Thank goodness, they threw out the ludicrous guilty verdict... but they have to choose whether to re-try the case. Please read up on this, and write a letter. Copy-paste away!
http://freemarissanow.tumblr.com/post/63774813232/dropthecase
Monday, October 21, 2013
Friday, July 19, 2013
Read
 |
| The Library, by Lori Nix |
So how to change that habit? Part of the problem comes from the fact that in the last 15-20 years I have become far less interested in fiction than in fact; history, pop culture, biographies, and sociology are more reliably interesting to me now than fiction. I used to inhale novels, picking up and reading SO many books that now I have no interest in. I read questionable fluff too; romance novels for a long stretch there, graphic novels, etc. But now I crave information more than being swept away by a story. That's one reason historical fiction has always been a good match for me; fact combined with fiction. But that means all of the novels and books I collected over the first 2 decades of my life were no longer of interest to me.
On Monday I had 2 hours to kill between work and an appointment, and I was too far from home to make going there an option. So I decided to go to the Franklin library and find a book and just sit and read. And it was WONDERFUL. I picked up a novel by Phillipa Gregory (reasonably decent historical fiction writer) and read for ages. I did it again on Wednesday after work - I knew if I went home when I got off at 4, I would probably take a nap or sit down at the computer... so I went to the library across the street and read for about 90 minutes. This time I checked out a book and brought it home and finished it that same night.
I wish I still had the ability to read until I was sleepy and then just turn out the light and go to sleep, but I seem to have lost that disposition. A book at bedtime makes me very wakeful, and when I read one, I inevitably take an hour or more to actually fall asleep.
I don't like the person I am now who prefers TV to books... I feel like I'm succumbing to more mental laziness and have lost something precious. I've found an author I like right now, so I'm good for a while. But when that's all gone, what will keep me motivated to keep reading? Beyond getting rid of the TV alltogether? AND the ability to watch media online? Not sure.
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
Statement of Faith
I feel very keenly that my personal pursuit of God has taken a significant turn in the past decade... I grew up in what was ostensibly a charismatic, fundamentalist church, with a puritanistic stepfather who sought to maintain order and limited what we were allowed to do socially. And like most little girls raised within a more restricted environment (and being fairly lazy and unadventurous), I did not think to question the validity of what we were taught and what was modeled for us. The books we read, the teachings of the church, the commands of our father... all of these constructed the building of our faith in Christ. I was baptized in a river at a youth retreat (like you do!), I was intimidated into REALLY receiving the Holy Spirit (which involved digging through my past life and getting all worked up and weeping copiously, which was VERY therapeutic!), and so forth.
Time moved on. I dealt with a series of bouts of depression every few years or so, which led me to seek comfort from a God that I realized I had built more or less in the image of my father; restrictive, punishing, cold, judgmental. I got counseling from a Christian family counseling ministry, which gently showed me that I could let go of all of those restrictions. I moved to another church, much like the first, but less hippy-dippy. Hands did not need to be raised during songs and prayers to prove you were a valid Christian.
Depressions and personal growth came and went. I started attending an Episcopalian church, which initially drew me because of the reverence and liturgy, but ultimately kept me because of the community and the realization that this church would thrive, almost regardless of who was in the pulpit. This, after 30 years of attending 2 churches formed by charismatic preachers, that declined when those pastors left, and which had their share of abuses.
Right before turning 30, I went through a nuclear explosion of anxiety and came out on the other side stronger and more self-aware than I could have ever expected. One of the lasting mantras I emerged with was that "God loves me too much to leave me as I am," which made every difficulty, every personal struggle into a big step forward in my maturity. Then in 2001, I woke up to the world around me. I think a lot of Americans did. I started paying attention to what was going on, in politics and world affairs.
In 2007, I joined a campaign to free a young man from unjust imprisonment in Central America. The entire year was taken up with the fight. And I woke up to the cruelty and reality of the world outside my comfortable existence, and I mourned our losses and the utterly irrational hate directed at this man. Finally in December of that year his sentence was overturned and he was commanded to be let go... and Evil fought to keep him there. He would likely be killed if he was not removed from that country. The evening I realized that we might not get him out of there, that Evil might win, was a tiny taste of Gethsemane for me, and I cried for hours.
I could no longer excuse or ignore the evil of the world, nor could I avoid the realization that the energy of the Church*, my community of faith, was being spent on fighting abortion, gay marriage, and evolution. To paraphrase the words of Marley in A Christmas Carol, "Mankind should have been our business," and it was not. We were more worried about these issues than we were about the suffering out there in the larger world. Our efforts to control our society and our supposedly virtuous way of life was more important than the tears of millions. Evil was slaughtering lives left and right, metaphorical blood pooling at our feet as feeble children cried and clutched at our legs, while the members of the Church fixated on a tiny box on the floor and argued over whether we were allowed to open it.
