Body Positivity and Borderline Ovarian Cancer

          On November 18th, 2014, after a year of dealing with pain and benign cysts popping up all over my body, I had a twenty pound precancerous ovarian cyst removed and began the process of taking five different tests, seeing an oncologist, seeing an ENT (since I had large benign cysts in both eyes and tonsils), and seeing a gynecologist every three months under a new diagnosis of "Borderline Ovarian Cancer". My body has never been more exhausted or more unable to rest. My veins now refuse to give blood without a baby butterfly needle, tons of water, and more pressure than I care to think about. My body is so sick of being probed and tested. My mouth is tired of taking a minimum of six pills each day. I still don't know how to best function in the liminal space of waiting for cysts to become precancerous so they can be removed, waiting for another one to turn so I can have surgery to prevent it continuing. Most days, I am just thankful it is not worse and that we are waiting for something that may never get worse. Other days, I am too exhausted to get the memo that I should be thankful. Some beautiful things came out of the dust of my old life--I begin each day with more passion than I did before, I lean into self-care instead of putting myself last, I stay in the moment instead of focusing too much on what may come, I care more about surrounding myself with happiness than surrounding myself with labels, and I love those around me in ways I never knew I was capable of.

          The adjustment I did not expect, however, has been to my new body. I have been the same size since 8th grade, and despite how much the world decided to let me know that my body was not good enough, by my freshman year of college, I learned to love every single inch of me. I loved my face, my nose, my chubby waist, and my curvy, soft skin. I dedicated myself to helping other women and men learn to love their bodies as they are and not as society has told them they should be or they want them to be one day. By the fall of 2013, I fully embraced myself. I loved treating my body well. I appreciated that even with exercise and a healthy diet, my pre-existing conditions created this size 16/18 body.
          Then the twenty pound cyst happened. I spent months being convinced by doctors that the weight gain was my fault before they finally found the cyst. After it was removed, smaller cysts kept returning, I was diagnosed with PCOS, and my body refused to let go of weight surrounding my reproductive organs. The more cysts appeared, and the more I became obsessed with getting back in my old body, the more difficult it became to be body positive. I didn't know how to love this body; hell, it took me 23 years to learn how to fully love my old body. People loving all of me, and accepting my body before I knew how to, is what helped me begin to process the new me.
          As another cyst takes over my right ovary and I wait to see if it needs to be removed or if it will go away with medications, I am prepping myself for what I feel about my body that is twenty pounds bigger once again. It is still a daily struggle to not compare my new body to the way it was before; it is a daily struggle to not want my old "self" back (because no matter how hard we try, women cannot fully escape the narrative that their body is who they are). This is the shitty thing they don't tell you about chronic diseases that grow inside of you--even when you are dealing with treatments and testings and family and living in this new reality, one of the hardest parts can simply be learning how to love the you that comes out on the other side.
          Sometimes our ability to fully love ourselves and our bodies falls short. We don't get the job we wanted. We cannot complete our degree in the timeframe we wanted. We lose the body measurements that we loved and made us feel like we belonged. Sometimes we are left picking up the pieces of broken understandings about who we are and who we could have been. But we can all hope for One Day. One Day where we wake up, and we suddenly realize that we have remembered how to love ourselves again, how to live our lives again, and how to dream about who we can be again. One Day may not be tomorrow, but with each new morning, we are all a step closer.

