinct, I have found some hope.

And it's in the unlikeliest of places, I assure you.

Proverbs 31.

Now I know that only the godliest of women in the church memorize and model their life after this chapter, but only recently was it explained to me.

The background: this chapter wasn't written for women. It was written from a mother to her son. It's her advice to him in what he should look for in a wife. Ok, interesting, but still something a good Christian wife should strive to be.

The "hidden" truth: virtuous doesn't mean what you think it means. Virtuous conjures up black and white images of an Emily Dickinson-style puritan wife who always keeps her head covered and pearls matching her heels, while joyfully preparing 5 breakfasts--one for each member of her household. This woman's husband doesn't have to die to himself; she's already done that herself for him.

The Hebrew here for virtuous is literally "warrior." An Israeli woman read the Hebrew in Proverbs 31 for virtuous wife as literally, "female soldier."

A soldier? Hmmm...I could get used to this kind of subservience.

So the question remains: what is worth fighting for? What is worth becoming a warrior, a soldier to? The truth as my instinct compels me to answer. And by truth I mean the person of Christ. And by that I mean my husband. And as he strives to love me as Christ does (and this is one dirty, messy roller coaster style of love), I turn my sword to his enemy: his flesh. For this I shall fight. I shall battle and defend.

And in my own way I hope to fight against the image Satan has conjured up of good wifery. The kind of puritan wanness that holds her thoughts to herself and God. Our husbands are to be as Christ and that means they get all of us. My thoughts are reserved for God and for that He gave me a husband to talk to. May we all pick our battles so wisely.

Into the wilderness

I had it all planned out.

Leave by 2:30, hit the 89A junction by 4:00 and watch God lead us with bright sunbeams to the exact camping spot He had saved for us.

Are you surprised to hear that we left at 7? 7pm. It's practically dark by then! And I had already started to feel like we shouldn't even go. For starters, I looked nothing like a camping girl with my rebellious hair and stupid clothes. My one friend goes camping and always looks much better in the pictures than I did standing before my mirror. Plus, the house was getting dirtier by the second and we didn't even know if we would find a camping spot.

Frustration rose as I convinced myself that it was a ridiculous idea. Find God in the wilderness? Whatever. How could I even know for sure that God had inspired this little camping extravaganza anyway?

My husband was this close to giving up himself. But he smiled--a real, genuine smile proving his ability to fight the good fight--and said he really wanted us to go and offered to help me. He did the dishes while I changed my clothes--seven times. And then by the time the sun went down, we were ready.

We made great time and everything but by the time we hit a little town about 30 minutes from our destination, we somehow got confused and drove the wrong way through the town--twice. My husband was smart enough to ask for directions (which was helpful because I hadn't even noticed that it was the second time we had seen the same art gallery) and found that we weren't far from our path. In fact, we had just misread one sign. We thought it said "ONE WAY," but didn't realize that it didn't apply to us. All we had to do was go back and turn right.

And that's kind of why we were on this road trip to begin with. We had started our life together headed in the right direction. Sure it wasn't exactly like we had planned (my clothes weren't quite right back then, either), but we went anyway. We trusted and we went. When it came to make some big decisions, we misread a sign and went around what felt much like the circle that winded through that little town.

We weren't so quick to stop and ask for directions back then, though. We got a decent ways off from our path. And true to the camping analogy, I hadn't even noticed til it was almost too late.

This trip was all about re-aligning ourselves. And wasn't perfect. And it was messy.

We searched and scoured for an open campsite that felt secluded and almost settled until we made a last-ditch attempt to find the perfect spot. And although there was no sunbeam or voice from heaven, we found campsite #1 and were shocked at our fortune. We set up camp in the dark (I am still laughing as I think about us boiling water for about an hour over the campfire) and then hit the sleeping bag before we could even get romantic. Morning was beautiful until the bees swarmed the honey we had left out and I had to hide in the car because of my allergy.

There were so many opportunities to throw in the towel. To cry and quit and just give up. But we had each other and trusted that God had us. And in the end, that's exactly what we needed to find in the wilderness. And looking back, that's exactly what we found.

Hate is such a strong word

There aren't many things I hate. But as an extremist, I tend to find myself in either passionate love or hate with most issues. And as I grow older, I find that I hate being a Christian.

Sure, Christianity gets a bad wrap (which probably has something to do with how Christians behave). And Christianity as a belief-system/religion means different things to different people. But that has nothing to do with my personal sentiment.

My personal sentiment comes from God's relentless intention to teach me empathy.

Quick vocab lesson: "sympathy" means to feel with someone else. It's a kind, goodhearted way to have compassion. "Empathy," however, means that you've been there. You feel for them because you know the feeling yourself.

I always sympathized with people in my life. It was the "Christian" thing to do.

But now I am experiencing something new: empathy.

Maybe it's just because I am getting older and experiencing more. But whatever the reason, it is a hard road to toll.

It all started when a close friend suffered a miscarriage. My heart broke for her (sympathy at its best). I did something dangerous, though, out of this sympathy; I asked God to help me understand what she was really going through.

Not more than a year later, I lost my own unborn baby. Same length of pregnancy, similar signs. I am not saying that God caused my miscarriage just to answer my prayer. I am just relaying the info. You can make your own judgment.

But then, I befriended a girl I had known for years but had never been close to. As she opened up, I learned that her husband had been struggling with fidelity. He wasn't out and out cheating on her, but he may as well have been. It destroyed her.

And the sympathy bug bit me again.

I can't recall any direct, specific requests of God with this one but in a matter of months, I found myself in the exact same situation with my husband. I discovered an "emotional affair" between him and a close friend of mine. Destroyed still describes my situation.

And in those two short experiences, I have decided that I hate being a Christian. I am tired of empathizing. After just two brief (though fully painful, let me assure you) experiences, I want out. I want it to stop. I want to cry, "Abba, Abba, why have you forsaken me?"

Christianity is all about being Jesus. And Jesus is all about feeling where WE'VE been. So the closer I get to Him, the more I have to feel. The more I have to suffer. Not in a victimizing way. In a broken, strength under control kind of way.

And it's official. I hate it.