dialogue with Lindsey, (with a little artistic license that comes from deeper reflection)

What do you want most in life? what does your heart yearn for?

I want most, to live in a world, where there is no more hurt. Where I could walk out to the front door, peer out on an endless savannah, valley, ocean, or plain, and smile inside, because I would know that there was nothing out there in the world that would make my heart break any more. I want most to live in a world where people’s hearts aren’t breaking. Where children are living. Where parents aren’t being separated by an affair, a lack of mutual interest, or a deadly disease. Where kids can play and laugh and smile, without fear of anything. Where there is enough food for everyone, and no one has enough to make them hoarde more. The kingdom of heaven is now, and here, and i want it. the potential for it at least is here. I want to seek it. I want to know it.

I want to live in a house full of love and joy. Of bright vibrant colors. Of books. Of art. Of things other than plastics. I want children around, lots of them. They don’t need to all be mine, in fact I would prefer not having to give birth ten times, they can be neighbors. they can be friends. but they must be running and giggling and laughing and playing. I want them to put on plays with silly costumes. I want them to make me great artistic masterpieces. I want them to journey to far off lands and come home for dinner to tell me all about it.

I want my world to be whole. But I don’t want to live in a cocoon. I don’t want to ignore the pain and suffering that makes me cry when I see it. I cry so much more for the world around me than for myself. I think two nights ago was the first time I’ve cried for me since Christmas. I cry for poverty. I cry for broken families. I cry for African slums in pictures. I cry for injustice. I don’t cry for death. I cry for the living.

I want my life to be a garden. I want our lives to be the garden.

There has to be something that I can do. It cannot be enough for me to be happy. can it?

what do you want in a husband? do you want someone who shares your passion? or someone who stands to the side and admires it?

I want. I want.. I don’t know what I want. I want to be in control. I don’t like losing control ever. If there is not someone whom I trust implicitly watching out for me, and keeping me safe from the world but also myself, then I will revert to being in control, and guarded. I want my heart to be free because I know that it is safe. I want my husband to protect my heart, but lets it still beat, and lets it still feel, even if it hurts. I help heal through empathy. When you hurt, and you come to me, the best thing I can do for you, is empathize, and take some of your pain upon me. And sometimes it does physically hurt inside. But that is how I heal. I am a wounded healer after the heart of Donald Miller in To Own a Dragon. If we are both equally passionate, then I don’t know that I can trust him to watch over both our hearts. I want him to know my passions, and know why they are my passions, and share in them that way, yes. but i also would like him to be constant, and steady, and always trustworthy.

If you guys did end up breaking up, what would you do?

I don’t know. I really don’t know. And I don’t know who or what kind of guy I would date next. I don’t know all that many Christian men that I would want myself to marry. I don’t really trust them I don’t think. (another legacy of my father)  who would be strong enough to let me be me? who would be strong enough to protect me without being authoritarian? who would be strong enough that he wouldn’t need the “well, I’m the man in this relationship, so you should submit to me”? (sidenote-If I trusted you, then I would submit to you because I wanted your help or advice. I know I’m emotional and passionate and don’t always think things through, but that doesn’t mean that I’m stupid or unable to make intelligent decisions.) It seems like most everyone (male) that I’ve seen living or attempting to live as good little Christians, have just been boys. And the men in my life… the best Men that I have known have been blasphemous ex-marines. The worst examples? have been in the church. Barry, you don’t count for this really, because I didn’t really see you around Erin all that much, but I’ve heard you say things that proved your love for her a thousand times over. But I don’t really know how you guys work. And I dunno, I think you kinda kept the girls at arms length in Turnpike, and i never was quite sure why. Honestly, I’m more scared of a “religious” marriage, a “religious” husband, than living as an unwed mother or marrying (gasp, God forbid!) a Unitarian.

I’m not afraid of work. I’m not afraid of being poor. I’m not even afraid of being alone. I’m not afraid of living. I am afraid of forgetting. I am afraid of choosing wrong. I am afraid of being trapped.

so maybe lindsey was just the catalyst… seeing as I didn’t say most of this to her…

Africa. Fresno. Me.

Last night I didn’t complete my homework. I read the required materials, but didn’t write a response to what I read. I’m not exactly sure why. Some of it is that it is hard stuff to read objectively. We’re learning about the colonialism of Africa. The subjugation of a continent. Its kind of interesting, only because of outside influences did Africa unite. Because of the Transatlantic slave trade, the notion of African Diaspora emerged, as a way to share the experience and the pain. After the slave trade was made illegal, Europeans started to colonize Africa. Before this, they had just picked shipments of slaves up off the coast, delivered by traders or kings in exchange for guns, pottery, cloth, alcohol etc. Then they started to move in, to buy land (either honestly or otherwise) for their own profit. For diamonds. For Gold. For rubber even.