#KellyOnMyMind: A Letter to Governor Deal

           As we enter into the few hours leading up to Kelly's execution set for 7PM tonight, there doesn't seem to be much of a case for hope. Yet hope is still alive. Hope is the only thing more powerful than fear. Hope sheds light on even the most dim of situations. But hope cannot come without fire--a fire begging, pleading, for us to do something, to say something. Consider how you will spend these next few hours. What can you do for the life of Kelly and those touched by Kelly? What can you bring to the table? Words are powerful. They have the ability to change us, to awaken understanding, and to shape the world. While in times of grief our words seem to be the most disjointed and least eloquent, those words matter. Even when we know our human words will never be enough, a piece of the divine can be found. Consider how you can use your words, whether you have five of them left or five hundred, to add your voice in solidarity with Kelly and her family. Write a letter to Governor Deal and submit it via  http://gov.georgia.gov/webform/contact-governor-domestic-form. Follow #KellyOnMyMind. Attend a vigil across Georgia today (McAfee will be hosting one at 7PM outside the front entrance for those interested.) Pray. Pray for a world that better understands the difference between vengeance and justice. Pray for mercy to overpower our human tendency of hatred and misunderstanding. Pray for reconciliation in a broken system. Listen to Kelly's words. Provide your own words. Be an advocate of the change we desperately seek.

Governor Deal,
           I know you've heard the pleas of thousands today for the life of Kelly Gissandaner. By now, you may feel exhausted and helpless, unsure of what to do, unsure of what to say. That is how many of us feel as well. We don't know if this is all in vain. We don't know if anything will be overturned. We don't know if our prayers will be answered. But we have hope. We have hope because Kelly's life does much more good than harm. We have hope because Kelly's words have brought each of us healing in times of tragedy. We have hope because we recognize no action, no matter how unjust it may seem, warrants taking away a sacred, human life.
          I'm not asking you to arbitrarily overturn the decision--I know you can't do that, and even if you had that power, I wouldn't want you to. Instead, I ask that you look at the case, and really look at it. Ask your board to open it back up. Use your voice as an advocate for Kelly. Perhaps appoint a woman or two to the board, maybe a few individuals that are just as against the death penalty as many on the board currently are for it. Take a step back and think about what it would be like for the state to decide whether or not you were worth living based on the worst decision you've ever made without taking into account all of the beautiful ways you have impacted lives around you since then. Know that you are not alone in this, even when it may feel that way. While it may cost you a few powerful constituents if you ask the board to halt the execution and reopen the case, it will gain you the support of many more of us who have started to give up on the idea of the state system as something that can be just and good for humanity.  
          Our voices matter, and so does yours. It's hard for me to think a man so passionate about rehabilitation can be a supporter of the death penalty, especially in a case where rehabilitation has clearly taken place by all accounts. It is a broken system, made ever more clear by the fact that the person who actually murdered Kelly's husband received a life sentence and not a death sentence. Do not let the inability to financially access a strong lawyer, or a few wrong choices on behalf of legal counsel, end Kelly's life. Her family asks for clemency, her fellow prisoners ask for clemency, her teachers and ministers ask for clemency, and now those of us who represent our congregations, seminaries, and ministry positions ask for clemency, urging you and the board to truly live out your Christian faith. Show Kelly, Georgia, and the world what it means to grant mercy. Help us see what can be done when we are advocates of change.
          Be a beacon of hope for a woman who has given hope to the world around her. Be a conduit of grace for a family who has already lost a father and is desperately pleading to hold onto their mother. Be an icon of love in a broken world, restoring Kelly to her prison community, giving her the ability to continue sharing her story, her life, and her joy with those who feel hopeless. Live out what it means to do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly.
         With Love in Christ,
         Tara Brooks

The Beauty of "What If?"

                I realized something: I LOVE “What If?” “What If?” keeps me going. “What If?”  keeps me day dreaming. “What If?” keeps me coming back to who I am and what I need. Sometimes I learn more from not taking a chance than taking it, moving on, and forgetting I ever paused to think, “What If?”
                I've learned more from not acting than I ever thought possible-- not because I decided to let fear take over, but because I made the choice to be okay with not knowing the right decision before walking in the other direction. Life is confusing and multi-faceted; we can waste away waiting to have all the answers. “What If?” helps me understand what is important, not to society, but to me. Perhaps the answer isn’t always going for it and living without a sense of regret. That can get messy, and even a bit reckless. Our first instinct is not always the best. Our emotions tend to cloud our sense of truth and understanding.
                Maybe instead we should get better at noticing the “What If?” moments and reflecting on them. Sometimes, the answer may be to go for it. Other times, the answer may be in the beauty of the “What If?” that will stay with us the rest of our lives, better preparing us for the next time those two words become our reality.
                With each “What If?” we choose our own path. We take control of our lives. We use our free will to the fullest. Some may view it as running away or letting fear win. I view it as having the courage to walk away, even when the “What If?” blurs the clarity of our destination. Maybe, just maybe, “What If” is the fuel that keeps us going.

