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.

august challenge: hospitality

Well, the month is half over and I haven't posted my monthly spiritual discipline challenge. I've had one in my head; I just haven't told you all about it.

Yesterday I delivered a basket of goodies over to our new next-door neighbors Ross and Lindsey. I took Isaiah on a sweaty walk to drop another one off for a man whose wife had just died yesterday morning. I tell this to my shame because in the three-plus years we have lived here, I have never given gifts to people in my neighborhood. I've wanted to, but I've learned that that doesn't count for much in the sheep-and-goat separation.

This month, I want to learn what hospitality really is. I always think it's about having people over and being a gracious host, but I've heard there's more to it than that.

We're having a group from church over on Saturday, and I hope that will be the first of at-least-monthly parties at our house. I want to fling open our doors and invite the whole world inside. If I can't run a coffee shop now, our house will have to do in the meantime.

one hundred things about c.l.beyer

1. I am Carrie Louise.
2. I first wanted to be a writer when, as a little girl, I read a biography about Louisa May Alcott.
3. The most memorable scene in that book was when Louisa’s dad made her and her sister take their bowls of soup to a poor family for complaining about the food.
4. I love to read Anne Lamott, Madeleine L’Engle, and C.S. Lewis.
5. I want to be a missionary and a mom to lots of babies.
6. There was a notice for a job opening posted on the library door today, and I almost drooled over the possibility of being a librarian.
7. My favorite root beer is Barq’s.
8. My favorite pop is root beer.
9. I’m from a part of the country where people call soft drinks “pop.” And there’s nothing wrong with it.
10. I get nostalgic thinking about wide open fields.
11. I was the best bunter on my softball team when I was little.
12. It drives me nuts when people don’t know how to spell “Isaiah,” and when they don’t listen when I tell them how: “a… i… a…”
13. I wish I took more artistic photos.
14. I can be frugal when I want to.
15. Being frugal gives me a sort of high.
16. I think we’re getting new neighbors today.
17. I could be pregnant right now.
18. But I don’t think I am.
19. I worry that that was too personal.
20. Unloving, critical people bother me.
21. I have a pimple on my forehead. Well, a pimple or two… or three.
22. I have four big sisters, but they’re all littler than I am.
23. Opa is my wonderful Serbian grandpa who was a Nazi in World War 2.
24. I know how to cook and clean and fold laundry better than most American women.
25. Texas taught me how to cook pretty good Mexican food.
26. I used to be an email-checking junkie.
27. Okay, I still am.
28. Suburbs drive me nuts. Maybe I’ll blog about that sometime.
29. I am in the middle of writing four novels, but I haven’t worked on them in almost a year.
30. In elementary school, I always got goosebumps when we sang the national anthem.
31. I still get goosebumps when I hear touching stories, but not when I hear or sing “The Star Spangled Banner” anymore.
32. There are 195 (now 196) posts on my blog, and I’ve been blogging since 2004.
33. I ache for American Christianity because so much of it seems superficial.
34. I wish I had a larger vocabulary.
35. I am reading Honey for a Child’s Heart right now, and it’s wonderful – a resource I’ll use all my life.
36. I love baking sweets but hate cooking supper.
37. My clean house gives me a high.
38. My house is dirty right now.
39. I want to run a coffee shop where people are addicted to the love they feel while they’re there.
40. Outside my family, I have two very good friends with whom I would feel comfortable sharing almost anything.
41. When people ask where I met my husband, I say we’ve known each other our whole lives.
42. My husband is sensitive, helpful, handsome, and driven.
43. To relax, I read books, watch movies, take baths, and accept massages.
44. I don’t like shopping.
45. I feel like a strong, accomplished woman when I mow our lawn.
46. I grew up on a farm in Kansas, but I didn’t have help out with the farming, except to hold piglets and cats while they were neutered.