I can’t even concentrate on what the point of this blog was. Its so depressing and disgusting. and truly horrible. gah. blech. eesh. *shiver*

Yesterday in class professor phillips was asked whether apartheid was still a problem in south africa. She responded socratically “how many of your families regularly visit homes of people of any color [other than your own], as friends, or maybe you have them over to eat? hmm? any of you? raise your hands.” There were 3 people in our class of 25+. I couldn’t even raise my hand. Granted, my mother isn’t incredibly social, so she never goes over to anyone’s for dinner, nor do they come here. Except for family. But they’re all white… so it doesn’t help me be able to raise my hand. But we aren’t family friends with anyone who isn’t white. Its ridiculous. Part of it is that all of my moms friends are from Bakersfield from when she and my dad were first married, but even the people she works with and occasionally goes out with, are white. Like white-white, north side of town, Bullard or Clovis areas. And then theres me. whats my claim to cross-cultural fame (or even basic knowledge). I was a goody-two-shoes church girl at a church that did a lot of outreach to “the neighborhood kids” in the areas around palm and dakota. I wasn’t friends with any of them, except Jesse really. I hung out with the other church kids. Next, I go to Manchester. Alright, Manchester was a wonderful environment where we didn’t think about race or differences ever. we all just had fun learning, and never thinking we were brilliant or special. Computech was a little more of the same, there started to be some segregation, but we didn’t notice, because we were friends with our friends. There were like 8-10 of us girls who sat together at lunch, and generally liked each other (in retrospect, again, we were all of different ethnicities. but we were all intelligent too, which was more of a binding factor). Then I went to Roosevelt.
Roosevelt had RSA, and I would not be where I am today if I had not gone there. I would have been afraid, I wouldn’t know that I can do anything that I put my mind to. I don’t know how I could have gotten through the dark years with my dad without roosevelt. Freshman year I was really good friends with Maria and Amanda (uh-mahn-duh, not a-man-da), but then other stuff happened, and I kinda slipped into Bohigians room at lunch, and withdrew socially. I didn’t want to be an RSA girl, like all the RSA-RSA crowd. So I stayed by myself, and wrote poetry on occasion. This continued throughout sophomore year. Sometimes I would eat with Logan and Maddie and Becca and anyone else on those two planters with them. Mostly I remember Boh’s room though. Junior year was more of the same. I didn’t have English with non-RSA kids because I was in Academic Decathlon (another amazing experience for me that I wouldn’t have had at Edison). I was best friends with Logan mostly. (I also had my token African-American relationship/experience with/through Joshua Michael Sims, but that was never more than us talking on the phone at night, praying together some times and him proposing marriage in random classes. Me abusing him horribly, first by only talking about Logan, then when I was finally over Logan, we had a few good months, then I kissed Stuart, and dropped him instantly.) Towards the end of junior year I withdrew from the English classrooms at lunch, and started to eat in the sunshine again with Logan Maddie and Becca. Senior year, all I did was eat with L/M/B, and ditch classes with them too. I was in Calculus with Agripino and Damaris, which gave me some Chicano underground culture. When I went to my Gov/Econ class, I would get some Chicano history sometimes, but I didn’t go very often. I still graduated as a valedictorian. I’m not really proud of that, actually.

Again, I digress.

The point of this was. Our homework last night was to write some observations about what we read, and then ask a question. I was sitting in class, trying to remember what I read last night, and I couldn’t think of anything specific. So instead I wrote something to the effect of “Its horribly depressing reading about colonialism. Apartheid was/is a horrible system, but at the same time I am going to a private Christian college in Spokane, WA, while the city that I come from has the worst pockets of poverty nationwide.

You know? I started looking at the Fresno Unified website, just looking at statistics, only 1 in 4 students graduate from FUSD with the CSU/UC requirements fulfilled.

I really want to change the world. I really want to be of some service to the world. To help and love others. But maybe instead of focusing outwards internationally, maybe there are some serious things that need to be done a little closer to home. How often do we think about the abject poverty of our own town? not homelessness, not the poverello house, not even the marjorie mason center. but the people, who live below the federal poverty line. 26% of Fresno. 1 in 4 people. I don’t really think about it. ever

many things. many thoughts. none too serious though.

