Sometimes You Cross My Mind

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Have you ever seen that photograph of you and I
holding close on graduation night?
Do you ever wonder what it woulda been like
if it had been a different time?
You never told me, and I never guessed
You never asked me, and I never said
And sometimes it crosses my mind
That we coulda had a story, you and I

A thousand miles away I'm movin' on
From a thousand lies we told under the sun
You always were that one who got away
But now I know I'm better off today
Without you here, without you there
As a regret I made into a nightmare
From the past there's no escape
so I think I'm lucky I got away

but Have you ever seen that photograph of you and I
holding close on graduation night?
Do you ever wonder what it woulda been like
if it had been a different time?
You never told me, and I never guessed
You never asked me, and I never said
And sometimes it crosses my mind
That we coulda had a story, you and I

A thousand times I've seen our story, Trey
and a thousand times I've died in different ways
Maybe I dodged your bullet years ago
But it's your memory I can't let go of
So I might be here, but sometimes I'm there
In your arms and I'd think of where
I'd be without you in my life
if there were no story of you and I

Well have you ever seen that photograph of you and I
Holding close on graduation night?
Do you ever wonder what it woulda been like
If it had been a different time?
You never told me, and I never guessed
You never asked me, and I never said
And sometimes it crosses my mind
That we could had a story, you and I

Christina Taylor

I'm sick of this churning and all of this yearning
and why are you hiding so I take the firing?
Bullets from the sky
rain down on her life
Tell me how to find, tell me what to look for
Shield her from the rain, say it's only danger
hunting us to death, counting every breath
Save her from the blood, the rivers they are running
Off with her address, gone to tell the press
The world is rolling off the edge

These papers are piling and someone is dialing
But my phone is broken like my heart was stolen
Bullets from the sky
rain down on her life
Tell me not to run, tell me to find him
Shield her from the rain, say it's only danger
Hunting us to death, counting every breath
save her from the blood
the rivers they are running
Off with her address, gone to tell the press
the world has tumbled off the edge

The world has tumbled off the edge...

She's Something of a Legend...

Dear Mom,

I just thought I'd write to you and tell you what your influence has meant to me over the twenty years I've been alive. We could start with the fact that you decided to homeschool me (and the rest of your kids), which has been a source of my passion for learning, my academic achievements, and my desire to succeed in high school and now college. Or we could begin with your commitment to supporting me in all my endeavors; from coming to my softball games, to seeing my art shows, to flying to Washington with me as I competed for a scholarship, you've always been right there, encouraging me. I could talk about your teaching me practical skills like baking and sewing that I'm constantly using these days to patch my jeans, repair my sheets, and make my own dinners. Or I could mention that you encouraged me to follow a healthy lifestyle by holding me to higher standards, and teaching me to enjoy the outdoors. Perhaps I should start with your fantastic teaching abilities and patience, or maybe I'd better begin with your smile and how I love to hear you tell stories of when you were young. Oh! Maybe I could start with you reading Anne of Green Gables to Mary and I, and how I still love to hear you read. There are so many starting points, so many amazing things you've done for me. But I think I should start on a Sunday when I was six or seven.

I don't remember a whole lot about this particular Sunday. I'm only thinking it was a Sunday because I was in Sunday school. I remember you were teaching my Sunday school class and you gave some kind of invitation. I think I raised my hand and said I wanted to do that. You told me we should talk later, and we did. We were having some kind of family dinner that night with our relatives, but you and I sat in the car before going in and you talked with me about this important decision I wanted to make. Eventually you and I prayed together and I had the most inexpressible feeling of joy, because I'd just prayed for Jesus to be a part of my life.

The joy that I felt in that moment  is something I search for every day. It's something I strive for. Even though my faith has been put through quite a battle, that joy is something I still cling to.

Mom, you brought me to that realization that I needed Jesus, and always, always you've spoken Truth into my life (even when I didn't want to hear it). You are the kind of mom I can boast about. You taught me how to bake cookies, pies, and how to make fudge. You showed me our secret recipes for Swedish meatballs. You make me guidebooks if I'm taking a roadtrip. You send me home with molasses cookies and fudge to share with my friends at college; you send me care packages. You have the most amazing hospitality and skill as a hostess, that I hope to aspire to. You've always welcomed my friends into your home, fed them, given them a place to spend the night. Just the other day you made homemade tomato soup just because Kole and Chase were coming over. You throw a great party, and make sure everyone has a good time.

I hope you know you're something of a legend. Your homeschooling, your cooking, your dedication, your humor, your love. You're a mom to everyone, but I'm lucky enough to be able to say you're my mom. It's something I truly appreciate every day.

I love you, Mom.


-Katy

Twilight and The Vampire Diaries

Stefan: broody brood brood
Edward: broody brood broody brood

Hmm. This is suspicious. Both Twilight and The Vampire Diaries feature a brunette girl in high school being romanced by a vamp. Coincidence?


There is no defense for the blonde, vegetarian vamp hero who is constantly trying to save his brown-haired girlfriend from the dangers of evil vamps and werewolves. The only defense I have to offer is that the author of the books TVD is based on wrote her series years before Stephenie Meyer started writing her poorly constructed novels. One might even argue that she read the TVD series and decided to copy it, and it was unrecognizable because Meyer’s creative writing skills are so unbelievably terrible. (Example: "My mechanic is busy these days, busy running around as a giant wolf,” says Bella of Jacob.)

Current plan for avoiding being compared to Twilight: lots of oil, and naked legs; also a girl in a corset sitting in a guy's crotch with another guy's head in her crotch.

"If you think you are not conceited, it means you are very conceited indeed." -C.S. Lewis

I was reading C.S. Lewis' Mere Christianity this morning, which by the way is a masterpiece. I highly recommend it. But don't read it if you can't take an honest look at yourself. Today I was reading the few pages on pride, and what do you know, Lewis has some challenging things to say about it.

According to Lewis, Pride "is the complete anti-God state of mind."