The Reality of Rape Culture as a 20-Something Woman

            Everyone has stories that create who they are and what they believe, for better or for worse. Although events leading to suffering differ, the core of suffering, the feeling of being alone, is the same. We are all looking for community, for comfort, and for warmth. Moments that cause suffering can become moments where we find what we need. As a Christian family, we can be a beacon of hope in a world of suffering, spreading out into the streets and inviting all to the banquet of love and acceptance.     
            In situations of rape, we can just as easily be a beacon of shame, casting shadows and making the survivor feel unwanted and unloved instead of offering guidance and a hand to hold. In a society so focused on sexuality, it is easy for us to try to qualify what makes something a crime against humanity. Innocent until proven guilty leaves the victim on the line, waiting to see if the Good Samaritan is real or just a story we tell inside the safe, white walls of a church building. The Urban Gospel Mission, a website for young Christian adults, posted an article last year on sexuality and culture. Instead of focusing on what Christians can do to influence culture positively, the focus was on women’s clothing choices. It ended with the words, “I hope by reading this article there will be someone who will consider this message and rethink of how their choice of attire is representing themselves and their view of God. Women, real beauty is found in Christ. And wearing modest attire is not only for the benefit and protection of yourself, but also to help the men around you from stumbling.” Even within an article that on the surface has nothing to do with sexual assault, the stage is set.
            We feel sorry for her if she wore jeans and was raped, but not if she wore a short dress. If she wore a short dress, she made him stumble and he could not control it. We view rape as a member of a jury, deciding when we should or should not walk alongside the victim. Instead of seeing the survivor as our sister, as a piece of the beautiful puzzle of humanity, we see her as a weak link that pulls us down.We cannot keep creating a culture of unsafe space. We cannot keep watching young girls try to figure it out on their own because we do not want to help them afterwards. We cannot keep refusing to talk about rape and sexual assault or pretend it’s not there. We have to face reality: one in six women. One in six. Not doing anything about women suffering creates a silence so piercing that it rings out across the nation, begging for the day we create a space of safety and comfort for those that need us the most. Our job is to be. Be there for one another. Be there for humanity. Be there for all we share life with. The true meaning of life together takes place when we see suffering, heartbreak, and pain through the lens of connection and understanding instead of separation and disengagement.

It's 3pm

         At 3pm, I will be done with this final. At 3pm, I can begin writing for fun, reading countless books, rambling with friends, and organizing my bows. At 3pm, anything is possible. 3pm. But what happens if I waste my month of no assignments and no deadlines? Is it even possible to waste time? What if my Chefville, nap, and Wii Fit addictions take the place of everything I want to do in the next thirty days? That's when I realized I am afraid of 3pm.          
        Since January, I have had a clear goal: Go to class, Go to work, Prepare for class, Prepare for work, Sleep when there is time, Socialize when there is time, Complain about not sleeping when there is no time, Complain about not socializing when there is no time. Simple. But now there will be an abyss where a schedule used to lie. What if I don't use it well? I have not written in this blog since Christmas break. What if that doesn't change? I haven't finished a book all the way through for fun in months. What if I've forgotten how to stay engaged to the end? Let's be honest-- I've never had a clean room. What if I can't break the habit? 
        I'm finished with my last final, but I am still waiting for 3pm. There's something about a deadline that is hard for me to break. I want to have time to plan for 3pm. I want to have time to decide what is next. But maybe that's not the point. Maybe we aren't supposed to plan life. I guess maybe Lennon was right when he said "Life is what happens to you when you're busy making other plans." Yet somehow that's less comforting. Did he mean we have no say? Do plans mean nothing? Or maybe the point of plans is to help us feel a part of our journey. Maybe plans are there to get us where we need to be when we need to be there. Maybe life is what happens when we are busy over thinking the future. Alas, my alarm just sounded. It must be 3pm.

