Prom dresses and Poverty

I like to spend my Thursday afternoons with Dr. Phil and Oprah in the TV lounge. Usually I bring my homework or catch up on e-mails or flitter an hour away on facebook while I watch. On this particular day, I witnessed the last 5 minutes of Dr. Phil. It was a typical show. Something about a rebellious teen and psychotic mother who had been with at least 15 men over the past five years and couldn’t quite pinpoint why her daughter was so promiscuous. Thankfully, Phil knows everything. So he set them straight and hooked them up with three guaranteed-to-fix-your-life therapy sessions. They’ll probably be okay, now. Oprah interviewed a 19 year-old boy who weighed almost 900 pounds. The bad news was, he could only get up to go to the bathroom and might not be around for his 20^th birthday party. The good news was, his mom served him hamburgers and nachos for lunch everyday and he had gotten really good at Mario Kart.

After Oprah put in her two cents about why the desire for cheese covered hot dogs is a deeply spiritual problem, the local news came on the screen. I watched it for a while, and I noticed a theme. It was obvious, really, and I’m sure you’ve noticed it too. The anchorwoman with teased blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes informed me that our economy is going down the toilet. Americans everywhere are struggling to keep their homes or sell their homes or heat their homes. Car companies are sinking while gas prices are skyrocketing. More layoffs are expected this week. And the only raises in our near future will be the dough that Uncle Sam demands. Ugh. Poor America.

I wasn’t feeling especially hopeful after my first few moments with the people at Channel 13. Then they did a special report. A cute, brunette reporter stood in the middle of the formalwear section at the mall, where a high school girl and her mom were shopping for a prom dress. Due to the struggling economy, the pair was looking for a stylish bargain. When the reporter interviewed the mother, she asked if they had set a price limit for the gown. The mom thought for a moment and then said, “Well, I am unemployed. And I’m trying to put myself through school. So yes, we have a limit. She will only be allowed to spend $150 on the dress.” My stomach sank. $150? For a dress? For one night? Is that really what economic struggle looks like in America? The reporter ended the interview with some shallow and cheesy line about how everyone is cutting back these days and how she is confident the poor little girl will have a nice night, despite her low-budget purchase. I thought I was going to be sick.

One month ago, I stayed in a Costa Rican home where having a fork for every person was a luxury. I met mothers who were desperate for me to snap a picture of their baby because it might be the only photo they ever have from their childhood. Members of our team shook hands with village leaders who begged for $140, the amount it takes to feed an entire village of school children their lunch for a year. And here was a story on the local news about the unfortunate Americans who are forced to scrimp and scrape and spend that same amount on a prom dress. Something didn’t seem right to me.

I think we have a wrong idea of what it means to “struggle.” I don’t want to be insensitive, because I know that there are Americans who are in desperate need. I know that there are hardworking dads who were laid off by no fault of their own. I know that there are small business owners who have done everything right, but can’t stay afloat in a stormy economy. I know that there are people losing their homes. I know that some families didn’t celebrate Christmas like they usually do. I know. But there is something wrong when we call ourselves poor, when we view ourselves as the victims, the bottom, or the most unfortunate. The truth is, we are incredibly blessed.

Struggle is not being forced to carry a Nokia instead of a Blackberry. Struggle is not selling your SUV for something with better gas mileage. Struggle is not clipping coupons to save money on Stouffers lasagna at the grocery store. Struggle is not buying a prom dress on sale. These things point to prosperity, not poverty. We are so fortunate to live in the United States. Not because we are the wealthiest nation in the world, but because we are in a position that allows us aid others. But too often, we look at ourselves. We think that our problems are the biggest, that our needs are the greatest.

We are mistaken if we think that we have a tough life. In truth, our “struggles” are equivalent to someone else’s luxury. Maybe if we changed our perspective and became sensitive to the reality of others, we would appreciate the little things in life. We wouldn’t feel so miserable about rising gas prices, because we have a car. We wouldn’t feel so frustrated by an unsold home, because we have a roof. Instead, we’d be grateful. That’s what I’m committing myself to; I want to be thankful for everything I have. I want to focus on the blessings in my life, not the needs.

Hi, Frank.

Today I met Frank Peretti. Christian fiction writer. Author of books like, This Present Darkness, The Oath, Hangman's Curse, House. Yes. That Frank Peretti.

He was visiting for the World Changers Society induction ceremony, which is something IWU does every Spring semester. This year's inductee was Joni Erickson Toda, who was injured in a tragic diving accident. Despite the fact that she is a quadriplegic confined to a wheelchair, Mrs. Toda has become a well-known artist (holding the paintbrush between her teeth) and the founder/supporter of organizations that work on behalf of people with disabilities. She's an amazing woman. Her faith was evident as she spoke, and I can't imagine the amount of perseverance she must possess to overcome everything that life has thrown at her. All that to say, Peretti was the 2004 inductee, so he and his wife returned to celebrate the induction of Mrs. Toda. 