Wow, that seems pretty strong right? Yeah, that's what I thought too, but he makes a strong case. Lewis lays out that Pride is essentially competition. Pride isn't about having the best car, it's about having a better car than the other guys out there. Pride isn't about getting good grades, it's about having better grades than other students. Pride isn't about feeling good about a job well done, Pride is actually putting yourself above everyone else and thinking that's natural and you're better than other people. Lewis argues that it is Pride, more than any other vice, that causes trouble in this world of ours. "Greed may drive men into competition if there is not enough to go round; but the proud man, even when he has got more than he can possibly want, will try to get still more just to assert his power."

Not only does Pride exacerbate other vices we have, but this competitiveness is the most awful thing. "Other vices may sometimes bring people together: you may find good fellowship and jokes and friendliness among drunken people or unchaste people. But Pride always means enmity- it is enmity." Lewis is saying that Pride is essentially making yourself an enemy to your fellow man, and it even makes you an enemy to God. "As long as you are proud you cannot know God. A proud man is always looking down on things and people: an of course, as long as you are looking down, you cannot see something above you."

So here is where it starts to get interesting. You can hear all of this stuff and go, "Ugh, jeez all these proud people are ruining the world!" Wait for it...wait for it... it's you.  You're the proud person. And in Lewis' view, the people who are so proud they can't see anything but themselves, let alone God, even though they claim Christianity, these people are "worshiping an imaginary God." These people say they love God, but really all they care about is the approval they think they're getting for being not such a great Christian, but being a better Christian than someone else.

When we think so much of ourselves, especially as Christians, it influences every area of our lives. Soon we're  becoming "better" people in all kinds of virtues. We're more kind, more self-controlled, more generous, just because it makes us better than others, not because we really care. It infects everything. "Pride is a spiritual cancer: it eats up the very possibility of love, or contentment, or even common sense."

So, from what I can tell right now, we're all pretty much doomed. This Pride issue seems to run deep, and already I can see these qualities in myself if I'm honest. I mean, I take pride in my academic achievements, and give no credit where it's truly due- to God. This Pride that we have doesn't even hide itself away because our culture tells us we should be proud of ourselves, and think much of ourselves. As Lewis puts it, we tell ourselves that "All I have done has been done to satisfy my own ideals-or my artistic conscience- or the traditions of my family- or, in a word, because I'm That Kind of Chap."

Now it's clear. How often do you think of yourself as That Kind of Chap? I'll admit I do. I'm a much better person than that Hitler guy, and that dude over there doesn't do community service like I do. We think of ourselves in comparison to others, and we need to realize this type of comparison is unhealthy, and makes all of humankind our enemies to be competed with, and Pride turns God into this pat-on-the-back machine that's really there to congratulate us. It makes everything about us.  So we're doomed, right?

Well maybe there's hope. "To love and admire anything outside yourself is to take one step away from utter spiritual ruin," Lewis says. God wants to know us, and our constant looking down is keeping us from looking up towards God. We need to realize that God is bigger, greater, perfecter, than us, and we'll never compare. We can't compete with that. Humility isn't about being poor or sad about yourself. Humility is about putting other people first. It means taking your eyes off yourself for two seconds and taking an interest in someone else. Lewis points out these people are easy to recognize because they're interested in what you have to say. "If you do dislike [a humble man] it will be because you feel a little envious of anyone who seems to enjoy life so easily."

I don't know about you, but all this pride stuff really made me recognize in myself a lot of what Lewis was talking about. It's time we put others first, and not because we want to put others first better than anyone else. It's because God loves us all. He really doesn't love you more than He loves me, and He doesn't love me more than He loves anyone else. We should stop pretending He does.

They Call You the Heartbreak Thief

07.08.10

I'm bored of you, I'm sick of you
I can't believe I listened to you
Filled up my head with pretty trash
Though you were beggin' me back
Thought you'd turned a corner, turned a leaf
But you're nothin' but a heartbreak thief

I see what you really are
I see through your costume make up
I see through this sick facade
You can take off the White Knight get up
You never lied to me, but you cried to me
Told me you need me
You're a liar.

I'm bored with this, I'm sick of you
And no I can't, won't believe you
Filled up my head with beautiful lies
Somehow I didn't think of what you had to hide
Thought you'd changed for real, but no change at all
You're what we call a heartbreak thief

I see what you really are
I see through your costume make up
I see through this sick facade
You can take off the White Knight get up
You never lied to me, but you cried to me
Told me you needed me
You're a liar.

And I'm still here alone, still searching for someone to love
But ain't nobody gonna take me, I'm all broken down
With my broken heart
You heartbreak thief

Anything For You

I'm a glutton for punishment, but I know I can take it
Give me your pain - I need you to make it
I've got this box for you
and a lock for it too
Knock me down, gimme your best shot
I'm tellin' you, I'm more than what you're not
I can handle it, whatever you've got
Give it to me, baby, it's what I want

If it hurts you, send it my way
I'll put it in my heart and at the end of the day
It'll chew up my insides like a disease
But better me, 'cause for you baby, anything.
Hurt me, hate me, I can really take it
Burn me, break me, I'll do it for your sake
Not you, take me, it'll never break me
Guilt me, shame me, go ahead and hang me
Cut me, stake me, but you can't ever slay me
Eat me, drain me, Just so long as I'll be saving
you

It's masochistic, but at least it works, right?
It might take you down, but give it to me and I'll put up a fight
I've got a cell for it
It'll give me hell for this
It might kill me, but baby I can save you
Give me monsters, you know that I'll come through
Beat me down, and spill my blood
As I go down I'll pull you up

If it hurts you, send it my way
I'll put it in my heart and at the end of the day
It'll chew up my insides like a disease
But better me, 'cause for you baby, anything.
Hurt me, hate me, I can really take it
Burn me, break me, I'll do it for your sake
Not you, take me, it'll never break me
Guilt me, shame me, Go ahead and hang me
Cut me, stake me, you can't ever slay me
Eat me, drain me, Just so long as I'll be saving
you.