I love my relationship with Stuart because we really don’t change anything about us for each other. He shaves, and brushes his teeth. And I brush my hair and teeth. Thats basically it. Oh, and I change my clothes daily. Top secret knowledge about Christine: she has the worst hygeine in the world. Like really. Showering. Changing clothes. doing hair or makeup. all these seem kinda superfluous and stupid to her at times. If she feels dirty or gross she’ll instinctually do something about it. But if she feels perfectly fine, and doesn’t smell…. she really doesn’t do anything about it. Which, she understands, is revolting to the rest of the world. However, she thinks this will come in handy when she moves to a third world country and showers lessen in importance. I would like to inform you that I do shower and change my clothes and brush my teeth for other people, just less consistantly than I do for stuart. So don’t be completely grossed out by me. please? lol.

mmm. my tummy is grumbly… thats no good.

It feels so good to remember that I am Loved. That I don’t remotely deserve it. and I can’t do anything about it.

When I am confident in my identity, or just feeling safe/accepted, its so much easier to write. I know I haven’t really said anything profound, but at least today I could write. The past few days I’ve almost written some things, but it just came out wrong, and I’m slowly learning that although I can physically say what I want, what I say and do actually affects people. And I do need to realize that words can/do hurt. even if theyre typed.

So, something sweet, that makes me happy. Stuart has this friend Kelly, and shes really nice really sweet, etc etc. but i never really knew her, cuz stuart and i went to different high schools, and so i’ve just randomly met her a couple times. But the other day, she myspace messaged me, and just kinda said, hey, i want to be friends with you, because stuart loves you, and stuarts my friend, so i should be your friend too. and it just made me feel really happy, and appreciated. This isn’t saying I was jealous of her ever, because jealousy doesn’t really ever work in the jealous person’s favor (i’ve observed), but it was really nice of her. does that make any sense? or does it make me out to be a jealous girlfriend? i don’t want to be the jealous girlfriend. I liked her before because of things i’d heard about her, and the fact that stuart respects her/likes her, but now that I know her myself, I like her even more. Pretty sure I was never that obliging or considerate to Tam… ooops?

I’m reading a generous orthodoxy by Brian McLaren. I went to the bookstore to buy a new kind of christian, but they were sold out, so I bought this instead, and he just goes through the orthodoxy of all these different kinds of churches, and says what he likes about them. why he is partially this. In the beginnning of the book, he talks about the difference between orthodoxy(what you specifically believe) and orthopraxy (how you live it out). Paraphrasing: he says that we should be more like basketball players than referees, and we should bear that in mind when memorizing our orthodoxy (rules of the game of basketball). We should want to know the rules so that we can play better, and have a good clean fun fair game, instead of so that we can blow our whistles, point out the fouling up of others, and then punish them.

I’m going to go read right now. because i’ve been putting it off all night.

unknown source

I feel kind of weird writing on this blog, seeing as barry is the only person that really knows about it. at least on xanga and myspace, I had random people who were in fact reading it, or who used to read it, so I felt less like I was talking to a great abyss. I really want to start writing more regularly though, so maybe its better if I just write, and not consider who is or isn’t reading what I write.

I really should be researching slavery right now for my class. I’ve been watching Arrested Development for most of the afternoon. But then again, I also had coffee with Brian, and talked to Kelsey, so I’ve been good on my social end. I also had a good walk with Lindsay yesterday, where we both confessed to each other that we are in fact, white, and really are never going to be any other race/culture than what we are, as much as we may wish it. I wish I was African. Or South American.

Did anyone know that the US has forces in Somalia now??? Because i didn’t. I just read it offhandedly mentioned in an article on Iran. Is anyone (theoretically, of course, because no one reads this) else worried that our oh so great and mighty nation might be getting itself into a position of having FOUR wars going on. FOUR!!!!!!! in FOUR different countries, for really, FOUR different rationales. Actually they all fall under the same banner of saving the world from global terrorism.

which of course it needs so much saving from.

my favorite quotable fact: twice as many people die of AIDS every day in Africa alone, than died on September 11th.

which leads me back to the fact that I really don’t want to live in America. At all. In fact, I’m pretty sure the only way that I would concievably stay here past graduation, would be if I moved to a low-income area, and was involved in either education, education reform, or community development. Which I guess is possible, but I much prefer the idea of leaving the country permanently.

and now.

back to slavery.

Here’s why I have to believe.