47. I got engaged in high school.
48. I love chips and queso.
49. I like to support the little independent restaurants instead of the big, chainy ones.
50. I’ve been to Haiti, Mexico, and St. Lucia.
51. I’ve been to England, France, Germany, Switzerland, Austria, and Liechtenstein.
52. I speak a little German with a pretty good accent.
53. I hate pickles.
54. I’ve been in Colorado, California, Oklahoma, Nebraska, Missouri, Illinois, Iowa, Michigan, Florida, Georgia, Connecticut, Ohio, Indiana, Minnesota, Arkansas, South Dakota, and Pennsylvania.
55. My baby’s awake now.
56. I am so thankful when Isaiah wakes up happy.
57. My philosophy is to get rid of anything I don’t use, even if it’s in perfectly good condition.
58. My mom is almost perfect.
59. I love being in the mountains, but I’m a weenie about hiking.
60. My first car was a stick-shift red Ford Tempo.
61. In high school, my after-school pit stop was Sonic for Ched-R-Peppers with ranch dressing.
62. Growing up, we had desserts called Bear Boo Boo, Goose Gaggalie, and Boob Cookies.
63. I made Goose Gaggalie Monday.
64. My Bear Boo Boo never tastes as good as my mom’s did.
65. I have never made Boob Cookies.
66. I play the piano, trombone (used to, anyway), and banjo (sort of).
67. We had the best cat names growing up: Sugi, Olga, Dunstan, Godfrey, Hooga, Ooga, Big Dirt, Little Dirt, Pork, Beans, Reuben, Peter, Muriel, Beetrice, Something…
68. Music I love: bluegrass, Texas blues, hearty jazz (not elevator music), old country, classical, rock oldies, folk
69. Song that most recently was stuck in my head: "Wide Eyed" by Nichole Nordeman. Good lyrics.
70. I have had one traffic ticket in my life – for going 74 in a 60 mph zone.
71. I have worked at a home for handicapped adults, a lumber yard, two schools, an Italian restaurant, and a scrapbook store.
72. I have never made more than $10/hour.
73. I am currently learning how to shop grocery store sales wisely.
74. I have been in hospitals to get stitches on my face (twice) and have a baby.
75. Dar Williams’s music is playing right now.
76. I wish I could buy more books.
77. I would consider breastfeeding someone else’s baby if its mother couldn’t.
78. When I was a kid, I could stick my belly out really far. I used to act like it was bread dough rising; then I’d punch it down.
79. My dad used to ask us kids to scratch his back, but he didn’t like us to plug his nose.
80. I think Edith Pargeter and Annie Dillard have the most beautiful styles of writing of all the writers I’ve read.
81. Books I love: Uncle Tom’s Cabin (Harriet Beecher Stowe), Blue Like Jazz (Donald Miller), A Wrinkle in Time (Madeleine L’Engle)
82. I have 23 nieces and nephews.
83. The Catcher in the Rye made me laugh out loud when I read it.
84. I would rather be a nun than the President.
85. I have emotional conversations with invisible people when I’m alone.
86. A few movies I love: The Spitfire Grill, One Night with the King, The Shawshank Redemption
87. I publish an Aberle family newspaper called The Genuine Giraffe.
88. Being a mother makes me feel important.
89. Recycling stuff makes me feel responsible.
90. In fourth grade I wrote and acted out a skit called “Always Pay Those Taxes” with my friend Anna Tennal.
91. One of my good friends from high school just moved 20 minutes away from me this week!
92. I am ridiculously fond of getting the mail.
93. My current car is a 2002 burgundy Honda Accord.
94. Kyle’s current car is a totaled 1995 tan Honda Accord that’s still running great.
95. I was driving the car when it was totaled.
96. But Kyle totaled his red Ford Escort two days before, and it’s not running anymore.
97. My sisters and I all have different noses. (That is, they don’t look alike.)
98. I have a beautiful nine-month-old son.
99. I have the most wonderful husband in the world.
100. I’m in a lifetime love affair with Jesus Christ.
     
     The End.
     
     p.s. Let me know if you want to see blog posts on any of these factoids.

my lonely existence

Withdrawal pains are coming on strong. I thought I could quit e-mail and the internet any time, but I miss them so much. Is it only Thursday? Four whole days to go.