Are We Listening? Our Hearts Are Speaking

Every once in a while, you find a truth so deep, so intense, that it's no longer possible to ignore it.
          While on Skype earlier, I updated my status. When I pressed send, that sentence was there for the world to see. At first, I was not even sure where it came from-- maybe it was all of the caffeine I had today. Or maybe it was the heat of the election after last night's debate. Either way, I typed it and pressed send without much thought. I almost immediately had a response from a girl I knew in high school. As we talked, she told me how much my words meant to her and the closure she received from them. The more we chatted back and forth, the more words flew from me. I hope it works out, love. And by works out, I mean what needs to happen is what actually happens, even if it's not the happiest answer  quickly turned into Regardless of your decision, you will be able to come to a point of happiness. I completely believe that. It's all a matter of which path you choose to get there. But sometimes, the best way to get there is to leave others behind. Just as I pressed send, it clicked. Am I really conceited enough to believe those words were given to me only so I could share them with her? Am I that blind? Each letter I typed had to come from a part of me; that's the only way it could sound so raw.
          This afternoon, I went to lunch with one of my favorite women. As we talked about her boy troubles, she asked me for advice. I was as blunt as possible, not leaving any stone unturned to the truth behind her hesitations. As my words of honesty sank in for her, they also did for me. Wisdom like this has to come from somewhere, even if we don't want to see the source. It's easier for us to ignore where the advice we give to other people comes from. The second we realize it's also about us, we want to run away. It's easier to recognize why others are having issues than to see the why written on our own hearts. It's time for us to listen up. Our hearts are trying to speak to us. If people in similar situations come to us for advice regularly, chances are, there is a reason that we know what to say. We either have been there or we are there. Based on the human condition, I'm going to make the staggering claim that we are there.           We have to stop pretending our advice only applies to other people. It is so much simpler for me to tell someone that I haven't seen in years to make a change than to tell myself that, although I know myself much more than I know her. There's something about our own reality that freaks us out. The only way to step into a better future is to face our present. Does that mean I'm going to handle all of my problems tonight before I go to bed? Probably not. Do I expect you to deal with everything jumbled in your life as soon as you wake up? Absolutely not. Every destination needs a good journey. Realizing that sometimes we need to take our own advice is a starting point that we can all tackle together.

What Emory Did for Me

          With the news released today of discrepancies within Emory's reporting of data for college rankings, I felt like I needed to blog about the single most important academic institution that has ever been a part of my life: Emory University.Yes, Emory pushed me academically in ways that I never dreamed. By the end of four years, I perfected the 25 page paper, knew how to do any form of research, and could write an exegetical paper in my sleep. More importantly, I learned how to question myself. I began to ask questions instead of assuming. I became confident enough academically to put my best work forward. All of this is because of the wonderfully challenging professors that pushed me to become an academic scholar. However, that is not the best part about Emory and not the reason for this post.         

          Instead, I want to write about what Emory did for me. When I was in high school, I didn't know who I was-- I couldn't find my passion, I couldn't find what I did well, I couldn't find where I belonged. By going to Oxford College and then continuing to Emory's Atlanta campus, I found myself. I found mentors, professors, and students that truly cared about me. I immediately found activities and classes I was passionate about, and I will be forever thankful that Emory gave me the opportunity to explore myself, to figure out my interests, and to move forward on my own path while still being connected to one unified community. 