I sat near the front, and after the ceremony was over I waited around, shook his hand, and told him I was an IWU writing student. He put his hand on the side of my face and said, "Well bless you!" (Which I think meant, "Good luck, kiddo.") Then we talked about writing a little bit. He told me that the most important thing is to write even when you don't feel inspired. He told me that writing isn't easy. That there will be days when you would rather not do it. "But sometimes you just have to put your tush in the chair and write. You'll get something eventually." I needed to hear that. 

I told him I liked his work, and that my mom was an especially big fan. He signed my program, which I'll probably always keep because I'm sentimental like that and because it will remind me to work hard. It will remind me to write, even on days when I would rather watch Oprah or organize my junk drawer or repaint my toenails, because doing stuff like that is so much easier. Instead, I will write.

Thanks, Frank.

God+rice+hut=Blessing

I recently returned from Costa Rica. Eight students from IWU, two professors, two translators and I stumbled our way through the jungle for one week. We worked alongside an Indigenous tribe called the Bri Bri, who welcomed us onto their Reservation and into their lives. My time with the Bri Bri was incredible. It pushed me, stretched me, and taught me more about myself. Since coming back to my comfortable life in the United States, I've been trying to process all that I experienced in Costa Rica. Below is an excerpt from a paper I wrote for class. I hope that it gives you a glimpse into what I've been learning...

(Excerpt from "Finding God in the Jungle")

Throughout the week, I kept a journal. Several days, I wrote the phrase, “I feel so blessed” as I referred to my life in the United States. But when I look back at those words, they seem hollow. One of our last nights, Carlos stayed up late and told our group more stories. It was raining hard against the wall of the hut, which drowned out the hum of the bugs. His eyes were filled with pride and passion, as he retold the Indian tales. But the last thing he said has stuck with me and has continued to echo in my ears. “The Bri Bri are not a rich people, but we are a wealthy people,” he said, before scooting out into the drizzle and walking to his own hut.

   The Bri Bri are content. They don't need hot tubs and ipods and designer jeans and scented hand soap and Tivo and all six episodes of Star Wars and futons and the newest Blackberry model to feel blessed. I’ve sat in church for my entire life. I’ve heard countless sermons about how material wealth does not equal blessing. But with my American eyes, when I look at a meal of rice and beans and a hut with leaves for a roof, I don’t see blessing. God is teaching me to see things differently. Blessing is a relationship with Him. Blessing is the joy of family and friends. To be blessed is to know that you are loved. I am blessed, but not because I live in the United States and not because I attend a Christian university and not because I have a soft bed. I am blessed because God has loved me, and I have chosen to love Him back.

            I never thought that I would have to travel to a dense jungle to see God more clearly. But with the help of the Bri Bri, I have discovered Him in new ways. My everyday-American-Nike shoe wearing life is strikingly different from that of the Bri Bri culture. But as we stood together in prayer, and sang together in the field, and laughed together in a bug-infested hut, the differences seemed to disappear. The truth is, a creative and unchanging Father loves us. He loves the white college student from Indiana and he loves the tanned Costa Rican native. We are treasured. We are His. We are blessed.

I am published!

Check out my very first magazine article! It appeared in the online version of Credo Magazine, a Christian teen magazine published by Barefoot Ministries. I've revised and re-read this story countless times. (Microsoft Word actually begged me to give it a break.) But somehow, seeing this story on a real-life website makes me want to jump up and down. It was a ton of fun to write something for more than just a class grade, and I can't wait to write some more. 

On a side note, this week has been tough. Jobs seem to be scooting past me, and I'm not entirely sure what God has in front of me. But I'm so thankful that He allowed me to write this article. Seeing it on the page reminds me that He provides. He is faithful. I felt like it was His way of saying, "Heather, be proud of the gifts I've given you. Have hope. I promise I won't make you work at McDonalds this summer."

Check it out at www.CredoMagazine.com

There is a link on the home page and it is entitled, "I Am Not a Mountain Woman."

Hope you enjoy it!

Find yourself first.

        (Excerpt from "Six Things My Little Sister Should Know About Dating")     

           Somewhere at my parent’s house, in a corner cupboard, is a scrapbook filled with my childhood. It is bursting with pictures that showcase braces and acne and pitiful fashion choices. Every time I look at it, I am horrified. Then I become instantly grateful. Grateful that those years have passed and that I made it through looking like a real person. I remember that period of awkwardness when I was constantly outgrowing shoes and boys only cared about Legos and no matter how much I begged, Mom still wouldn’t let me wear mascara.

            At some point, things begin feeling normal again. Then you enter high school and suddenly you are worried about calories and cell phones and who the hot guy will ask to homecoming. High school is great in many ways, and you do plenty of growing up. College is another type of a growing up, though. You start to feel like an adult and everyone starts asking you what you will do with your life. So, you plan for the future, because after all, it’s college and you’re supposed to know what you’re doing. These days the hot guy is a loser, so you start to think about who might be the right one for you. It all gets a little intense. Friends get engaged and married and if you aren’t one of them, you begin to feel like maybe those scrapbook pictures are still your reality.