Closer

Closer than a brother, you understand
You know the real me and still love who I am
I can lean on you and you'll hold me up,
I can close my eyes and fall 'cause you have my trust
I cry when I'm with you, I cry 'cause I miss you
You're not a dream I dreamed, or I thought I'd seen
You're the friend I need, yeah you're the real thing
So stand by me when there's no one to run to
Fall into my arms when you think nobody loves you
Give me all your hurt, and hand over your pain
Tell me when you're lonely and when you're afraid
Hold my hand and we'll walk this way
When everyone is leaving know that I'll stay
Through the storms, through the wind and rain
We'll hold on to love, we'll hold on to faith
You can lean on me when you can't be brave
If it were me I know you'd do the same
Tell me the story, tell me your mess
It's not gonna make me love you any less
When you smile at me I know the world's alright
You make me believe that I can still try
I laugh when I'm with you, I cry when I miss you
This is too good to be a dream I dreamed
I love you and that's the real thing
So stand by me when the world is screaming
and I'll fall into your arms when I think nobody loves me
Tell me 'bout your day and I'll tell you 'bout my nightmares
I'll wear this ring and you'll know I'll always be there
Hold my hand and we'll walk this way
Holding on to love, keeping the faith
I trust you, I believe in your best
Don't let anybody say you're any less
Sometimes my world is so dark that I get scared
So tell me it's okay and that God hears our prayers
If I have a day when I hurt so bad
Wrap me in a hug and tell me that
"I smile when I'm with you, I cry when I miss you
Don't worry now, girl, 'cause you'll make it through
This darkness here is just a dream you dreamed,
I love you and that's the real thing
Oh take my hand and we'll walk this way
We might be broken but together we're brave."
Tell me when your wings won't fly
and I promise to carry you through the night

I'm Feeling Optimistic at This Very Moment

Maybe it's the large quantities of caffeine I've recently imbibed, but I'm feeling quite optimistic about this next school year. I start in September and I'm pretty excited about my classes, about having a change of scenery, about meeting new people, keeping in touch with old friends, and keeping up with the school work. Strangely enough I'm looking forward to typing notes on lectures so fast my spelling is all off. And I'm eagerly anticipating my first paper. Ah, it must be too long since my traumatic experience with Spring finals. The emotional trauma of being trapped in a basement for two days and an all nighter whilst finishing several papers seems to have faded, and I'm ready to jump back into the rush of a busy day, and the crunch of homework.

There are so many uncertainties that I have right now. Like, am I in the right major? Am I supposed to be a nurse? Maybe I shouldn't have switched and I should go back to pre-med. What if my classes are too hard? What if I get an awfully hard teacher? Is first quarter going to be as bad as last year's first quarter? How will I squeeze all my jackets and my shoes into the tiny closets they give us? But I don't seem to care. At this very moment I feel optimistic that it'll all work out. I have a planner, and colored pens, and a positive attitude. I'm gonna make it. I'm gonna pass with flying colors. I'm going to smile. I'm going to do well in school, and have a social life. I'm going to make that impossibility happen.

Or maybe that's just the several energy drinks talking.

But I hope this optimism lasts. I kinda like it.

Nothing Left Unsaid

If you died tomorrow, would you be happy with today?
If I'd be gone tomorrow is there something else you'd say?
If the world were ending would you finally change?
If destiny existed, would you look my way?

There's so many "ifs" in a life like this
So many "maybes" in a world gone crazy
While it's all goin' down and you're all runnin' round
It's easy to forget that this is life and you're livin' it
Don't take it for granted, don't say you'll do it later
Don't coast by when you could be doin' greater things
Scream at the rain, and laugh at the lightning
Never give up and find a fight worth fighting
Say "I love you" to the ones you love
You don't want to wonder if you said it enough
Kiss like you mean it, and cry all the harder
Whatever you do know that once you're dead
There's no one to say the things you left unsaid


It's easy to say you'll do it on some other day
Easy to run instead of trying to be brave
But if you had to tell the truth, what would you say?
If you had the chance, would you show your face?

Chorus


What if you could know the day you'd die?
Would you confess everything to Jesus Christ?
Do you think you won't be crying at the end of your life
over regrets you can't forget even though you tried?

Chorus


Well there was ice on the road of my last dark night
and last I remember there were bright headlights
I head the crunch of the metal and a piercing cry
I saw the blood and knew it was mine
I took my last breath under a starry night
And the life shuddered out of me as I died
As I got cold, I saw my life
And all I could think was that I wouldn't have another try

There were so many "ifs" in the life I missed
So many "maybes" in a world gone crazy
While it was all goin' down and I was all runnin' 'round
It was easy to forget that that was life and I was missin' it
I took it for granted, I said I'd do it later
I coasted by when I coulda been doin' greater things
So scream at the rain and laugh at the lightning
Never give up and find a fight worth fighting 
I didn't say "I love you" to the ones I loved
And now I wonder if I said it enough
Oh kiss like you mean it, and cry all the harder
Search the stars when your heart starts to wander
But listen to me because now I'm dead
and there's no one to say the things I left unsaid

Regrets

Like an ocean wave, like slap to the face
like too many people in a too-small space
I can't sort 'em out and I can't kick 'em out
There's too many things to be thinkin' about
Remembering the many - too many- mistakes
Dustin' off the memories of long-gone days
Pacin' up and down to the beat of my worry
Runnin' round in circles to the tune of my hurry
I wanna look forward, I keep lookin' back
I wanna lose the ghosts but I can't do that

This is What Alone Feels Like

I don't think you know what it's like to be alone
As the world just goes on spinning, you stand alone and just get dizzy
Ice skates fly across the ice,
tracing lines into the night

...and I just stand here watching time go by
Waiting to go home,
waiting to not be alone
waiting for your arms around me
a warm embrace to hold me tightly
give me your hand, tell me you love me
hold me here, tell me you need me


I don't think you know how I feel when I'm alone
As the world catches fire and ignites, you stand aside and die a bit inside
The trumpet man plays the blues so softly
And I think I feel your touch caress me

Chorus


No I don't think you know the chill of being alone
Everybody else so lovely, you drift along just feeling lonely
There's no stars the night is dark
Empty, silent, like your heart

Chorus
Say that you're mine, say that you love me
Touch your cheek to mine and say that you can't breathe
Oh just say to me, say that you love me

Pirates Aren't Cool in Elementary School

I've been working at an elementary school in Seattle with the Children's Literacy Project (CLP), which sends tutors to schools to work with kids. I'm a tutor, and I'll be posting excerpts from my CLP journal.