          I came into Emory not having many high school friends to keep in touch with. I left Emory with hundreds of friends that I know I will keep for a lifetime. I came into Emory unsure of what made me happy. I left Emory getting a Presidential Service Award and Distinguished Service Key from Alpha Phi Omega, Emory's service fraternity that helped me grow in more ways than I can count. I came into Emory an International Studies major because that's what was expected of me. I left Emory an English major heading to Theology school because professors helped me realize that's what I am called to do. But most importantly, I came into Emory not knowing how to lead with integrity, how to be myself, or how to be an example of ethical living. I left Emory knowing that I will never forget how to lead with integrity, how to be myself, or how to be an example of ethical living. 

          Regardless of what happens over the next few months or even years, my Emory University degree is my most prized possession. It's not because it will get me a great job or because it got me into graduate school. Instead, it's what my degree stands for. My degree from Emory stands for my new beginning-- my second chance at finding where I belong. I am a world citizen, a helping hand, an understanding heart, and an ethical leader because of Emory University. That is worth more than all the top rankings in the world.

Reflections on the Summer, Part 2: What I Learned About Church

          Today, as I began to reflect on the summer once again, I kept coming back to one night in particular. On our last off day in Wingate, NC, we spent the day by the pool relaxing. That night, a small group of us decided to eat in the cafeteria for dinner to save money. As we sat there eating, it began to pour. By the time we were ready to leave, water was rushing past us on either side. As some staffers ran back, Sara and I decided to walk through it. As we were walking, a calm draped over me. As the rain fell over us, so did a sense of worship. A few moments later, I began a prayer of Thanksgiving. How lucky we were to have the rain. How lucky we were to have one another. How lucky we were to even have a cafeteria to walk back from. Laughter and dancing soon took over as Sara and I enjoyed every step back to the dorm.

          Once we returned, we joined a few other staffers in a time of puddle jumping. As we jumped from one pile of water to another, I experienced something extraordinary. We were laughing, playing, jumping, and being rowdy. However, it seemed so much like worship. In fact, it felt more like worship than some Sunday mornings. With each stomp, I could feel the rain run across us, uniting us all. We were tied by the bonds of this water, by this time of enjoying God's creation together. 

          At Selah Vie, a reflection-filled retreat at the end of the summer, we were asked the question, "Where did you see Church/What did you learn about Church this summer?" As I sat there, I went over all of the beautiful moments we had this summer in worship and with churches. However, that night in Wingate kept rushing back to me. The more I sat there, the more I became frustrated. Suddenly, I realized why. 

          Why does the church so quickly miss the point of worship? When did we decide as Christians that worship only counted if it followed a specific model? Who decided that the kind of songs we sing and the need for a sermon at the end was more important than the sense of holiness that surrounds the moment?What I learned about Church this summer is how beautiful it is to be a part of a church that finds worship in everyday life. Although Sunday worship is crucial to any form of Life Together in a Christian community, so is time to play and get to know one another. What if getting to know one another, if playing together, also became conscious parts of our sense of worship? What if we took the time to define beautiful moments of our Life Together not my secular words, but instead by holy words? What if we defined every moment, every second of our lives, as worship? If we are constantly defining our time together as worship, something beautiful might happen. Everyday interactions will become moments that connect us to one another. Relationships will become deeper. Our love of people will become closer and closer to the love God has for each of us. By redefining worship, we are taking away the restricting box we tend to put church in, and instead letting that feeling of love and acceptance become our lives. How much more beautiful would life be if we all took away those boxes and just let love and acceptance flow? 

Reflections on the Summer, Part 1: A World of Understanding

          As my summer wraps up and I look forward to the adventure that is coming next, I have decided that there is no better way to spend my time than to prepare for the future while taking a moment each day to reflect on the past. This summer, I had the opportunity to serve Passport, Inc. as the Assistant Director of the Passport Kids East Team. As Assistant Director, I was in charge of several different areas of camp, but I mostly dealt with communications-- the AD serves as the catalyst of sorts between the adults at camp, the facilities we are using, the National Office, and the team as a whole. One part of my job each week was to do the money orders. With these orders, I got to see up close the dollars, quarters, and many pennies that campers brought with them to camp, only to give a portion of what they had to the people of Malawi. Chances are, these campers will never meet those they helped. Yet, that did not stop them from providing someone else with a better today, tomorrow, and future. 