Day one was okay. I was busy on the computer, so that was like eating fake sugar. Kills the cravings without the calories.

Day two I thought to myself that this fasting from the internet was a good lesson because I could determine what I really need the internet for -- bank account information, for instance -- and deem everything else as wasting time.

Day three I called some people, but they didn't answer. So I sulked a little and felt very isolated. I came to believe that I need the internet to stay connected to people since I have so few friends with regular, in-person relationships. But I was kind of mad at the world we live in, too, that has become so connected in technological ways that real relationships are often superficial or nonexistent. If I were in a little village, and took all my laundry to the river to wash it, Isaiah would get the grandma-love he needs on a daily basis, and I would get some adult time.

Today it all just got harder, and I began to dread the weekend when I'll have to say "no" to our Friday or Saturday night movie because I just had to add that to my list of things from which to fast. Why am I such an overachiever? But today was good because I got return phone calls from a couple people, so at least I didn't feel so isolated.

I write this so you don't feel isolated, dear readers. If new blogs posts kill some cravings for you, be thankful for Windows Live Writer, by which I can post to my blog without using the internet. It makes me feel pretty generous.

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.

expanding my boundaries

I just got my baby to finish eating his supper by singing "Who Let the Dogs Out?" over and over and over.

july challenge: redeeming the time

My tardiness in posting this month's challenge is all the proof you need to know how much I need the assignment I'm giving myself.

Over the weekend, the house got clean for the first time in who-knows-how-long. As Kyle and I cleared away clutter and swept up the evidence of my post-pregnancy hair loss from the carpet, it was amazing: I started to feel sane again... like I actually could focus on something besides taking care of Isaiah and catching up on sleep! I know, I know, clean houses aren't everything, and the Bible does not say "cleanliness is next to godliness" (does it?). But a dirty house is enough to make me believe I'll never, never, never get ahead. It makes me feel guilty for reading books, it distracts me when I worship, it makes outreach seem unreachable.

So, step one is to try to keep the house (pretty) clean. But even if I fail in that, I've gotta move on to step two: redeem moments in the morning to worship through prayer, Bible study, and quietness. And then, step three is creating goals for the day, so I don't get overwhelmed with the (not just physical) clutter of life.

To me, redeeming the time means capturing it from the Devil's clutches -- to claim it for Christ instead of for self. Instead of giving my moments to the sins of pride, anger, or laziness, I claim the time for joy, for pursuing worthwhile passions.

One last thing: For confidentiality's sake, I am not reporting specifically on last month's challenge. As far as my assignment was concerned, I completed it. But it's not enough, I've learned. Walking across the room to one person in a month is not nearly enough. I'm compelled to stretch out my hands and my heart to the lost, to desire their fellowship for eternity.

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.

one of the fallen

"There ain't no money in poetry. / That's what sets the poet free. / I've had all the freedom I can stand." -Guy Clark in "Cold Dog Soup"

She gleans hundreds of comments because she can write. I feel like an imposter when I scan her blog posts like they're any old cheap, chatty update on life. I read her latest post from the end to the beginning because I caught a line and tasted the quality, and I had to have more. One doesn't skim poignancy. So I moved up, up, up, and saw how she had molded her thoughts into art.

I had to admit I'm a little like the poor, lost, fallen people our waiter was talking about last weekend. He used to be an artist; now he just works at Fiorella's Jack Stack Barbecue -- which, if you have to be a waiter, at least that's a place with food worth its salt. But our waiter said he's not an artist anymore. People don't care about beautiful things. They only want ugly things -- that's what he said. He said we live in a fallen world where beauty isn't valued. But it'll be redeemed. It'll be redeemed. And then he walked away with our smeary plates of bones and barbecue sauce.

I cling to my words, and I hope for art. But on the days when I'm feeling weak and tired, when I'm in subordination to tasks instead of Beauty, I just serve my tables and wait for redemption.

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.