Babies, Ducks, and Baby Ducks

Sometimes when all of life's gifts are being passed out, we spy one that is vibrant, tantalizing, and just perfect for us! We want it. We want that bold, patriotic duck. Suddenly, it gets handed to someone else, and because our heavenly language is limited, we don't understand why. That duck would have been perfect for us! We regarded it with awe and affection! We would have loved and cherished and chewed it. We would have named it "Quackers". Alas. We wander, bereft, confused about this rumored heavenly beneficence. Then, wonder of wonders, a voice calls our  name! It hands over a personally inscribed package on which is perched ANOTHER duck! A duck that matches our attire. A duck that speaks to our vivid personality. A duck for us to cradle and slurp and carelessly drop on the ground after the allure dissipates. Our duck. And we respond with joy and wonder and awe and never contemplate: did we really need a duck in the first place? Or does the tall being simply view our smallness, our newness, our simplicity and decide to be lavish once again?

Thoughts

On Aspiration

Per usual, today's to-do list began over-ambitiously and became completely overthrown with new, immediate requests. Unexpectedly, I found myself in Vons with only two items to purchase and an "Express Lane" that was dawdling all the way into the food aisles. On the premise that it is better to be behind one person who has a truckload of groceries than ten people with a handful, I stationed myself resignedly behind a transaction in the works and a middle-aged blonde who was busily unloading towers of frozen food boxes. All of a sudden, the blonde cheerily offered, "Would you like to go ahead of me?" and graciously affirmed my obvious relief. As I left the store, my mood was disproportionately lighter thanks to my lucky -- and kind -- break. Emerging into the sun, I thought, I want to be that kind of person! Someone who is naturally  helpful in small, undramatic ways. If I set my mind to it, it could grow into an unconscious habit. Belatedly, it occurred that the sole reason I was in Vons was to buy a gift card for people in need whom I had met fifteen minutes earlier while at the post office sending out gifts. ... It's a surreal moment when you realize you have somehow (slowly? surely?) become the type of person you always wanted to be, at least for one day.


On Bad Choices

Due to my unusual hobbies, I have spent a substantial chunk of emotional energy the past year being angry with people who "blame the victim". The situation that gets me the most is when people reason (or fail to reason) that somehow a "prostitute" is responsible for her circumstances, not the man who sexually abused her when she was young, the trafficker/pimp who controls her through terror and mind games, or the "customers" who purchase her body. Somehow, she is purportedly responsible for her circumstances because she made "bad choices". Since I know a little bit about how young people usually end up in prostitution, I look at her situation and think If all she knows is abuse disguised as love, broken relationships, and poverty; if she mentally, emotionally, and physically controlled by someone who is violent and vicious; if she does not have anyone to come rescue her and nowhere to go if she left -- then how can she have the freedom to make a choice? And somewhere in my anger about prejudice towards the oppressed, I became prejudiced towards people who are ignorant of the oppressed. 

Mental breakthrough: People certainly need to be held accountable for their choices, but sometimes they are not able to make a healthy choice. Unconsciously, I often hold people to the standard of my life experience when deciding whether or not they had the ability to make a healthy choice. That's just plain silly. Also, remarkably self-centered. And certainly unprofitable. It's easy for me to see that many women who are prostituted do not have the freedom to decide to leave. It took a bit longer to realize that the person who is condemning victims of sex trafficking may not have enough knowledge of the situation to prompt a compassionate response. So now when I find myself frustrated with people's choices, I ask myself if they have the ability, including knowledge, to make a healthy choice. This practice has considerably lessened my private diagnoses of "self-satisfied nincompoop".



On Expectations

Healthy people usually make healthy choices. Unhealthy people usually make unhealthy choices. A person's mental, physical, and emotional states of health are partially a result of their choices and partially a result of other's choices and sometimes a result of nature freakishly intervening. Sounds pretty straightforward, right? Then why do we keep expecting sick people to make healthy choices? Someone whose spouse abruptly ran off is probably doing well just showing up to work, so don't expect him to be able to be generous or a good listener for awhile. And why do we think that a healthy choice for a sick person looks identical to the choices for healthy people? Someone with a broken leg will only hurt it further if he tries to simply walk on it with no cast or crutches. The under the table job for someone with a criminal record might be the only way for him to quit dealing. Life is messy. Are we willing to be the support for hurting people? If not, then it is entirely unjust for us to expect them to behave as if they were well. (See thoughts above on ability before responsibility.)



On Timeliness

Actually, I have nothing constructive to say on this topic, as I appear to be running late for yet another engagement. (See opening sentences of "On Aspiration".)

Don't Think Pink

Last week I was invited to a concert featuring Joan Baez and the Indigo Girls.* The Indigo Girls in particular have amassed a largely female following. On considering the band and audience, one male who was invited to the concert commented to me, "It's a good thing I'm secure in my masculinity!" Little do people know that off-handed comments inculcated by cultural norms percolate in my over-active brain for days on end. So...for the past several days, I have been contemplating for the six dozenth time:

1.) Why do males feel that identifying with traditionally female interests will somehow damage their masculinity? 
2.) In a partial answer to question 1, why is it that the primary definition of manhood seems to be NOT to identify with anything "feminine"? How can you feel secure in something defined by how NOT to be?
2.) Why do you never hear a woman say, "It's a good thing I'm secure in my femininity!"? 

Although I am grateful to be of both my sex and gender, I rarely feel secure in my femininity. My grandmother watches more television than I and junior highers are much more up with the times, but I'm not immune to the constant messages reducing females to only the flesh. Building up my self-image and joy in my gender takes conscious WORK. But more than that, I've never been concerned that being around male interests would somehow taint my femininity. My femininity is not something that can be lost or hurt by adopting male hobbies. While other women may feel differently, I maintain that the fear of damaging one's gender identity by exposure to the other gender's interests is, by and large, a male fear.

