in celebration of Madeleine L'Engle

Madeleine L'Engle died last week, at age 88. There are so many quotations from her I love, but this one is enough because it magnifies two of the biggest themes in all her writing -- love and faith:

"In the evening of life we shall be judged on love, and not one of us is going to come off very well, and were it not for my absolute faith in the loving forgiveness of my Lord I could not call on him to come."

giving milk

In a world literature class in college, I read "Breast-Giver" by Mahasweta Devi. It's Bengali literature -- a story about a Brahmin-class woman who nurses babies at the temple so their mothers can keep their youthful figures. Jashoda's only role is to give milk -- life -- to babies, and "[her] place in the house is... above the [sacred] cows." She is like a goddess.

In my notes I wrote that because of her class and her gender, she becomes lower than the cows when her breasts stop giving milk.

The end of the story is gruesome and sad. Jashoda develops breast cancer, and the story says her breast explodes with infection. It "becomes like the crater of a volcano. The smell of putrefaction makes approach difficult." Jashoda is rejected by the people whose babies she nourished. She's rejected by the babies themselves. Even her doctor -- one of the babies she had suckled -- is not present at her death. She dies alone.

I had to return to the story and to my notes to remember all these details. I remembered the breast-giving -- the suckling -- but I didn't remember how she was revered at the temple. I remembered the cancer and the rotting breast, but I didn't remember the rejection.

When a baby is feeding from your breast, you feel like your heart is swelling with affection. At every single feeding. (Sidenote: this does not happen when you express milk with a pump.) I have only breastfed my own child, but I believe it would happen with any child. Jashoda gave more than milk to the babies she nourished; she gave them her heart and her emotions. And as her breast erupts, I believe her heart is breaking too. I wonder if she regrets the suckling, as she's dying alone. I have never been fully rejected; I have never suffered in that kind of pain. But I still don't think I would regret having given milk to babies. I hope Jashoda didn't either.

I get advertisements for baby formula all the time. The ads sing the praises of formula. It has DHA! vitamins! minerals! These are essential for your baby's development! But, the fine print reads, breast milk is always best for a baby's health.

I have said I would nurse another mother's baby. I think people in our culture might get wigged out to know that, but it seems like a natural sacrifice -- something any woman should be willing to give another. And I call it a sacrifice because there is a connection of flesh and hearts in breastfeeding, a connection I would probably have to sever day after day, and eventually forever, when the baby is weaned.

I remember Jashoda because of how she gave. She kept giving and giving, even when she was suffering alone. If I could be remembered for one thing, I would want to be remembered for giving like that.

getting angry

The whole creation groans. Me. The poor, the widows, the orphans. The trees, the cattle, the chickens, the cornfields (okay, maybe not the cornfields; corn is king).

I've been reading about social justice and food. I've had this perpetual pressure in my sinus area -- tears ready to burst at the injustice in the world. If being an environmentalist means I care about this world and everything in it, yes, I guess I'm an environmentalist.

It started with reading Justice in the Burbs by Will and Lisa Samson. It's only been a week, and I already feel the wisdom of that book slipping from my memory. But I still remember the assignments I gave myself: to open my heart and arms (and not just my checkbook) to the suffering people of this world. Why? Because it's right.

There was an interview on our local NPR station today that made me mad. This lady was trying to convince women that it was too risky to forsake their occupations and stay home with their babies. "Because what do you do when divorce or death claims your husband? You'll have no way to support yourself!" Well, number one, if women kept their vows to their husbands, divorce wouldn't be in today's epidemic proportions. As for the widows, followers of God have been commanded to care for them, so wives shouldn't be left in dire straits even if their husband does die. I could go on and on, but the point is: the system is broken. This is a broken, broken world. Women shouldn't be made to feel like it's risky to be a stay-at-home mom.

Let me change gears.

Reading a book about the history of food -- The Omnivore's Dilemma by Michael Pollan -- didn't seem to be something that would call that slow, dull ache back into my throat. But as I read it, I keep asking, "God, what are we doing to your world?" As for our production and consumption of food, we're so deep in poisonous cow manure (that literally coats the floors of our super beef-producing factories in America's "heart"land) that we can't even find a conceivable way out of it.