          

          One week in particular stands out to me. The first session of camp, we served in Hartfield, Virginia at Camp Piankatank. In general, during this week of camp, we served with children of very different socioeconomic statuses than the children we served with the rest of the summer. There were several campers that were refugees, inner-city children, or from parts of the United States that were less fortunate economically. Being our first session and smallest session of camp, staffers were nervous, nothing was quite perfect yet, and some things just did not go as planned. However, in spite of our nerves and apprehensions, something beautiful happened that week. Everywhere you turned, you heard a camper talking about Watering Malawi. Campers that spent a good deal of their lives in refugee camps or moving from one country to another were talking about how they could help the children of Malawi get clean water, have better bathrooms, and be able to wash their hands. This spread throughout the camp. I watched camper after camper come into the store and make sure to buy items that benefited Watering Malawi. I saw them add up how much money they would have left to give to the offering if they bought one t-shirt instead of six other items. 

          That week, the mission offering was the most it was all summer per camper in attendance. It was not anything we did, nor was it anything other groups didn't do. After reflecting on it throughout the summer, I realized that it came from understanding. Refugee campers from Tanzania and Nepal referred to the people of Malawi as their brothers and sisters. By the end of the week, I saw more and more campers that have never been outside of the United States see the people of Malawi in the same way. They asked questions and wanted to know answers, not just facts or percentages. These campers knew what it was like to not have everything they needed. These campers got it in ways that others couldn't. 

          In that moment, I realized more than ever the importance of understanding. If we want others to become passionate about a cause, it will not come out of just stating the facts. It has to come out of a moment of walking in the other person's shoes. Extending grace, love, and hope arise from empathy, not sympathy. It is not enough to state the facts-- we have to show how it's personal.  It's our job to first understand ourselves, but we cannot stop there. We are called to serve as a catalyst for others to embrace the same understanding. We are called to be the bridge that connects those in need to those that can help. The most beautiful thing that the world has to offer us is the understanding that we are all united. Once that becomes our vision, we can create a world in which love abides.

Read Sara's post: A Blessed Journey: water is heavy...

Everyone should read my wonderful new friend (and staffer) Sara's blog entry below. She put it in better words than I ever could the power of three simple words: Water is heavy. 


A Blessed Journey: water is heavy...: As a disclaimer I just want to thank everybody for bearing with me as it has been a month and a half since I have traveled to the blogging w...

What I think about when I read...

Where do we encounter spiritual and ethical questions in our everyday life?

While on a retreat this winter, I reflected on the idea of spiritual and ethical questions that find their way into our everyday life. As I was on the Baptist Women in Ministry of Georgia retreat, there was a beautiful, spiritual presence throughout the weekend. However, it did make me aware of the question why. Why are retreats necessary if spirituality can be found in our everyday lives? When looking at the time I spent surrounded by other amazing women, I realized that retreats are not meant to just heighten a sense of spirituality. If they are done well, retreats are meant to remind us that it CAN be found in our everyday lives. There is nothing that happens on a retreat that I cannot do on a regular basis. Therefore, why not?
           Sometimes we just need a reminder of the importance of seeing our spirituality in everything we do. For me, faith is absolutely a practice—any practice requires practice, redundant or not. Therefore, why should we think faith and spirituality are things that we do not need to encounter every day? When I am reminded of this, I find myself seeing my spirituality in literally everything—my reading, other people, and the trees. Even the birds have something to say about spirituality. Retreats should not be mountain top experiences. Instead, they should prepare us to find spirituality in our everyday lives.

This idea reminded me of reading. For me, reading is absolutely a spiritual experience, regardless of the topic. The reader is becoming in tune with a part of them that is not always released. Their personal encounter with the book is shaping them intellectually or at times ethically. This is a form of spirituality. The reader is having an encounter that transforms who they are, a key to any spiritual event. As I mentioned in my previous journal entry, each book is like a part of our DNA. This DNA helps us to make decisions and live our lives. The same is true for spirituality.