When a woman wants to enter a traditionally male field, I applaud her, knowing how much harder she is going to have to work to prove herself and gain respect. When a women is good with tools or knows about auto mechanics, I am impressed. It seems to make her MORE, not LESS. My interests are psychology, the relationship between God and mankind, social justice, social services and nonprofits, literature, appreciating art, and friends. Prominent writers, civil rights activists and abolitionists, artists and psychologists from all civilizations throughout history have a common demographic factor: male. Do I need to protect my femininity against these evidently hyper-masculine interests?

Much of this discussion comes down to silly yet strident distinctions between "male" and "female" pursuits and interests. In Thailand I saw many young boys sporting pink shirts and school bags. Pink is not a gendered color, and males and females are free to enjoy or avoid it as they like. Hurrah! Who assigned your gender labels for you? Your parents? Media? Peers? Do you give them absolutely authority over your morals too? The origins of culture are not biological or spiritual. Culture is created and maintained by small and large groups of people. There is much more to our genders than mandated behaviors and appearances, but until we embrace or at the very least admit this truth, we cannot discover it but only continue to reduce each other by brandishing our favorite cultural norms.

Today in my online wanderings re: social justice and human trafficking topics, I came across this short video** that highlights some of these questions: 



What is the value of a girl to you? What is your value as a girl? As a woman? How would you feel if someone described your action as being "like a girl"? As a person whose snarkiness seems to be more frequently erupting these days, next time someone describes me as such, I'm going to smile and rejoin: "Oh, thank you! I value women, so that is a high compliment. Very kindly meant, I'm sure."

Yes, a snark stalks among you. Like a girl.



*The concert was last night. The harmonies were bliss. Joan Baez must practice yoga. I know this because I saw her spryness from the front row.
**Part of me applauds the effort, but the cynical part says, "Gosh, a 'feminine product' company is running a marketing campaign on the value of women. Even a positive message turns out to be a money-making scheme to get women when they're vulnerable."

The Bordered State of Being

Good music moves us. It moves our hearts and, hopefully, our minds. A few months ago, I was at the Ensure Justice Conference at Vanguard University when I was introduced to a song that has been ringing through my spirit ever since. Here are the words. (Click here to listen to the song.)

"Oceans (Where Feet May Fail"

You call me out upon the waters
The great unknown where feet may fail
And there I find You in the mystery
In oceans deep
My faith will stand

And I will call upon Your name
And keep my eyes above the waves
When oceans rise
My soul will rest in Your embrace
For I am Yours and You are mine

Your grace abounds in deepest waters
Your sovereign hand
Will be my guide
Where feet may fail and fear surrounds me
You've never failed and You won't start now

So I will call upon Your name
And keep my eyes above the waves
When oceans rise
My soul will rest in Your embrace
For I am Yours and You are mine

Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders
Let me walk upon the waters
Wherever You would call me
Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander
And my faith will be made stronger
In the presence of my Savior

This song ran through me after a day of being challenged yet again to fight the evil of human trafficking. It is a cause and calling so great that it can distract from the One who is doing the calling. The line "Spirit, lead me where my trust is without borders" trumpeted through my Spirit. It reminded me that I have a deep and abiding trust in God that STOPS SHORT in certain areas. This image of a border caught me. It's one thing to pray "God, let me trust you more" and another thing entirely to find yourself at the limit, the border of your trust "where feet may fail and fear surrounds me." Hearing that line immediately changed my perspective on a decision I had been debating for some time. The real problem was not the degree of complication but that I had hit a border of trust. My trust did not need to go deeper; it needed to go FURTHER, extending into the area that I wanted to control myself.

Where are your borders? What are the relationships on which you've given up, the hopes you've deferred, the callings you've abandoned even though you fully believe that God offers healing, hope, and strength? Maybe your trust does not need to go deeper. Maybe it needs to CROSS OVER the borders in your heart and mind.

May your faith be made stronger in the presence of your Savior, and may you grow in love with the One who calls you.

The One

Today marked a first in my research on human trafficking. Today I read about a victim who shares my name.

The quota was $1,000 a night.

That's how much Katie Rhoades, then 19, was forced to make having sex with men for money. Every night. For three years.

"If you got good at manipulation, you didn't have to turn as many tricks," said Rhoades, adding that beatings and emotional abuse befell the women who did not obey the sex trafficker's commands or bring in the $1,000. "If you don't think there is an out, you learn to survive within it."

In 2002, she was a homeless, drug-addicted stripper barely out of high school when the pimp and his "bottom girl" -- the one responsible for luring girls and women, training them, and enforcing the "rules" -- trapped her with promises of a better and more glamorous life as their recording studio production assistant. Instead, 72 hours after she moved from Portland to San Francisco with them, she was held captive and forced to strip and have sex with men for money.

(More details about this period have been omitted from my reposting. You can read the original story here and more about her new advocacy group here.)

Eventually, she was able to escape and get help from a former family physican to enroll in a drug rehabilitation program miles away in Minnesota. She got clean, earned both her undergraduate and graduate degrees in social work and now runs a victims' advocacy group, Healing Action. She also helps train hotel staff to recognize sexual trafficking.

Not only does this woman, roughly my age, share my  name, but she earned her MSW (I start mid-August) and is actively campaigning against trafficking. We have similar outcomes from drastically different paths.

Those of us in aid work and social services often have to focus on "the one". In other words, the cause we care about is often too complex and overwhelming for us to continually think about as a whole. Instead, we must focus on the individuals affected. In them we see change and healing and growth. Today "the one" hit close to home.