That night left me changed. The right and wrong, the sinfulness or virtue of those particular battles became a minor issue to me. My disappointment in my Church, although never enough to make me doubt the goodness and might of my God, did make me less and less inclined to spend my time within the structure we had built. The almost arbitrary rules and regulations of what Christian life should be began to crumble around me. But I knew God was real, and Jesus, and the Bible... so what guidelines should I live by? I focused on those specific things Jesus said (the red letter words), and in particular Matthew 22:36-40:
Some of the things that are becoming clear to me...
Time moved on. I dealt with a series of bouts of depression every few years or so, which led me to seek comfort from a God that I realized I had built more or less in the image of my father; restrictive, punishing, cold, judgmental. I got counseling from a Christian family counseling ministry, which gently showed me that I could let go of all of those restrictions. I moved to another church, much like the first, but less hippy-dippy. Hands did not need to be raised during songs and prayers to prove you were a valid Christian.
Depressions and personal growth came and went. I started attending an Episcopalian church, which initially drew me because of the reverence and liturgy, but ultimately kept me because of the community and the realization that this church would thrive, almost regardless of who was in the pulpit. This, after 30 years of attending 2 churches formed by charismatic preachers, that declined when those pastors left, and which had their share of abuses.
Right before turning 30, I went through a nuclear explosion of anxiety and came out on the other side stronger and more self-aware than I could have ever expected. One of the lasting mantras I emerged with was that "God loves me too much to leave me as I am," which made every difficulty, every personal struggle into a big step forward in my maturity. Then in 2001, I woke up to the world around me. I think a lot of Americans did. I started paying attention to what was going on, in politics and world affairs.
In 2007, I joined a campaign to free a young man from unjust imprisonment in Central America. The entire year was taken up with the fight. And I woke up to the cruelty and reality of the world outside my comfortable existence, and I mourned our losses and the utterly irrational hate directed at this man. Finally in December of that year his sentence was overturned and he was commanded to be let go... and Evil fought to keep him there. He would likely be killed if he was not removed from that country. The evening I realized that we might not get him out of there, that Evil might win, was a tiny taste of Gethsemane for me, and I cried for hours.
I could no longer excuse or ignore the evil of the world, nor could I avoid the realization that the energy of the Church*, my community of faith, was being spent on fighting abortion, gay marriage, and evolution. To paraphrase the words of Marley in A Christmas Carol, "Mankind should have been our business," and it was not. We were more worried about these issues than we were about the suffering out there in the larger world. Our efforts to control our society and our supposedly virtuous way of life was more important than the tears of millions. Evil was slaughtering lives left and right, metaphorical blood pooling at our feet as feeble children cried and clutched at our legs, while the members of the Church fixated on a tiny box on the floor and argued over whether we were allowed to open it.
That night left me changed. The right and wrong, the sinfulness or virtue of those particular battles became a minor issue to me. My disappointment in my Church, although never enough to make me doubt the goodness and might of my God, did make me less and less inclined to spend my time within the structure we had built. The almost arbitrary rules and regulations of what Christian life should be began to crumble around me. But I knew God was real, and Jesus, and the Bible... so what guidelines should I live by? I focused on those specific things Jesus said (the red letter words), and in particular Matthew 22:36-40:
“Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?”
Jesus replied: “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’ This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.”While my innate laziness and fearfulness has kept me from flinging myself out into the world to do what I can to serve (particularly because I don't have an idea of what I should be doing specifically, and because I am still waaaaay too selfish and addicted to my own comfort), I trust that God is continuing to change me and mature me, so that one day I will be spending all my time and efforts in helping mankind in true service. Someday, I won't be afraid. I don't know what it will look like... but I am hoping I am ready when the time comes.
Some of the things that are becoming clear to me...
- I am content for there to be mysteries of the faith, and don't feel the need to be obsessed with theology.
- I don't need to be utterly sure about whether the Bible is to be taken literally or not.
- I need to stay within the community of the Church. I am part of a larger body, so I cannot go off and function by myself as, say, a little toe.
- I am more interested in the truth than in preserving the Church with lies. If a congregation or denomination depends on lies to remain standing, then it needs to fall.
- I don't get to judge the sins of others. (this is one I all too easily forget)
- God is big enough for evolution. I don't see how he couldn't use it as part of his creation process.
- While I think abortion is wrong, I also think that the life of an unborn soul is perfectly safe in God's hands, and he would prefer we take care of the mothers to-be who are already here and need our help.
- Homosexuality is... too big for me. I am pragmatic and I like a tidy world, and homosexuality doesn't neatly fit within that from a biological standpoint. But I also think that God doesn't care.
Plus that I like shrimp and scallops, and since God told Peter to start eating them, then by the transitive process, homosexuality is ok. The completion of Mosaic Law through Jesus' sacrifice, ya'll.
- "Help me to be a good servant today... help me to serve others well,"
- "Please don't let me be led astray... don't let me be deceived into thinking contrary to your will."
- "Please teach me to love you more. I'm still scared of you most of the time. But I know you're good."