When it comes to ethical questions, I feel as if they are always a part of my day to day experience. I tend to question the ethics of every choice that I make. Maybe this is because I had the teachings of logic drilled into me at an early age, along with logical fallacies. Either way, I try to think of ethical agendas before making any decision. This becomes drastically difficult whenever personal ethics conflict with the ethics of others. Following the idea of personal, non-communal ethics being based on personal values, this becomes even harder when two personal values seem to conflict with one another. What happens when two parts of yourself are at odds with one another? Which do you choose? An example of this is loyalty vs. honesty. If those are both values you hold dear to you, what happens when your honesty leads to not being loyal to a close friend? These situations seem to happen pretty regularly. For me, this is where personal ethics become a gray area-- the reason that life cannot be judged in black and white.

In my creative writing course, we had to write a bad story. As I read my way through the worst pieces of literature I have ever seen, I realized something. What was missing from these stories? Yes, they are all missing any form of logic or any meaning, but there was something more. They are all missing emotion. Emotion is vital to creating a relationship between the character and the reader. The character has to be vulnerable for the audience to feel a connection. Therefore, why would we expect something else in relationships between us and other people? Each of us has a “story” about every friendship, every family member, and every person in our life. When we look through those stories, are any of them bad? By “bad,” I don’t mean ended poorly—a relationship that ended in a devastating way had an impact on our lives. As much as you love someone is as much as you can be hurt. However, in hurt is where we find growth. So if that’s not the case, what makes a relationship “bad,” or not fully developed? Maybe we laid framework and then left them to build siding on their own. No matter how great a frame is, it’s only an outline. We need to build onto that frame to create something. No two pieces of wood will out stand harsh weather; however, a roof will do the job. Why then would be settle for a frame? Maybe it’s because it’s hard to get hurt that way. At the same time, we cannot expect to have relationships full of love if we leave them with just the basics. This question to me is directly related to ethics. 

Is it ethical to not put everything we have into the things we begin? Is it ethical to start something with no intention on finishing it? It reminds me of campaign speech promises; when you are running for office, would you promise to do something that you knew was impossible? Are we not doing the same thing when we start forming relationships that we know we cannot put effort into? If the difference is only in it being a relationship instead of a new vending machine or new legislation, should it not be more important ethically? There are questions that I think we should all look into. Who are we to the world if not the actions we are a part of and the relationships we have? Where is the integrity in that if we are not putting our best foot forward?

What Does it Mean to Serve?

What does it mean to serve is one question that seems simple, yet is extremely difficult to answer.
As I was filling out an application earlier today, the dreaded question appeared. I love serving, but I am not fully sure what that means. This is what I came up with:

What does it mean to serve?

Serving is based in love-- a love of self, humanity, and the world. To serve is to realize that the needs of the world are a part of your own needs and to live the good life also requires humanity to have the same. To serve is to understand that the world is a web of connections and that each decision we make can affect multiple others. To serve is to take the time, energy, and passion behind that understanding and use it to make the world one step closer to what it should be-- a place filled with a love and compassion that leads to true understanding.

This definition has changed each time I have typed it, but I think this is what I am going with. I would love to hear other people's ideas on this definition as well. :-)

After all, what is service without love and true understanding?

Quick Thoughts on Peace, Love, and Literature

There is something about literature that can bridge gaps, create catalysts, and build boats to get us from one side of thinking to the other. This is vital for any type of peace, love, or joy to occur. First, we must understand each other. Books can take us into a world where this is completely possible.

            Literature escapes reality. While reading, the physical world around you no longer exists (unless you are sitting completely uncomfortably). Instead, you are transported to a world of different possibilities with different rules and different regulations. With new rules and regulations also comes new freedoms and abilities. A lower-class, Caucasian Atheist and an upper-class, African American Christian can be united by the ability to enter the same world, if only temporarily. Both can join Harry Potter’s fight against Lord Voldemort or relish in the minds of each character Virginia Woolf created. Therefore, my question is this: How can we transfer this skill into another setting, a setting in which we use it to understand one another?