            It’s hard to get a grip on life when so much is changing within and around you. One of the greatest lessons I’ve learned is that if you don’t know yourself, it’s hard to make a dating relationship work. Either you end up with someone completely wrong for you or you compromise in ways you never thought you would. You leave friends in the dust, make that person the center of your world and forget that you had an identity before you met them. Don’t get sucked in. Begin the process of finding yourself first, and then you will have something to offer in a relationship.

            There are two quotes about this topic that I love. The first comes from the pen of Ralph Waldo Emerson who says, “Insist on yourself, never imitate.” The second is from the wise Dr. Seuss who says, “Be who you are and say what you feel because those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind.” Both of these men understand the importance of finding yourself. Once you discover who you are, don’t apologize for it and don’t change for anyone. The guy who is worth giving your heart to is the one who will love the uniqueness that only you possess.

Don't forget to wash your hands!

(February Devotional--for NHC Westside)

The other day I stumbled across an article from the New York Times that claimed, 25% of men admit to not washing their hands after using the restroom. Ugh! I wanted to gag, put on a pair of mittens and refuse to hold my boyfriend’s hands unless he sanitized those grubby paws in front of me. This hygiene discovery rattled my world. I mean, how hard is it to us a little soap and water? It takes almost no time or effort, and besides that, not washing them is just plain gross.

I wonder if maybe we just get lazy. Maybe we get swept up in the business of life and forget that stuff like washing our hands is important. And then I wonder if we do the same thing with our spiritual lives. Sometimes we get bored or tired or lazy, and before we know it, we have given up on purity. We have stopped spending time with God and asking him to continually clean us. It’s a terribly harsh question, but I think it is worth asking: have we, like the icky men, stopped caring about spiritual contamination?

That’s a dangerous place to find ourselves. Psalm 24:3-5 says, “Who shall go up into the mountain of the Lord? Or who shall stand in His Holy Place? He who has clean hands and a pure heart, who has not lifted himself up to falsehood or to what is false, nor sworn deceitfully. He shall receive blessing from the Lord and righteousness from the God of his salvation.” From this verse we can see that God honors purity. But that doesn’t mean it will be easy. Purity takes effort and we have to be purposeful in our actions. It is only when we commit to having a pure heart that God will be able to work through us. We must make time to scrub our souls.

During the month of February, Westside will be tackling the issue of sexual purity. As we enter into this month, let’s be intentional about examining our lives for anything that isn’t clean. Maybe it will relate specifically to sexual purity, or maybe it will be another area that needs to be washed. Whatever it is, I know that God is going to honor us for our honesty and willingness to be cleansed. So, here’s to scented hand soap and trusting God to renew our hearts. Bring on the suds! 

Let it Snow

        This week we got our first burst of winter weather. The storm was accompanied by sharp winds, slippery sidewalks and the kind of cold that makes your nose stick together if you breathe too deeply. Despite these mildly uncomfortable conditions, I am a firm believer that there is nothing more magical than walking in the snow. As I toddle my way to class, in boots that are a size too big, I can’t resist the urge to stick out my tongue and lick the snowflakes that fly in my face. Everything around me is covered in a beautiful layer of icing and I am in awe of the way my daily trudge across campus has become a wonderland stroll. The bare trees and muddy grass, which were leftover from fall, are now transformed into a glittering display of icicles and fluff.

The old is gone. The new has come. These are the words that ring through my ears as a snowflake kisses my cheek. And then I am reminded of a song I have sung in church thousands of times, “My sin had left a crimson stain, He washed it white as snow.” I begin to sing it under my breath. As it turns out, this line comes almost directly from the Bible. So this week I made time to read Isaiah 1:16-19, which says, “Stop doing wrong, learn to do right! Seek justice, encourage the oppressed. Defend the cause of the fatherless, plead the case of the widow. ‘Come now, let us reason together,’ says the LORD. ‘Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they are red as crimson, they shall be like wool. If you are willing and obedient, you will eat the best from the land.’”

What a perfect picture of forgiveness! Snow. This year has been difficult for me. At times, my heart has felt like the ugly, barren trees. I have felt useless and hopeless, unsure of my purpose. I have doubted God, hurt others, and tried to handle everything in my own strength. Then the words of Isaiah remind me that I have a choice in the matter, “If you are willing and obedient” then you will be cleansed. I can invite forgiveness into my life. I can invite the snow to cover all of my grime and make me glimmer. However, I believe there is one important difference between the literal snow and the healing that can be received from our Heavenly Father. Snow melts. It only temporarily covers the muddiness beneath the surface. But God’s forgiveness and love transforms us permanently, making us beautiful on all levels.

I am so thankful for the snow that has brought joy into my daily routine. But I am even more grateful for the renewal that has been sent from my Father. Today I choose to embrace forgiveness. I choose to let go of the past, the hurt and the disappointment. Make me clean, Lord. Make me new. Let it snow!