 

Tuesday, May 18, 2010

Back to working with word sort. Today there were about three different kids at once all working on different word sorts. Actually Nick continued to tell me he was sorting words, when all the while he was plainly cutting up paper squares into smaller squares. He eventually got around to sorting, but then kept sticking his nose into Chrystal’s word sort, which Chrystal was none too happy about. She would say a word before explaining it to me, and Nick would start telling me what it meant before she could get a word in edgewise.

Two of the words that stuck out today were “bandit” and “pirate”. Chrystal didn’t know what either word meant, so I told her a bandit was a robber, and a pirate was a robber who did his robbing at sea. I said bandits would hold up carriages and banks in the Wild West, and pirates would do the same thing with ships on the ocean. Nick butted in that Blackbeard was a pirate and started to tell a story about him, but Chrystal looked so furious I told him not to. After I’d explained what a pirate was, Chrystal did not look happy.

“I’m scared,” She said quietly, and that made me feel pretty bad. I hadn’t said anything scary or terrible about pirates, except that they were robbers, but maybe that was enough. I grew up reading stories of a romanticized Wild West and hero bandits who would hold up rich carriages, and stories of Robin Hood of Sherwood Forest, but I then didn't grow up in the city where muggings were a daily occurrence. Needless to say, we moved on.

2nd Graders and Mr. Incredible

I've been working at an elementary school in Seattle with the Children's Literacy Project (CLP), which sends tutors to schools to work with kids. I'm a tutor, and I'll be posting excerpts from my CLP journal.

Tuesday, May 4, 2010
    
I continued working with the kids on their Word Sorts today, and although most of the day was mundane, there were a few amusing instances worth recounting. The kids cycle through sorting their words pretty quickly, but one boy stayed with me sorting words for quite some time. His name is Nick, and if you imagine a miniature version of Mr. Incredible minus the costume from the Disney Pixar animated film, you’ll have a pretty good idea of what Nick looks like. He’s taller than half the kids in class, and has a heavy build and rudy cheeks. His brow is often furrowed in concentration, when other kids are ignoring their work, and he dutifully follows all of Ms. Visala’s instructions.

Nick sorted the words quickly enough, and then began to read each word to me and grant me a long, drawn-out explanation of what each word meant. In between words he told me little tidbits about his life- he used to live in Texas, he loves watching the old Scooby Doo cartoons with his dad. His stories were amusing, and his astonishment that I had never seen the cartoon where Scooby Doo meets Batman was a laugh-out-loud occasion. He told jokes, and spoke in such a grown-up manner that just about everything he said was funny. If you put him in a suit you could pass him off as a little person and no one would know the difference.

Two of the words today were “dead” and “death”, and I was interested to hear his explanations of them. He passed over “dead” pretty quickly, but when we hit “death” he rubbed his chin like he had a beard to rub for a few seconds. Then he looked straight into my eyes and said, “Well who do you think puts you up there?” He pointed at the ceiling. “Or down there?” He pointed at the floor.

I wasn’t sure what he meant, so I asked him just that, and repeated what he’d said, still pointing, and looked at me expectantly. “Well who do you think?” He asked again? It dawned on me that he was talking about Death, as in the Grim Reaper.

“You mean the Grim Reaper?” I asked.

“I don’t know, but he always wears a long coat, and he either puts you up there (points up) or down there (points down).”

He seemed so serious, but the matter-of-fact way he said “Well who do you think” just cracked me up. He smiled too.

“I try to be funny,” he said, “for the adults.” He was completely serious. “We kids have too much fun, you know, but you adults don’t. You know, it’s-“ and he mimed stacking papers and looking serious. “That’s it.”

This kid was just too much. I tried to contain my laughter, and thanked him for being so funny, because it certainly was working, and I certainly was having fun.

The Beautiful Things that Heaven Bears

America. It is a land of opportunity, a country where streets are paved with gold. Those with the highest aspirations know they can only be reached here in this place. It is the kind of place where dreams come true, and money grows on trees, and all live together pursuing freedom, and truth, and justice. It is the Promised Land purported to be flowing with the milk of hope and the honey of dreams. But for immigrants the milk and honey may have a bitterness natives don’t understand.

Author Dinaw Mengestu describes the isolation of immigrants exquisitely in his book, The Beautiful Things That Heaven Bears. Three lines of poetry from Dante’s Inferno represent the whole of the book in their poignancy,

“Through a round aperture I saw appear,
Some of the beautiful things that Heaven bears,
Where we came forth, and once more saw the stars.”

Mengestu’s book has five main characters, three of whom are foreign immigrants. Sepha is from Nigeria, his friend Joseph from the Democratic Republic of Congo, and Kenneth is from Kenya. Judith, a white woman, and her biracial daughter, Naomi, are wealthy newcomers to a predominantly poor area of town, immigrants of a different kind. The lines from Inferno summarize the four isolating types of hell Sepha, Joseph, Kenneth, and Judith experience as immigrants, and the agony that’s all too common among foreign immigrants to the United States.

Joseph represents the understandable reluctance of immigrants to assimilate to a new culture. Mengestu describes Joseph as someone who cannot let go of Africa. He is a man who walks forward, but with his back to the future, forever walking backward, so that he can watch his home country disappearing. In one scene Joseph comments on the lines from the Inferno above saying, “… No one can understand that line like an African because that is what we lived through. Hell every day with only glimpses of heaven in between (Mengestu, 2007, 100).” He, like many immigrants, still longs for his homeland with an undiminished love that spans time and distance. “There was hardly a single thing in Joseph’s life…that hadn’t become a metaphor for Africa. From great lines of poetry to the angle of falling light on a spring afternoon, he saw flashes of the continent wherever he went (Mengestu, 2007, 100).” The pursuit of “flashes of the continent” manifests itself in the formation of ethnic ghettos, which provide a community for immigrants, but also perpetuate their segregation from the rest of society.The hell that Joseph and the immigrants living in ghettos are experiencing is the Hell of Homelessness. Although these immigrants have come to a new country to enjoy its benefits, it is not their home, and their true home is the unreachable star in the heavens, untouchable, except by its cheap imitation in ghettos, the Africa metaphors Joseph sees everywhere.