Friday, January 11, 2013
Is It Possible...
Is it possible to be an old spinster and not continually weep about it? While my life has gotten happier with each decade, I find I am approaching a particular wall that has broken more hearts than we will ever know. I am 44 now, and my window for childbearing is about to snap shut, never to open again. Don't get me wrong - I don't pine to have my own child; there are aspects to motherhood I would love to have, but I think I treasure little things like sleep and free time much, much more.
How do you live a life on the other side of this wall without becoming one of THOSE women? The ones that live alone or with a roommate and work in the nursery at church or on the hospitality committee and stand out as the Familiar Old Single at parties and gatherings, and presumably live lives of quiet desperation? They don't go around weeping, but they must cry, right? At the death of family, with only the fervent hope that their nieces and nephews (if they are fortunate enough to have them) or their savings will be enough to carry them safely through to the end of their lives...
Because the friends won't be there for it. They change too much. I'm in my 4th or 5th generation of friendships, because people change or people move away. If I lived in a town where people stayed for generations, that would be a comfort, but we don't live in that world anymore. And so when I'm in my 60s and later, I'll probably have an entirely new set of friends, and I don't care who says that your friends become your family, they don't, not really. Because there's always a new job or a new boyfriend or spouse to take them somewhere else, and a new set of circumstances to make them less compatible or even friendly. We are all in that inevitable circuit.
So when I win the lottery (if I would only remember to buy a ticket occasionally!) I'm starting a commune. I've dreamed of this since college, but it has changed shape a few times along the way (originally it was an apartment building). It can be like a little town of sorts, on 10+ acres, with 3-6 houses (depending on how many want to join), but a blend of the young and old, single and married, fertile and childless. There would be a massive garden, and acreage for livestock if we wanted. People who knew basic car maintenance, and people who knew how to sew on buttons and hem pants. Babysitters for the young families, and someone to give you a ride when you needed to go to the hospital. A car to borrow when yours is in the shop. Dinners with a family for the singles, especially on holidays. People to help fill in the gaps.
If people wanted to move on, then the commune would buy back their house, and wait to fill it with someone who could help balance out the community. Maybe do a rent-to-own arrangement, where people could be vetted for a year before being allowed to buy! Everyone owns their own property; but lives there with the understanding that we all need something from each other, and we try and take care of one another. Perhaps there would be a clubhouse of sorts, where everyone could come for movie nights and dinners. Freedom with support. Needs being met, and people being needed.
But apart from that utopia, is it possible to make your single self into someone who isn't an invitation for pity? To become someone enviable and delightful and welcomed wherever you go? And how on earth do you make that transition from someone on the verge of a empty future to someone wonderful? Preferably with a minimum of fuss or effort.
How do you live a life on the other side of this wall without becoming one of THOSE women? The ones that live alone or with a roommate and work in the nursery at church or on the hospitality committee and stand out as the Familiar Old Single at parties and gatherings, and presumably live lives of quiet desperation? They don't go around weeping, but they must cry, right? At the death of family, with only the fervent hope that their nieces and nephews (if they are fortunate enough to have them) or their savings will be enough to carry them safely through to the end of their lives...
Because the friends won't be there for it. They change too much. I'm in my 4th or 5th generation of friendships, because people change or people move away. If I lived in a town where people stayed for generations, that would be a comfort, but we don't live in that world anymore. And so when I'm in my 60s and later, I'll probably have an entirely new set of friends, and I don't care who says that your friends become your family, they don't, not really. Because there's always a new job or a new boyfriend or spouse to take them somewhere else, and a new set of circumstances to make them less compatible or even friendly. We are all in that inevitable circuit.
So when I win the lottery (if I would only remember to buy a ticket occasionally!) I'm starting a commune. I've dreamed of this since college, but it has changed shape a few times along the way (originally it was an apartment building). It can be like a little town of sorts, on 10+ acres, with 3-6 houses (depending on how many want to join), but a blend of the young and old, single and married, fertile and childless. There would be a massive garden, and acreage for livestock if we wanted. People who knew basic car maintenance, and people who knew how to sew on buttons and hem pants. Babysitters for the young families, and someone to give you a ride when you needed to go to the hospital. A car to borrow when yours is in the shop. Dinners with a family for the singles, especially on holidays. People to help fill in the gaps.
If people wanted to move on, then the commune would buy back their house, and wait to fill it with someone who could help balance out the community. Maybe do a rent-to-own arrangement, where people could be vetted for a year before being allowed to buy! Everyone owns their own property; but lives there with the understanding that we all need something from each other, and we try and take care of one another. Perhaps there would be a clubhouse of sorts, where everyone could come for movie nights and dinners. Freedom with support. Needs being met, and people being needed.
But apart from that utopia, is it possible to make your single self into someone who isn't an invitation for pity? To become someone enviable and delightful and welcomed wherever you go? And how on earth do you make that transition from someone on the verge of a empty future to someone wonderful? Preferably with a minimum of fuss or effort.
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