sustainable?

Last week, I ate a 100% grass-fed New York strip.

It came all the way from Australia.

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.

dollars

I was Sapphira and kept back a dollar
Because I wanted to buy a can of Coke.
It cost me seventy-five cents,
And it didn’t taste good.
The rest I gave to the Latino man
Who dried off my car.
And I felt so generous that I expected
A thank you
Or something.
The quarter I put in my secret stash
Of money to give away
Because I couldn’t keep it to spend.

I want a thousand dollars to give to the single mom
Who waits on my table some years hence.
It’s called grace, charity.
I ought to know because I’ve been given it.
She went and got herself knocked up.
She screwed around. She messed up.
And now she’s fighting hard to make it.
So with my thousand dollars in my purse,
I remember the times I screwed around,
And somebody showed me grace.
So I hand her the cash.

Or I will, provided I don’t keep a dollar back
To buy a can of Coke.

the hurting

Last night, I heard my neighbor yelling. He’s divorced now, living with another divorced guy. Isaiah woke up around four, so I was waiting for his crying to subside by reading Mere Christianity in the front room. One of the guys’ trucks pulled up, and before long, I heard my neighbor yelling, presumably at his roommate: “Get it out of here! Get it out of here!” I heard something large and metallic clanking. “I swear…” he yelled, but I didn’t hear the rest. A truck roared away, came back five minutes later. Yelling again. Isaiah cried out again with the disturbance.

I ached, even amid my peeking through the blinds into the darkness. These poor men – families ripped apart. They see their kids only part of the time. Moms probably have custody. I once watched my neighbor’s son circling around the tree in our front yard. Ring around the tree, around and around and around. What’s on the little boy’s mind? Why don’t Mommy and Daddy love each other anymore? What’s gonna happen to me?

I ache, too, because I haven't reached out to them. I never do. But then, maybe it wouldn’t have helped. I tried to reach out to the lady across the street but she left her husband anyway. Divorce is all around us, and I still wouldn’t consider it for myself. Why do they? Where is the point where they give in, give up?

We watched Homeless to Harvard last night. True story: a girl who barely attended any elementary or middle school is out on the streets by age 15, after her drug-addicted and alcoholic mother dies of AIDS. Her grandpa doesn’t want her; she has nowhere else to go. So she sleeps on trains, raids dumpsters for food, stinks. But she’s brilliant, and gets herself enrolled in a high school without them knowing she’s homeless. The New York Times gives her a scholarship to Harvard when she applies by telling her story of self-preservation. But she’s a loser, a real loser.

In elementary school, in middle school, I never reached out to Angie Brown, Heather Huninghake, the Fryes, the Marc What’s-his-names, the Jeffrey Beldens. Maybe if I had, Jeffrey Belden wouldn’t have committed suicide.

In high school, I came to a point of politeness with John Koch, but I wonder if it was only for public image. I think I asked him what he wanted to be when he grew up, but behind his back, I wrote – for my entertainment – “John Koch wants to be a computer scientist.” It was a joke – my own personal laughing point – because I knew awkward, chubby, dirty, stinky John could never be a computer scientist. I didn’t seem phased by the fact that I didn’t even know what a computer scientist was.

In middle school science class, John had told us, his tablemates, of things from his home life. I only remember him saying that one of his parents – I don’t even remember if it was Mom or Dad – had thrown dishes across the room in a rage. He shrugged it off with a laugh, but now I think now he was crying out for help.

And I didn’t do anything. I didn’t tell a teacher. I didn’t tell him I was sorry, or ask him if he was scared to go home sometimes.

Kyle says I can’t blame myself – that I wasn’t taught to reach out to the rejects, the “gross people.” But I think I had an innate sense that these people needed love, and I was capable of giving it.

grains for hope

I'm proud of my hometown today, doing more than I've ever done to wipe out world hunger. I'm proud of the people brave enough to move an idea past conception into production. I've met these people. Hey, I'm even related to some of them!

Sometimes I'm hard on Sabetha. I count the people in it as closed-minded -- far from progressive. I figure most of them can't see past their little corner of northeast Kansas. Well, let's just say I've been proven wrong.

God bless Mrs. Spangler, a woman who cared enough to get my high school involved. Because of her, students did the research to discover the needs of people in Mozambique, and now Sabetha businesses are partnering with these kids to package and ship vitamin-fortified rice to Africa.

Watch this Topeka ABC news broadcast or check out the Grains for Hope website .

They're really doing it -- and all in my hometown of 2500 people. You wanna change the world? Move to Sabetha.

song of the middle class

We don't ask for much -- just a simple house in a clean, safe neighborhood. We need a place without crime, so the kids can sleep soundly at night, each of them in their private rooms. The schools need to be good, quality institutions with caring, well educated teachers.