Kenneth is another type of immigrant. He represents an immigrant caught between two worlds who reaches unceasingly for the carrot of a new country dangling in front of his nose. While Joseph misses Africa and sees its image in everything, “Kenneth hates him for this (Mengestu, 2007, 100).” Kenneth is hyper-conscious of his status as a foreign immigrant. Like Fanon, he sees how he is being seen by the natives, and he hates it. He always appears respectable by wearing a pressed shirt and an impeccably tied tie. “He believes in the power of a well-tailored suit to command the attention and respect of those who might not otherwise give him a second thought (Mengestu, 2).” His teeth, which are neither straight, nor white, stay hidden behind his hand when he talks to natives; he is self-conscious about who he is, and yet he gives a big grin to his friends when they ask him about his teeth, saying “’You can never forget where you came from if you have teeth as ugly as these’ (Mengestu, 3,” in self-deprecation.

He lives in imitation of the wealthy, successful men he wants to be, repeating the same phrases over and over because that’s what successful Americans do, and hanging up the phone abruptly because the powerful “can dismiss with a wave of the hand and never think twice about it (Mengestu, 2007, 35).” Yet, despite all of his charades he is no closer to being a successful, wealthy American, and he is trapped his hell. He hates seeing how he is seen, and tries to make himself someone different in response, but can’t, and must continuing the cycle of loathing. He hates his hell, sees the stars outside, and cannot help but wish he were out there, and cannot help but hate the place he must remain.

Perhaps the strangest of Mengestu’s characters is not alcoholic Joseph, or Ken the engineer, but the mysterious Judith. She is a white woman, a single mother of a biracial daughter, a former professor of American political history, and she’s moved into a new neighborhood that’s so unfamiliar it’s practically a foreign country. Judith is the unwelcome immigrant, the foreigner who wants nothing more than to live her life, but finds herself the object of the neighborhood’s animosity toward strangers, the butt of nativism’s humorless joke.

Mengestu has turned nativism on its head in his portrayal of Judith as its victim. Normally when we picture over-zealous patriots uniting against foreigners, we see white Arizonans turning on the immigrants of color from Mexico, or the citizens of Boston or New York confining immigrants from all over the world to ghettos in the 1900s, but here the natives are poor, predominantly Black, and they turn on a wealthy white newcomer. The irony is striking.

When Judith first moves in Mrs. Davis, a native, sums up the neighborhood attitude towards her. “’Why do you think a woman like that would wanna live here? Doesn’t seem right, does it?’ (Mengestu, 2007, 23)” Judith is the character who represents the immigrants who come to the United States and find discrimination in the place of the welcome they expected. A 2008 article in Ebony describes the hatred Somali immigrants are facing in Columbus, Ohio. The city is home to the nation’s second-largest population of Somalis, 45,000, but nativism is a tragic problem that has fueled shootings, deaths, vandalism, and prejudice. In an irony that almost matches that of Mengestu, the native Black community is often at odds with African newcomers. A mosque where nearly 1,500 Somalis worship has been repeatedly vandalized, and the words “Go back to Africa” have been spray-painted on it. The congregation was even the target of a paintball gun attack. This type of degrading discrimination is seen all over the United States and is symptomatic of the Hell of Discrimination experienced by many new immigrants.

At last we come to the last of Mengestu’s representations of immigrants, the last of the characters he places in a hell, Sepha. He is the immigrant who hates himself, who can’t let go of Africa, but Sepha does not have the same hatred as Kenneth, or the same nostalgia as Joseph. His enemy is not the way others see him; his enemy is not the unfamiliarity of the New World. No, Sepha’s enemy is his own mind, and the trauma that tortures him. Sepha has isolated himself in a hell because his silent betrayal caused his father’s death, and neither he, nor his father, can forgive him now. Like Judas, who killed himself after he betrayed his Lord, Sepha considers his sin to be so great that he cannot allow himself to move on.

Sepha is less of a true immigrant, and more of an exile, pushed out of his home by his mother, plagued with survivor’s guilt. Although Sepha talks about going home throughout the novel, he can’t bring himself to actually do it, because he can’t go home, because he must remain in exile in penance of the sins he believes he has committed. This character represents a small community of immigrants whose very existence is painful to them. They feel that they could have done something to avert the catastrophe that caused them to flee their home country, or that the event was their fault. These survivors reside in a hell of their own making, constantly reminding themselves of the trauma they experienced. Sepha is fairly disinterested with his life in the present because to him his past makes a future to look forward to unattainable.

Sepha is so traumatized, is so entrenched in his hell, that he cannot have ambitions, cannot wish anything good for himself. He quits his job, runs away from his problems, but most of his major decisions haven’t actually been his own. His mother pushes him to leave Africa, his uncle drags him to a job interview and does all the talking, even his store is Kenneth’s idea. He sees the beautiful things heaven bears in a possible relationship with Judith, and when talking about expanding the store, but he never reaches for them because he knows he just doesn’t deserve them. This Hell of Guilt is the hell where inhabitants see the stars and do not weep to know they will never be theirs, but accept passively that they are unworthy even of the light of the stars.

Each of these characters is living in a hell. Joseph because he is homeless, constantly looking backward, Kenneth because he hates being seen as a foreigner, Judith because she is unwelcome, and Sepha because he is guilt-ridden. These four represent four types of immigrants in the United States, the ghetto inhabitant, the stereotyped, the persecuted, and the survivors. Every one of them, even the survivor, is isolated in his new “home”. We think of America as this utopia, this paradise of freedom, and truth, and justice, but we can be as unwelcoming as a nightmare of a mother-in-law, as misunderstanding as a deaf man, and as discriminatory as a slave owner. Today we rarely turn our heads to discuss the plight of immigrants in the US today, unless we’re complaining about the rising numbers of illegal immigrants. The legal immigrants are too often overlooked. But as illegal immigration increases nativist sentiments, and these issues go un-discussed and swept under the rug, we are isolating those whom years ago founded the idea of American freedom- immigrants. Too many immigrants come to America out of a hell, because they see the beautiful things our heaven bears, and too often they are instead isolated in a new hell where they can see the stars but never touch them.