I'm so angry with the people who tricked our nation into believing that corn-fed beef is something wonderful, when in fact, it sickens creatures God made to eat grass (the cows, not us). But when you have your plate full of that "prime" corn-fed steak, you're feeding yourself a long, slow death, too. Beef wasn't meant to be poisonous.

I'm fed up with the industrialization and materialism in America, with the lie that says that you can have it all. I'm angry I don't know how to practice the attribute called sacrifice. I'm frustrated that I, who grew up proud to say, "I'm a farmer's daughter," feel my agricultural background crashing in on me, slicing away my idealism that my daddy farmed perfectly. I'm angry that he probably didn't have that option, and I'm angry that I don't have the freedom to do things the best way possible because of how our nation's politics work.

I'm tired of standing in front of the display of bread and being upset because all the healthy-looking hamburger buns cost twice as much as the bleached-white ones. I want eating "natural" to come naturally. But instead, it requires research, money, and... sacrifice.

I want to open a farm. I want to grow things without poison and sell them for the prices they're worth. I want to invite people to work there who need love and a job and someone to pull them up (because they haven't found those bootstraps everybody keeps talking about). I want to know an orphan; I want to know a widow. I want to stop being a glutton for fast food, gasoline, and cheap relationships.

I want to stop being a hypocrite.

i'd rather be reading...

...but I feel like I owe something to the two beautiful people who deposited comments in my inbox after nearly a month of blog silence on my part. I definitely didn't deserve three comments this morning [last Thursday], so it was like a handful of grace extended to a woman in desperate need some verve. So, my dear commenting friends, I give you what may be my day's most valuable moments: naptime.

I just laid Isaiah down in his crib after he fell asleep in his carseat. (He's in such a chatty stage right now. "Da-da-da-da, ta-ta-ta, buh-buh-buh, pbpbppbpb [blowing bubbles, a.k.a. spitting]" are his favorite things to tell me these days.) I was thinking, Please don't wake up. Please don't wake up, when he opened his eyes and said, "Da-da-da-da," and then went right back to sleep. It gave me a good laugh. That's the kind of thing that keeps me going.

of books and babies

Yesterday I opened the cover of Middlemarch, the first book I had tried to read for pleasure in probably a month. I made it through the introduction, but my brain was already hurting. In that moment, I told myself that I would never be this era's great American novelist. If I can't read George Eliot on my worst of days, I can't write timeless fiction on my best of days.

Today I settled for The Adventures of Tom Sawyer instead. Eliot will have to wait for another day -- maybe a day without diapers and nursing and chasing after a baby who's much too young to be pulling himself up stairsteps.

I read the first three chapters out loud to my little boy, rolling out the Missouri twang like no one was listening. I imagined days when I'd lie in bed with all our little children, reading it again when they're old enough to actually understand. And I decided it was okay if I"m never a famous writer.

I might survive motherhood to pump out some readable nonfiction. I might even try to finish those novels I started in the days when pumping didn't bring breasts to mind. And I'll fall back into reading books like a natural, I'm sure, wondering what I ever found so difficult about Middlemarch. But in reading and writing and feeling intellectual again, I'll be thankful for having done more important things with my life -- things relating to diapers and nursing and chasing after a baby (who's much too young to be pulling himself up stairsteps).

on politics

Just a minute ago, I unsubscribed from the AFA ActionAlert email list. I was tired of hearing the rampages: “Ford supports homosexuals!”, “NBC allows unsuitable programming!”, “Prayer is silenced at such-and-such-a high school!” It was just too much. I despise the negativity. In the name of “American Family Association,” this newsletter seems like little more than conservative propaganda.

I sound like a liberal, and I sound like a Democrat. Who’d-a ever thought it? I don’t think I’m a liberal, though, and I’m sure not ready to say I’m a Democrat. But I can also say I’m not a die-hard Republican either. I’m just really sick of evangelical Christianity being used as a political position, that's all. Since when are Christians called to stand up for their "rights" and dignity at all costs?