While reading, we can be anyone, whether that is a boy wizard fighting evil,  a courageous African American maid from decades past shedding light on the truth, or even a little girl who is transported to a new world through a wardrobe with her brothers and sister. If we can relate to a character enough, we can momentarily become them. Once we are attached to a character, we understand their thoughts, actions, and motivations. I find myself becoming easily attached to characters who have little parts of me inside them.

On the surface, Ginny Weasley in Harry Potter, Belle from Beauty and the Beast, Katniss in The Hunger Games, and Skeeter in The Help have little in common. However, in me they all have something in common. I can relate to each of their stories because I can see parts of myself inside of them. Therefore, I can dig deeply into their thoughts. I want to hold on and find out something new about myself, and more times than not I do. 

Every person who reads has a web of characters like mine, and no two webs are completely the same. Therefore, all persons have insight into a different kind of thinking. If we would stop long enough to see this, we would see how easy it would be to do the same in "the real world". We should not have to be transported to a fictional place to be able to make peace happen—we can use the tool of reading to find parts of ourselves inside each person we meet. It is so much easier to understand another human being if we can see our similarities instead of our differences. With understanding comes a true caring that is so strong peace is bound to follow. If we treated people with the same respect we give to books, we could cause a revolution of love. 

New Year, New Beginning, New Mindset

      At first, I was unsure about the need to blog, and I am amazing at excuses. Clearly, homework is more important than blogging, along with reading, sleeping, and really anything else that doesn't end with me sharing my personal thoughts with other people. However, I am stuck in the Gainesville airport for at least three more hours, so I have no excuse. I always start a blog, yet I never finish or keep going. Maybe it is because I don't think I am witty enough to be sharing my thoughts on the internet, but I am pretty aware that God was extremely generous when giving me the gift of humor. It has more to do with my complete fear of committing to anything that does not have a 100% chance of coming up Tara, even something as simple as writing in a public space. In truth, the same can be said about goals that I set for myself. I always start them, and I even start them well. Yet once I realize they are attainable, the flame goes out and I move on. I don't even get upset about not finishing them-- I find a new dream as quickly as I found the last. Up until the last few months, I have been completely okay living like this. I have been able to explore parts of life that few ever touch, learn more about myself than I thought possible, and read at least the first twenty pages of hundreds of books most people will not open in a lifetime.
   
      However, if you only read the first twenty pages of Peter Pan (and live under a rock completely unpenetrated by Disney), it is a story about a perfectly rich, bratty family--with a dog-human as a nanny--that is held together by a submissive, and borderline robotic, mother. If that is what you get out of Peter Pan, you have clearly missed the point. It's probably because you stopped reading 200 pages too soon. You missed the magic that happens when that perfectly rich, bratty family is turned upside down by a boy in tights that refuses to grow up (I am a firm believer that Barrie imagined him in tights long before Walt did).
     
      If you don't finish the book, you miss the faith, trust, and pixie dust. Goals work the same way. Without seeing them through to the end, you miss the heart of why you had that goal in the first place. Finding the heart of the goal is what creates individual growth. You don't have to succeed; sometimes it is better if you fail. Instead, put faith, trust, and even some pixie dust into each and every goal, regardless of the foreseen outcome.

      With all of this in mind, my new goal is to view each goal with the same three ingredients that Peter Pan references when he breaks down flying for the Darling children. After all, who doesn't want to fly? I am not sure if there are rules about having a goal about goals (seems a bit redundant), but there it is, starting with this blog post.

So until the next time I gaze into the magic mirror (yes, the same one that says I am the loveliest of them all on days that I have not been on a plane since 4 AM), that's all I've got.

With faith, trust, and a little bit of pixie dust,
Tara