The New Missionary Movement of Today

Dear Dr. Táíwò,

I am writing to you about your book, How Colonialism Preempted Modernity in Africa. It was a challenging read. I found it to be dense, packed with all the details I wanted to know; it was thorough, every facet of your subject was covered; it was fair, you presented both sides of an topic and clearly demonstrated with level-headed argument your point. As ripe with controversial issues as your book is, I would like to discuss with you what I found to be the most personally challenging aspect of your book, and I’d like to open with an anecdote.

The year is 1999. I’m nine years old. I have been on my feet for most of the day and I’m sweating through my cotton dress; the small cinderblock church keeps most of the heat at bay so the afternoon sun isn’t too oppressive. I’m watching a young girl about my age named Julita have her hand wrapped in bandages by a nurse. She had made to flip the light switch on in her home, and a current of electricity had shot through her, burning her fingers. There was nothing her family could do for her injury, so she had gone on with her day. It was now a few weeks later and one of the nurses had spotted her playing with the other children and, horrified, told her to fetch her parents and come back to the clinic. I watch as the tiny, yellowed bones that protrude from her fingertips where she’d touched the switch disappear under gauze. Gangrene gnaws at her hand and she has no idea. It will kill her if left untreated. An untreated electrocution wound infected with gangrene is unheard of in the United States. But Julita lives in the Dominican Republic, and my family was there with the Christian and Missionary Alliance to run temporary medical clinics in slums and rural areas.

In your book you discuss the role of missionaries in the spread of the philosophy of colonialism in Africa. You separate these missionaries into two groups: those who participate in the autonomy model, and those who support the aid model. This is the topic I found myself wrestling with. As a missionary myself, your words not only put me immediately on the defensive, but I began to question if I had done more harm than good on my missionary ventures. In 2008 my dad and I took a trip with the Christian Medical Society to Nicaragua to administer medical aid to a poor area. While my year in the Dominican Republic was formative – it hugely shaped my character, my outlook on the world, and my hopes and dreams – the Nicaragua trip was a result of this formation. I have an urgent desire to help those in need, but I have never deeply considered the concept of agency or the themes in your book when dreaming about a future as a missionary doctor. I don’t think as a nine-year-old I had any concept of treating Dominicans as any less than human. Humans were humans to me at that age, color didn’t matter. But today I found myself faced with the image of Schweitzer from Le Gran Blanc and, though I dreaded it, I had to ask myself if I was looking at a reflection of myself, or if I was only imagining I saw myself in him.

After all, Schweitzer ran a medical hospital in a rural area of Africa that had no other access to healthcare. He spent his life in service treating many people who probably would have died without his attention. Since the Dominican Republic I have been chasing a dream to become a medical doctor in order to serve those who need it most. I have often thought about moving to the third world full-time after becoming a doctor. The film on Schweitzer, the subsequent discussions of it, then your book, reminded me that it’s easy for missionaries today to export more than just their faith. They might also transmit sociocryonics, be guilty of Schweitzer’s paternalism, or adhere unconsciously to the aid model, all whilst ministering to their flock with the best of intentions. If I join a missionary organization will I just be a pawn in a larger movement to discount, discourage, and destroy native agency?

You thoroughly explore the consequences of the missionary aid model in your book, so I don’t feel it’s necessary to repeat your arguments as my own, but I would like to examine the state of missions in the world today to determine whether or not the aid model still dominates the mission field. Although “…the aid model has so inured itself in the African imagination that even so-called progressives cannot wean themselves from it (Taiwo, 2010),” I believe the age of aid missionaries is coming to an end as missions that follow the autonomy model become more prevalent. Today, the most ambitious projects, the missions and aid organizations that are truly changing the world, are the ones that encourage native agency. I argue that a third wave of missionaries is sweeping the globe in a new movement that is empowering native missionaries, and spreading a renewed philosophy that’s cracking the tough exterior of sociocryonics left and right.

Recently the numbers of native missionaries have been climbing. Europeans and Americans once had the market cornered on sending missionaries from a home country to a foreign one, but no longer. Forty years ago the some 3,500 cross-cultural native missionaries were a small group compared to the massive export of missionaries by the United States, but that number has shot up to an estimated 103,000 native missionaries today (Moll, 2006).This means that Christian converts are not only leading their own churches, but are sending members of their own congregations to plant churches and inspire other native missionaries in foreign countries; the students are becoming leaders to teach other students to lead. There may be no better example of a missionary autonomy model than this recent explosion of native missions.

Native missions have been particularly strong in recent years. In fact, “South Korea alone sends out as many new missionaries each year as all of the countries of the West combined (Moll, 2006).” This Korean movement that’s now disseminating native agency philosophy worldwide is exceptional. In 1980 the church there had 80 missionaries in other countries; ten years later there were 1,200 missionaries abroad, and today nearly 13,000 missionaries from South Korea are serving in other countries (Moll, 2006). These South Korean missionaries are running their own churches, and deploying missionaries to teach other native Christians to do the same. The autonomy model is alive and well in South Korea, and they’re spreading it around the world.

Advancing Native Missions (ANM) is an organization that partners with native missionaries. Its mission statement proposes that natives are in a unique position to minister because they already know the culture, the language, the geography, the political scene, etc. This particular example of the autonomy model is extraordinary in that it elevates native missions above Western missions. It doesn’t discount or discredit Western missions, but ANM recognizes that an Indian reaching out to India, and Iranians reaching out to Iran can be more effective than a white missionary in an area foreign to him. According to ANM 80% of world evangelization today is now done by native missionaries, a flabbergasting statistic (ANM, 2002). In your book you mention that around the turn of the twentieth century African native agency was being overthrown by missionaries and administrators who had “convinced themselves that Africans could not be trusted to run their own affairs (Taiwo, 2010),” and while I agree that this second wave of missionaries helped rob Africans of their subjectivity, I also think that it was soon supplanted by a third wave that was interested in restoring agency.