Today I’ve been reading Loud and Clear, by Anna Quindlen. Quindlen used to be a journalist, and she’s a Democrat. While only some of the book’s contents is focused on political issues, it’s enough to make me reevaluate my political stances. I don’t agree with everything Quindlen says – maybe half, maybe not quite half. But she makes me less mad than Don Williams – author of the AFA ActionAlert emails – does.

The thing is, AFA claims to be a Christian organization, and it just seems like there’s more finger-pointing out there than love these days, and I’m really sick of it.

Let me dig myself into a deeper hole: I firmly believe homosexuality is a sin. But until we prohibit heterosexual adulterers and fornicators, liars, swindlers and greedy businessmen, idol-worshippers, and angry women from certain American freedoms, homosexuals shouldn’t be treated as worse than any other sinner (I’m not suggesting we persecute all sinners, by the way). I’m embarrassed on behalf of my “conservative Christian Republican” brothers and sisters. And to the liberals out there that don’t know Jesus, I’m sorry you’ve been given such a distorted view of him through people that I used cheer on.

I am so far from a political commentator. There are so many issues I simply don’t understand – namely, the war on terror and the war in Iraq (or are those two wars one and the same?).
And while we’re on the issue of war, let me also say I’m tired of Bush-bashing (Bush, obviously, being the number one name associated with the war[s]). I don’t think it’s any more appropriate than homosexual-bashing. Respecting authority is hard, but it’s also the mature thing to do. That’s all I’ll say about that.

Let me tell you what else I did today: I watched Oprah. Oprah was interviewing Barack Obama, a guy more and more Americans are admiring on both the left and right wings. I’m one of them. I think he’s got a lot of sense, and Democrat or not, I can’t say I wouldn’t vote for him if he decided to one day run for President. One thing he said in the interview was that, aside from all the partisan bickering that happens in Washington, regular, everyday Americans need to come together on the things they do agree on – things like family values, things like our parents taught us when we were growing up: honesty, empathy, things like that. I agree. As much as that may sound like political schmoozing, I think it’s true. There’s so much truth out there that doesn’t come in the form of partisan politics.

I have decided that the truth I want to stand on is the truth of God’s word. And if that means doing something “notoriously” liberal like standing up for racial tolerance, then I need to do it. And yes, there are poor people in America who haven’t figured out how to pull themselves up by their own bootstraps, and I believe I’m partly responsible for their trials. What can I do about it? On the other side of the coin, I don’t believe abortion is justified, but how am I approaching its supporters?

What do I care about, and how do I show I care? What should I just let go?

As much as I want to justify myself by saying I came to these conclusions solely by knowing what Jesus would do and what would please God, I’m sure the political subtlety of Anna Quindlen and Barack Obama do have their bit of influence on me as well. But I also think I’m being fair by listening to what they have to say. They aren’t ultra-left-wing, so I don’t think I’m being too irresponsible in hearing their point of view (not that hearing the ultra-left-wing point of view is necessarily irresponsible). I think the important thing is that rather than making me angry – like I become whenever I received a new AFA email – they make me think. I don’t always agree with them, but they’re mature enough to take a moderate approach, and that deserves the honor of at least being heard.

:: written 18.october.2006 ::

best books of 2006

My list of favorite books is long this year, but I guess that comes from reading more books than I did in previous years. I read 37 in 2006. Yes, I keep track... in an Excel document, complete with authors, genres, dates I hope to finish, and dates I actually finished. The really good ones get an asterisk in the final column, and those are the books that make this honorable best of... list.

Searching for God Knows What, Donald Miller
Hmm... Should my failure to remember anything about his book automatically strike it from my list? Oops. Not exactly a compelling way to start. I do remember that this book flows as a whole work more than Blue Like Jazz did with its stand-alone essays, and if I know Donald Miller, it was chock-full of bold spiritual truths that I needed to hear. This is an embarrassing review; let's move on.

Eats, Shoots and Leaves, Lynne Truss
A panda walks into a bar (or something like that; I'm trying to remember from the back cover.) He eats, shoots and leaves. Hold it. A punctuational error just made him a criminal! Yeah, serious misunderstandings can result from you failing to put punctuation where it belongs. Lynne Truss is my hero.