So I guess, the past few weeks, while I was home, I was contemplating not believing in this God guy of Christianity. I suppose some of it has to do with Stuart, but its not because he pressures me, or even has ever really said anything about it to me. I guess I just felt like it would be easier to give up the Church than Stuart. So I wouldn’t feel guilty about not feeling guilty. But I can’t. I dunno. I was skimming Blue Like Jazz last night, and Donald Miller was talking about one night it hit him that if Christianity wasn’t True, then none of the other religions were any more likely to be True. Its kinda Christ or nothing.

I looked up Unitarian Universalism on Wikipedia. And I read all about it. And it doesn’t work. I am so broken. I am so confused, crazy, emotional, and self-centered. I’m not sure that I trust myself to make a decision on what is and isn’t Truth. Alright, I guess I trust my judgement to a certain extent. (sidenote, the last spiritual gifts test I took put discernment as my number 1 gift). But who am I to make up my own religion, set of beliefs, whatever. Who would I be, to sample all the religions and just take what I like from each of them? And how does my superficial sampling show my respect for differing viewpoints? If anything it shows my irreverance for the basis of whatever faith it is. Who would I be to just take the parts that please me, that make my life easier for me?

And as I write this, I’m realizing that in my head my “return to the flocks” isn’t going to work as well as planned because I would be doing that to Christianity as well. Just taking what I like. You know?

Heres my dilema. delimma. dilemma. how do you spell that??? anyways. here it is. I like being as close to Stuart as I am right now. I like the idea of us getting married in a few years and living happily ever after. I like the idea of us just getting closer and closer and closer. Laughing and smiling all along. Going to Africa. Cooking for each other. Saving the World (one lightbulb at a time). Talking. Sewing.

Actually that in itself isnt the d-word. the unspellable d-word is that I feel like a horrible hypocrite because i don’t feel bad or guilty about my relationship with him, but i feel like i should. Because Margaret laughed when she asked how the good little Christian girl was doing at her private Christian school. Because when Stuart called Jesus “a radical lover” it was the first time I’d really thought about Him in forever. Because my roommate Kaitie is working so much harder than I am to be close to God. Because of my mother. Because my brother came to me with a spiritual problem of sorts, and I didn’t know how to answer him, at all. Because I don’t produce fruit any more. Because I’ve become raunchier, and I gossip about everything. Because I can come up with intellectual rationalizations for everything. Because I believe in theory, but its been ages since I’ve talked to my Jesus.

I have to believe in one savior named Jesus Christ, because this world would be lost forever if we didn’t have Him. Because of Donald Miller. Because of selfless love. I have to believe Him because I would die if the world couldn’t be made better. I have to believe that he Loves me, because if he didn’t love me first, I wouldn’t believe I was worthy of anyone’s love. Because when I was all alone, and wanted to die, he saved me. If it wasn’t for a living breathing working God, I would have drowned in a river, on purpose. Because if I was entirely a selfish bitch, my heart wouldn’t break for Africa. My heart wouldn’t break for educational inequalities, for economic divides, for poverty’s effects. And if this world wasn’t redeemable, theres no reason why we all wouldn’t have murdered each other before now. Because when I am good with God, I know what I’m going to do with my life (or am at peace with not knowing). Because I miss him.

today

so I think that. Alright, I don’t know, which is the problem. I guess.

I think I’m going to talk to Stuart tonight. and I’m not exactly sure what I’m going to say. which scares me. But I don’t want to write it out ahead of time, because then I’ll chicken out of actually telling him, and just send him an email, or a xanga post.

I feel kind of weird starting yet another blog. But I also feel like I should.

I chose my username because I’m currently taking an African Life and Culture class, and we had to pick African names before class tomorrow. and thats the one I chose, its slightly ironic, I guess. I get a slightly cynical chuckle out of it i guess. My dad and I hung out a couple times over vacation. and the day I left I went to breakfast with Jamie and Nate and Emily, and it was suprisingly fun. and almost happy. almost like the good old days, only the good old days were never actually all that good… well they were for moments, but it always got ugly again it seems. i dunno. maybe things will slowly work out… or maybe he’s just doing it so he doesn’t have to pay more money when my mom and him talk to the nice little judge man about child support…

and the other Father. well, he’s always been my real dad I guess. I remember praying in my dads apartment that I would be a good daughter to Him, if He would let me be His daughter and love me no matter what. I’ve been horrible as of late. And its almost like I don’t quite know how to get back to where I ought to be. I read John 15 last night, and this morning. and like, i dunno, it really hit me hard when John writes the whole “apart from me you can do nothing”

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