In 1953, a missionary doctor named Helen Roseveare traveled to Congo to spread the gospel and administer medical care to the area. She was a single white woman, a graduate of Cambridge, and she was a rare gem, who fought for an autonomy model, despite the opposition of other missionaries in Congo. She began to build a hospital by hand, making and firing the bricks herself to construct the buildings, and “within eleven years, a 14-acre plot of land had been turned into a 100 bed hospital and maternity complex with all the necessary buildings and services (Voelkel, 2010).” Roseveare didn’t run an entire hospital on her own; she trained natives as medical assistants and midwives, and they established 48 clinics in the area (Voelkel, 2010). When civil war broke out in 1964, rebel forces took her captive, destroyed her hospital, and beat and raped her. She was released and she went home to England, but returned a year later to build an even larger hospital and medical school for the newly independent country. No missionary is perfect, but Roseveare’s commitment to the autonomy model is noteworthy, especially as she was serving in a field primarily dominated by men who adhered to the aid model, and her work inspired many others to do the same.

Today perhaps the greatest example of the autonomy model in modern medical care is Paul Farmer’s Partners in Health (PIH). While PIH is not a Christian organization, it eviscerates the aid model while building on the autonomy model. Farmer has a love for Haiti, and that’s where he chose to start PIH. Angered by the quality of care usually afforded to the sick by “aid” organizations, Farmer set a new standard. He not only focused on treating disease, he tackled disease prevention with education programs and community partnerships. PIH declares that “by whatever means necessary” any person who comes to a PIH clinic will receive the best care available at the facility (PIH, 2010). Indeed, “by whatever means necessary” includes Farmer stealing a microscope from Harvard to stock his Haitian hospital’s lab (Kidder, 2003). Farmer’s concept of treating the poor with the best medical care available was not just unheard of, it turned out to be revolutionary. The World Health Organization was put to shame when tiny PIH proved drug-resistant tuberculosis could be cured affordably and effectively in poor and rural areas. PIH has shown the world that the lives of everyone, no matter how poor, are of equal worth and should be treated accordingly.

Today I stand on the brink of graduating from my first year of college, and my life choices seem immensely pivotal. My dream of being a doctor, and possibly a missionary doctor, remain intact not despite, but because of, your book. The world needs more Paul Farmers, it needs more native missionaries, it needs the philosophy of native subjectivity to spread like wildfire, and I intend to drop matches everywhere possible in hopes the forest of hate, and prejudice, and stolen agency will go up in an orange blaze and be swept away. Thank you for writing a call to action.

Sincerely,

Katy Granath

Letters to the Battlefield

I hear your voice over the telephone, 
and you won't say what's goin' on
You sound so sad, I wanna hold you tight, 
and tell you everything is gonna be alright
And I believe...that you'll come back to me
Oh I believe...that someday we will see
that we are where we're s'posed to be,
 and you'll be standing next to me

So when there's fire and they're dropping bombs
the world's exploding and everything is wrong
When there's so much pain that you can't talk
and you're so afraid the night's too long
When you's so tired you can't be strong
and you need someone to be your rock
and you wanna hold a hand to help you walk
close your eyes and play this song

I hear your voice over the telephone, 
and you won't say what's goin' on.
You sound so sad I wanna hold you tight, 
and tell you everything is gonna be alright
And I believe...that you'll come back to me
oh I believe...that someday we will see
that we are where we're s'posed to be, 
and you'll be standing next to me

If there's so much noise that you can't hear
or you think the end is drawing near
If you can't move there's too much fear
or you don't want anyone to see your tears
If the blood becomes too much to bear
or you wake up in the night with the nightmares
When you're holding onto nothing but a broken prayer
Listen to my voice and I'll protect you there

I hear your voice over the telephone
and you won't say what's goin' on
You sound so sad, I wanna hold you tight
and tell you everything is gonna be alright
'Cause I believe...that you'll come back to me
Oh I believe...that someday we will see
That we were where we're s'posed to be
and you'll be standing next to me

If you think the wrath of God is pouring down
and you're so lost you can't be found
When the  screaming is so effing loud
It's in your head, you can't keep it out
if your heart is silent and it cannot pound
If you're sinking in the sand and you're gonna drown
I want you to put your gun down
and focus on me, and on this sound

I hear your voice over the telephone
and you won't say what's goin' on
You sound so sad, I wanna hold you tight
and tell you everything is gonna be alright
And I believe...that you'll come back to me
Oh I believe...that someday we will see
That we were where we're s'posed to be
And you'll be standing next to me

Looking at me now with a great big grin
As the rain beats down to wash away our sins
The clouds will break and the sun will shine
So you tell them that you can't lie
'cause you promised me you'd come home fine

I hear your voice over the telephone

and you won't say what's goin' on

You sound so sad, I wanna hold you tight

and tell you everything is gonna be alright

And I believe...that you'll come back to me

Oh I believe...that someday we will see

That we were where we're s'posed to be

And you'll be standing next to me

Waiting

I don't think you know, what it's like to be alone.
As the world just goes on spinning, you stand alone and just get dizzy
Ice skates fly across the ice, tracing lines into the night
and I just stand here watching time go by...

Waiting to go home
Waiting to not be alone
Waiting for your arms around me
A warm embrace to hold me tightly
Give me your hand, tell me you love me
Kiss me hard, tell me you need me

'Cause I don't think you know, how I feel when I'm alone
As the world catches fire and ignites, you stand aside and die a bit inside
The trumpet man plays his blues so softly, and I think I feel your touch caress me
And I just stand here watching time go by...

Waiting to go home
Waiting to not be alone
Waiting for your arms around me
A warm embrace to hold me tightly
Give me your hand, tell me you love me
Kiss me hard, tell me you need me

No, I don't think you know, the chill of being alone
Everybody else so lovely, you drift along just feeling lonely
There's no stars the night is dark, empty, silent, like your heart
And I still stand here watching time go by...

Waiting to go home,
Waiting to not feel alone
Waiting for your arms around me
A warm embrace to hold me tightly
Give me your hand, tell me you love me
Kiss me hard, tell me you need me
Say that you're mine, say that you love me
Touch your cheek to mine and say that you can't breathe
Oh just say to me, just say to me, just say that you love me. 