The Screwtape Letters, C.S. Lewis
Like virtually all of Lewis's work, a classic. This one is an entertaining yet sobering series of letters from a senior demon to his nephew. The reader gets an inside peek into conversations of how to effectively tempt a human to sin. It'll wake you up to Satan's subtlety!

The Elements of Style, William Strunk and E.B. White
Every literate, English-speaking person should read this at least once in his life, even if it's painful. Better yet, read it once a year. This is an irreplaceable handbook on the ins and outs of grammar and style -- the best in its class.

To Kill a Mockingbird, Harper Lee
I'm ashamed I've never read this before now. It's such a warm story about family values, respect for all people, and standing up for what's right. You'll fall in love with the characters. That's a generic comment, I know, but I read it before I had a baby, and now half my brains are gone. Oh, I did discover that Harper is a woman.

Mystery and Manners, Flannery O'Connor
Dear me, another book on writing. I think I may be addicted to them. At any rate, here's one of my favorite quotes from O'Connor's take on how to write well: "I think that if there is any value in hearing writers talk, it will be in hearing what they can witness to and not what they can theorize about." Here's another one: "There is something in us, as storytellers and as listeners to stories, that demands the redemptive act, that demands that what falls at least be offered the chance to be restored." Oh, yeah, and this one: "The writer should never be ashamed of staring. There is nothing that doesn’t require his attention." That one might be my favorite. Okay, I'll stop. Flannery O'Connor just really knows her stuff.

Bird by Bird, Anne Lamott
I decided to read this after I listened to "Word by Word," a lecture Lamott gave at a writers' conference. As in all her books, Anne Lamott is honest and unsparing in this book about writing. My favorite piece of advice is to seek enjoyment -- not publication -- in writing because publication doesn't bring fulfillment.

Operating Instructions, Anne Lamott
I ought to be writing this book right about now. This is a collection of journal entries Lamott wrote during the first year of her son's life. Sappy tears, frustration, sheer amazement at this little dependent human being -- they're all there hanging out. (sigh) I ought to read this book again.

Amazing Grace: A Vocabulary of Faith, Kathleen Norris
Sometimes I disagree with Norris's theology, but as with Anne Lamott, there's enough truth and candor in her writing that it makes me step back and rethink why I believe what I believe. One of the things I love most about this book is its seemingly exhaustive list of topics. Norris writes about everything from apostacy to grace to the Holy Ghost, giving each its short, manageable chapter. She tackles the "vocabulary of faith" with her own spin and her own experiences, maybe for people who don't have a handle on all that Christian terminology, or maybe just for herself. I think it'd be fun to rewrite my own version of this book.

Out of the Dust, Karen Hesse
When I first opened this book, I thought, "Ugh. Poetry." Isn't that horrible, coming from one who tries to write the stuff? Using my better judgment, though, I decided to check out the book anyway. I figured there had to be a good reason it was a Newbery award-winner. Not only was the poetry readable, the story was compelling, gritty, beautiful. It's an Oklahoma tomboy's account of her family's survival during the depression and dustbowl of the 1930s. Check it out; you can finish it in less than a day.

An American Childhood, Annie Dillard
I loved this autobiography. Beginning with age five or maybe even younger, Dillard tells with amazing detail of her life growing up in Pittsburg. One of my favorite chapters is about the physical ugliness of adults. With hiliarious and believable charm, she describes studying and playing with the veins in her mother's hands. I forgot how important things like that are!

I think I was more discriminatory in my book choices in 2006, and as a result, I'm coming away with a genuine respect for writers who can really write. In reading quality work, I expanded my repertoire of authors I enjoy, but at the same time, doing my own writing seems all the more intimidating. But why? As Anne Lamott says, I just need to enjoy it. Who's keeping score?
But aside from writing, the more I read, the more I know I have to keep reading. There's too much good stuff out there to waste any time! Now it's time to snuggle up with Francine Prose's Reading Like a Writer...