Our landscaping just needs some healthy bushes, a few bright flowers. Our neighbors need to be friendly -- people we could ask for a cup of sugar when the need arises. There should be a good church within reasonable driving distance. The church should be passionate and preach sound doctrine.

We'll need a big-screen television -- not because we can't do without it -- just to relate to the culture, you know. We ask to have a night or two out to dinner every week, to get a break from the stress of cooking our own meals. A vacation every year -- just a week or two -- will be the escape we so desperately need from the usual rat race of the working life.

We need a reliable car -- nothing fancy. Just as long as there's a good CD player, cruise control, air conditioning, leather seats. Also, it'll make our life so much easier if we could just have a laptop in addition to our desktop computer. Since we spend so much time on the computer and all. Our wardrobes don't have to be elaborate. We just need some trendy clothes so we don't look like total dorks; we ask for enough variety that we don't get bored with what we wear.

We'll need a large enough salary to build a stable 401K for retirement. We don't want to have to worry if we'll make it through our sunset years. We need to have a little extra to pay off our debts, to pay off the mortgage, and live comfortably... so that we can give to the poor.

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 ::

the minimum space

After dwindling my belongings to 55, I realized we'd have to get rid of this monstrosity of a house, trade it in for something a little... littler. And that called for a sequel to my post the bare minimum.

I discovered the Small House Society, an organization that encourages people to trade in their spaces for something more economically and environmentally responsible. They started up in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, after seeing so many homes ravished in the waters. The shed-sized houses the society promotes are often built on a trailer, so the owner can just pull out when they want (and avoid paying property taxes).

I think I could do without the trailer, but if we could sell this house, I'd be game right now for a little place -- one you can see from one end to the other and clean in less than an hour. I'm just not sure if my future children are ready for growing up in a 100-square foot space. Or maybe it's Kyle and I who wouldn't be up to the... closeness with them.

However, something smaller could still respect our individual privacy and chip away at our current excess of space, and we wouldn't be paying to heat and cool over 2,000 square feet of space when we use less than 1,000.

I'm still torn about how to live in a minimum amount of space while still being available to entertain guests. I guess you just have to be creative; taking more frequent advantage of your limitless outdoor space is an easy solution.

Well, I'm off to design my miniature house. BlueSky MOD and Alchemy Architects have some designs that really float my boat.

the bare minimum

Dan Ho's minimalistic lifestyle inspires me. In the New York Times article "The Imperfectionist," he is described as a man who, in an urge to unburden himself from plush, materialistic living, dwindled his possessions down to about 55 items.

For Ho, it was the constant "keeping up with the Jones's" that disgusted him about our society: you have to retain a certain standard of living and shoot for that magazine-cover decorating style just for the sake of folks -- virtual strangers -- who might drop by. In his opinion, all that stuff is just for show; it really isn't what makes us happy.

Ho's got a point. Aside from how our houses are decorated, why do we have such extensive wardrobes? Why an extra set of "company" dishes -- china that's rarely used?

Now, I do believe there's a need in a Christian's life for a hospitable home, contrary to what Ho believes about not needing to be ready for guests unless you're running a bed-and-breakfast. But are your home's company qualities for guests' comfort, or just for show-and tell? Ho's right: people set a mood far more than a scented candle ever will. But I think, too, there's room in a home for beauty. Sorry, Mr. Ho, but my bright red kitchen does make me happy. I didn't paint it for my next-door neighbor's sake.

Here's an exciting proposal, though: what if you really did dwindle your possessions down to the bare necessities? I've read the New Testament passage in which Jesus commands a follower to sell all he has and give to the poor, and the one about giving our coat along with that requested shirt, and I've often -- okay, always -- thought, "Jesus isn't being literal. He's not talking to me." Well, maybe He is.

What Ho didn't mention is that there's a lot more to getting rid of stuff than just to free ourselves in this life; we need to free ourselves for the next one.

In the past year or two, I've donated so many clothes to the Salvation Army that probably only a sixth of our closet space is now being used. It is a big closet, but still -- it is so freeing to get rid of junk (for good, not to make space for more!).

The strategy for my wardrobe was to get rid of things that I was only keeping "just in case." While my clothing breathed out their faux-security for me, someone else could have been using them on a regular basis. But even though my closet reduction was relatively easy, I think it'd be harder to prune down my kitchen, for instance. Just for fun, though, I made a list of my 55 belongings. (Check the comments link on this post, if you're interested.) It was fun and challenging, but it was a heart-searching exercise, too. I had to weed out some things that I found out I was attached to. And then, I had to ask myself if it came down to it, could I let go of the final 55?