Boys and Girls

We live in a time that tells us we should have a boy/girlfriend, a companion at all times. It's in every movie, every television show, every popular novel, every magazine. It's everywhere. There's this rumor someone started awhile back that you're really only half a person and your other half is out there somewhere and you'll be incomplete until you can find them. Honestly, what a stupid idea.

But boys and girls everywhere buy it!

Realize that you don't need to believe the rumor. You don't need someone else to complete you. You are an individual, a person already, you just refuse to realize it. Know who you are as an individual. That might sound silly, because how could you not know? But do you truly know you, or just who someone else wants you to be? If you're viewing yourself as incomplete, your perception is skewed and you don't know yourself.

You can't have a successful relationship with someone if you don't even know yourself. So hold off looking for love for awhile and focus on yourself. It sounds selfish, but you can't spend your life searching for someone to complete you when you're not even sure of your own identity.

Be the hero of your own life who doesn't need a love interest to complete you.

If You're Paranoid and Think Danger Might Find You, Read These Tips.

1. If your friends suggest that you all go check out a very dark, or very scary looking building, say no. Or at least turn on the lights when you explore.

2. If you enter a dark room and the light switch doesn’t work, leave immediately. Someone is trying to kill you.

3. If you absolutely must explore a dark creepy building, and your friend suggests splitting up, you should leave right away because a monster is about to start picking you off one by one

4. Everyone always drops their keys when trying to get in their car to run away from the villain. Just attach them to your wrist or neck with a lanyard and your death could be averted.

5. Just shell out the extra cash for bulletproof glass windows for your car and house and a nuclear bunker/panic room under your house. You’ll be much safer in times of danger when someone is trying to kill you.

6. When you pass through a deserted town on your road trip, keep going and do not stop. It’s deserted for a reason because someone/thing wants to kill anyone there.

7. When the power mysteriously goes out in your house, shut yourself in your nuclear bunker, someone is trying to kill you.

8. If you find that your house is built upon or near a cemetery, had previous inhabitants who went mad or committed suicide or died in some horrible fashion, move away immediately. This is one of the only situations in which your nuclear bunker will not keep you safe.

9. There might be someone lurking in the backseat of your car, so just check it out before you even get in the car. Use a flashlight to look through the windows, and keep your car clean, so you don’t mistake a scary person trying to kill you for a rumpled up blanket.

10. If your window mysteriously bangs open, be immediately on guard. It’s not just the wind, someone is trying to kill you.

11. If you find out you’re a descendent of someone who killed lots of people, rounded up vampires, burned witches at the stake, etc, lock yourself in your nuclear bunker and plan to live there the rest of your life because someone might try to kill you.

12. If your friend is bitten by a zombie, or hiding something during a zombie attack that might be a bite, don’t hold out hope for your friend. They’re already becoming a zombie and they will try to eat you just when you’ve barricaded yourself in a semi-safe spot.

13. If anyone suggests you split up, tell them to shut up. Splitting up will definitely get you killed. Faster than staying together anyways.

14. Be nice to everyone. Being mean to someone may incur wrath and vengeance, and they will try to kill you.

15. The danger is definitely not over if the sun hasn’t risen yet. If it’s night time, the bad guy is still around. And trying to kill you.

16. If you must explore deserted, creepy buildings do so in the day time. Horror strikes at night.

17. If you think the villain/monster chasing you will not give up after one night of terrorizing you, move to Alaska, there’s more daytime there.

18. If someone is chasing you, do not run up the stairs, and do not head for the top of the building. There is no escape from someone trying to kill you. Duh.

19. Remember that even though it looks like you’ve killed the monster, you probably haven’t. Don’t make sure by going up to it and poking it, or sticking your face into its face. This often leads to death. Instead, stand back and kill it several more times in various ways.

20. Standing on a grave, will make a hand come out of the ground that will grab your ankle.

21. If you’re seeing dead people, do not approach anyone’s bed. A hand will shoot out and grab your ankle.

22. If you see a stranger with a chainsaw, an ax, a knife, or any other weapon, do not let him anywhere near you. Even if he has Bud Light. He’s trying to kill you.

23. If it feels like you’re in a horror movie, think of yourself as the audience. Did you lock the front door? What would the audience be telling you right now? That you didn’t lock the windows or the back door and someone’s trying to kill you, that’s right. So go do that.

24. In fact, if you feel like you’re in a horror movie, skip locking the doors or windows and head straight for your nuclear bunker because someone’s trying to kill you.

25. If you’re not sure something’s dead, you’re not sure how to kill something/one, or you’re fighting zombies/vampires, behead them. It usually works.

26. If you’re in a situation where you’re not sure something’s dead, you’re not sure how to kill something/one, or you’re fighting zombies/vampires, don’t bother with fighting them, just hide in your nuclear bunker.

27. If you yell “hello” or “who’s there” into the darkness, something will answer you. By grabbing you and leaving your flashlight behind to fall on the ground.

28. Taking a shower at home, alone, in the dark, is always always a bad idea. This isn't a difficult concept. Unless you're in a nuclear bunker. Then it's fine.

29. If you really want to be safe, lock yourself in your nuclear bunker and live there. It’s not practical, and it’s anti-social, but so long as you have cable you’ll probably be mentally stable. Besides, someone could try to kill you, so it's safer to just stay there.Think about it. You'll survive zombie attacks, alien invasions, mysterious viruses that kill the entire population, rabid dogs, rabid people, monsters, a resurgence of the Black Death, the Happening, nuclear fallout, lepers, killer meteors, swine flue, and robots gone rogue, along with almost everything else.


PS. A friend just reviewed this list and reminded me that a normal nuclear bunker is not sufficient, as the earth's core could blow up, or you might have earthquake trouble. Keep in mind that this nuclear bunker should not be your average run of the mill nuclear bunker. It probably needs to be a buried spaceship with a drill attached to the nose so you can escape the earth's core blowing up. For the best protection bury it under the ocean floor. The pressure down there will hopefully crush anyone coming to kill you, and you'll have the added bonus of being very safe from just about everything. Except possibly Decepticons. And don't forget that you really do need cable so you'll know if scientists declare that the earth's core is going to blow up or if Decepticons are roaming the planet.