Getting Fit

So how exactly did God woo this girl? If I had to sum up five years (all almost-25 years would be too hearty a task for even this expert introspecter), six journals, and who-knows-how-many ontological crises, f-word splattered questions and snarky comments, and countless more moments of unexplainable joy and thankfulness, this would be the synopsis for the Cliff's Notes version:

Ironically, it took having my entire world crumble before me to release my fists from their tight and self-righteous grip on legalism and purity. Only in the aftermath of anger, hopelessness, and numbness did compassion begin to show its surprising, redemptive, and mischievous face.

And those fits of unwarranted compassion are what I now call God—if I had to put a name to it.

At the risk of turning into my own smiley face sporting, life-is-rainbows-and-butterflies worst nightmare, I will occasionally be posting about some of the gifts of grace and friendship, love and lessons, second chances and joy (stop your groaning) that God has freely and mercifully given me. I apologize in advance for my lack of wit-filled cynicism in these posts, but I will not apologize for the goodness of a God that turned this scoffing cynic into a devoted daughter.

These posts I will title "Getting Fit" to stand for "Fits of Unwarranted Compassion" (I was going switch it to Unwarranted Fits of Compassion to get the hip acronym "UFC", but apparently that name is already taken and I wouldn't want another WWF/WWE type lawsuit on my hands, and the alternative, "FUC" is even more unfortunate. So stay tuned for my thoughts on Getting Fit. I'll try not to use too many exclamation points.

I am not an island, You are not a "Them"

I thought this blog would be about hope, not anger. But anger is a very real part of my journey toward hope.

I used to be really angry about injustice in the world. Don’t get me wrong, it still breaks my heart, still brings tears to my eyes, but it no longer hardens my heart.

I used to be enraged on behalf of others. Particularly the plight of the rural poor.

I used to use this anger as an ideology. As my new religion.

I used this anger as an excuse not to move. To stay stuck. To lash out.

I used it as an excuse to dehumanize the poor. To reduce them to a “them” I could be enraged on behalf of. Not people that I knew and loved. Not people that deserved my hope and my efforts as much as my anger and indignation.

A while back I wrote a poem about this act of dehumanization I masked as romanticized, righteous indignation. And here it is:

I am not an island

You are not a “them”

I remember the romance of the pain

Weathered, leather face

Acidic fumes

I forget you

I talk anger

I feel smug

You are a story I heard

A feeling I felt

Not a person I know

I use you to feel pain

In pain I am Justified

I use you to reject Him

But you praise Him with your chapped lips

Chapped, I said it,

Romanticizing again

I put it on you

It’s never me

I’m the enlightened one

Finally free

Of the guilt on my hands

Of the burden of me

But am I angry for you?

Or angry for me?

In the fury of my rage

You become a “them”

I become a lie

I am not a martyr

Remind me yet again

I am not an island

You are not a them

Pictured to the left: Me with a woman, Grey, that I stayed with in Nicaragua. She shared not only her house and food--mostly pineapples--with me, but also her thoughts, her hopes, and her dreams. She was one of the women I wrote this poem for a year after I came back to the States.

Have any of you experienced a time when you used anger on behalf of someone or a group of someones as an excuse to stay stuck?

Beautiful People Do Not Just Happen

I saw this quote on a friend’s Facebook the other day and had to share it.

“The most beautiful people we have known are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known loss, and have found their way out of the depths. These persons have an appreciation, a sensitivity, and an understanding of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness, and a deep, loving concern. Beautiful people do not just happen.”

--Elizabeth Kubler- Ross

I am obsessed with the Holocaust. Well, Holocaust survivors, that is. And for the exact reason that I’m deeply moved when I get to see the world from the perspective of some of the world’s most beautiful people. Maybe it sounds a bit trite or too Chicken-Soup-for-the-Soul-ish, but I love reading and hearing about stories of human triumph, transformation, and reconciliation.

When I came back from a semester abroad during college I was filled with anger and righteous indignation at the poverty and injustice that I saw. In the midst of my sulking and clinging to anger, I began to read and hear stories of people who had gone through much greater atrocities than just having their cushy worldview rocked in a study abroad experience. I read about people who’d been oppressed, tormented, and watched their families and friends suffer needlessly.

And they were hopeful.

While I writhed in anger and hopelessness on behalf of a people and a system I barely knew, they were working to make the world a better place. They were teaching forgiveness and dignity and the power of the human spirit. They even said they believed in God.

In reading books by authors like Elie Weisel, I realized I had no excuse to dwell, to sulk, to plummet into the depths. If he could hope, so could I. So must I.

Hope began to stir.

I began to change my spending habits, altered my purchasing power. I started interning at an organization that serves and empowers the type of people on whose behalf I was indignant—I’m still working with this organization.

In the weeks and months to come, I’ll continue to blog about my experience about learning to hope and trust and eventually fall deeper and deeper in love with the God who placed this desire for hope and justice deep within me before I was even born.

For now, I want to thank the beautiful people in my life who’ve traveled with me on this journey. The people who have “known defeat, known suffering, known loss, and have found their way out of the depths.” The people who, with their lives and their words, have inspired me, moved me, and helped me become a little less angry and a little more beautiful.

Just a glimpse of some of the beautiful people in my life: