Petition for a Dress Code

"Wherefore comfort yourselves together, and edify one another."

I Thessalonians 5:11

If you're anything like me (although I hope you're not, there's a chance) and were raised in a conservative Christian home with a conservative Christian community surrounding you, you are no stranger to rules. Rules about how you speak, about how you address adults, about how you spend Sunday, and definitely rules about how you dress. I won't reiterate all of the homeschooler stereotypes, but if you're anything like me... you know what I'm talking about.

Today The Geneva Cabinet ran an article written by a friend of mine titled "Petition for a Dress Code." I don't think anyone claims an immense campus readership for the Cabinet, but this article caught some attention. "[It is] the most ridiculous thing I've ever seen" and "[the article] is growing from a condescending perspective" are among the comments I have seen so far. I want to respond to the article, but also to other students' assumptions about it. I don't think Aaron was saying what you thought he was saying.

1) The headline offered to the article was provocative and clearly garnered attention. However, if you take a minute to read the whole thing, you'll see that he says "Instead of pushing for a true dress code, I have been advised to ask for help from the ladies, to make your own dress code." He doesn't want the school to make more rules for us, he is simply asking us to think about what we're wearing.

2) I don't believe that what we choose to wear is value-free - I think that just like we decide to lie or not, or to cuss or not, or to scowl at everyone we see during the day, we cannot say that our clothes are just fashion choices. We can probably all agree that some clothing is appropriate in certain scenarios and not in others. So maybe he has a point about evaluating our wardrobe decisions.

That being said, here's what I'm thinking: I don't think that Aaron's letter told the whole story. If we're going to talk about appropriate dress, I'd like to see the other half of the campus population alerted to the fact that modesty is not just an issue for women. People don't often mention men's clothes because they have so much less variety, but maybe, like me, you would consider jeans two sizes too small, v-neck shirts that show off half your chest-hair, or six inches of exposed boxers a bit of a problem in the male wardrobe world.

Like I said, I don't think Aaron's letter told the whole story, and it's clear that this is a topic that pushes buttons for a lot of people, especially people who have been hurt by the judgment of other Christians in the past. But I don't think we can let personal prejudices like that blind us to two important things: First, treat Aaron with respect, because if you read his letter you'll see that he treats you (the reader) with respect. Second, instead of responding negatively, why don't we face the real question - as Christians, what are we saying with our clothes? Is it something we want to be saying, and is it glorifying God?

I'm not here to make a dress code, but I think that it raises a good question. How do you respond? How do you think we can edify each other, as we are told to in I Thessalonians, on this subject? And how can our apparel glorify God?

"So whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do for the glory of God"

I Corinthians 10:31

Little Fictions

Congratulations on your graduations, everyone in the Class of 2011! Of course, this could mean that I am congratulating myself, but sometimes that's appropriate. Also, I primarily mean for this to celebrate high school graduates - particularly those brave enough to admit that they don't know what they're doing next.

I went to two parties yesterday (yay Josiah and Alex, if you ever read this), and today our whole family packed up and took off to Ohio for the afternoon to party with Emelia and the Denggs. My family. There was good food, some games (which I observed rather than joining), wine tasting (thank you, Uncle Mark, for homemade wine:), and conversation. It is the last of these which left me curious and conflicted, and about which I will write here.

Grandpa Dengg loves me very much. I suppose I have been very blessed to have known all four of my grandparents (5, if you count C and T's grandma, Aldean), and to know that they loved me. I am even more blessed to still have Grandpa Dengg, to have him send cards and try to find out what's going on in my life. The only problem is that he doesn't remember so well - today he called me over so he could tell Aunt Pat what I'm doing right now, and he said that I was shoeing horses.

Before you laugh at the ridiculosity, I suppose you should know that that was in the plan. Quite a while ago, but still... it seemed like something I could do, and something that would pay well once I was through training. It would have fit right in with my life-plan of being a large animal veterinarian. He was really excited about it when we talked about it around Grandma's kitchen table 5 years ago.

It's harmless, I know, but I still wonder what to do with this. It happened at Easter, too. I just smile and say, "That was a few years ago..." and if people ask, I say that I spent a year on a Ranch after high school. True, but there was no actual shoeing involved. How does one tell one's grandfather that he is, in fact, mistaken about one's entire life-plan? Enlighten me, please.

This is really just at the foundation of a whole bunch of questions. When you graduate high school, you're supposed to know where you're going, what you're doing. Graduating college has the same implications - each step into maturity supposedly comes with a set of clearer instructions than the last one. But what if it doesn't? My experience has been that I become more aware of the opportunities and challenges ahead, but where I will actually end up becomes more vague.

More exciting, perhaps, but much more vague.

I spent a lot of my high school years with a false sense of certainty, and God worked long and hard to break me of it so that he could point me to the humanities rather than science. I have a great deal of respect for people who, at graduation, are courageous enough to admit that they are "undeclared." There's no shame in not knowing what God has no yet revealed, and it might save you from having to deal with some of the Little Fictions that could come up otherwise.

worth doing badly

Bold words to be followed by four months of silence. Again, I can only say that I am a coward whose braveness shines through only when I have had plenty of sleep and am particularly upset about something. But perchance courage is not what I should be seeking. Sometimes I wonder why I write at all, since no one will see or read these words, and anyone who does will likely not comment. But my advisor, Terry Thomas, has drilled this quote into my head in the last few weeks, and it has given me a new perspective.

A man must love a thing very much if he not only practises it without any hope of fame and money, but even practises it without any hope of doing it well. If a thing is worth doing, it is worth doing badly.
G.K. Chesterton

Do I believe this? Is writing and thinking and writing about my thinking something that I love enough to do badly, that I will share even though I fail? Apparently, since I have been journalling and blogging for nearly ten years. So I am back, yet again, free for the summer, and I hope to share happy thoughts here, as well as a few sad, and a few challenging, as the need arises.

As a brief update - I recently graduated, and am currently unemployed in Greenland. More like the Pittsburgh environs, but we've had enough rain for it truly to be a green land, although a massive flood may overtake us yet. I might be getting a job with the post office, having successfully navigated through the governmental hoops required for such a job. I sat in on a summer class just for fun, and I look forward to taking my first graduate class in two weeks. College grad that I am, I still don't know exactly where I am going or what I want to do.

We shall see how very much I love this thing worth doing...

... like coming home.

Long lost practice, this. Writing for someone besides myself. Not that anyone else reads what I write here, but it could happen, so I write for that person who probably exists at the end of my inductive argument...

It's odd that I haven't been here - even thought about being here - in eight months, and somehow I still agree with my purpose statement and want to continue it. The last year has been busy and beautiful and painful in its own ways, but the fact remains clear in my experience that Christians and churches continue to be poor representations of the glory of the gospel handed to us by God. We judge when we should show mercy, backpedal when we should speak truth, and huddle in our church buildings instead of going out to take on the brokenness of the world. If we believe that God has the power and the answers, why are we so timid and defensive?

I am no exception, obviously. I am a coward most of the time, and have a talent for offending people the rest of the time. But I can't improve unless I try, so here I am to try again. Where will my study of life lead me this year? I can't wait. Because I believe that God is powerful and wise, and changed lives don't happen in a vaccuum... here's a holler to the non-vaccuum out there. Yinz ready for this?

The Interview

I learned a valuable life lesson today. If I wear my hair loose or in a low ponytail, people are more likely to smile as they reject me. A charming smile makes rejection so much more palatable.

Brad and I hit the streets with the video camera again today, haunting the sidewalks around the Paramount Studio in search of people with half a second to talk. Preferably more than half a second, I guess. More like 90 seconds.

Whatever.

The fun thing about conducting interviews for HPN is that I'm learning to deal with rejection. Some people try to be nice about it. They slow down for half a second and mumble that they're late for work already. Some people ignore you entirely. Some people ask why.

And one person comes to mind who found out that it was about prayer and simply shouted over his shoulder, "F***, no!" and went on his merry way.

As awkward as it is to approach people on the street and strike up conversation in front of a camera, I have learned a lot from the experience. I think faster on my feet nowadays. Mostly, I think about how much I want to run in the opposite direction. And then, even faster than that, I think, No, I need to get over these ridiculous fears.

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Karen Covell is going to call Geneva sometime soon and find out if they're interested in having her speak in chapel about the opportunities for ministry and missions in Hollywood. I think it's a great idea, and I can't wait to see her on campus encouraging all the creative ones among us to step out and be part of cultural redemption.

Thinking of Karen at Geneva made me think of me at Geneva too. I miss it a lot. I also look forward to going home a changed person. I've learned more this semester than I ever could have imagined learning... and once again I'm stunned by the beauty and grace of God's plan.

And then I stumbled across my best friend's Facebook...

Now to him who is able to do IMMEASURABLY more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to Him be the glory of the church and Jesus Christ throughout all generations, forever and ever amen
Eph 3:20-21

A-Z? Z-A? The Quick Brown Fox Jumped Over the Lazy Dog?

(Edited to make more sense. I'm pretty sure.)

I just made a trip to Home Depot to purchase some things for the improvement of the Greenhouse Productions prop & wardrobe closet. The sight of those big orange letters and the smell of wood, glue, paint, and potting soil were like a soothing balm to my Western Pennsylvanian soul after months of concrete, sand and strolls through The Grove. It called to mind many an early morning or late night trip with my father to replace that one screw we lost or the extra sheet of drywall we hadn't planned for...

…but I digress. The thing about Home Depot that stood out to me, the one thing that was unfamiliar, was the sight of so many men standing at the gates, hoping to be hired for construction work.

It made me think of the parable of the workers in the vineyard from Matthew 20:1-16. Do you know it? The owner of the vineyard went out in the morning and hired men to work for him for the day for a set wage. They were not enough, so he did the same at 9, at noon, at 3, and at 5 - right before the end of the work day. When it came time for the workers to be paid, they all received the wage he had promised.

Jesus goes on to say that those who had worked the full day thought it unfair that those who had only worked an hour received the same wage. The master of the vineyard reminded them that it was his money to give, and that he had given them the amount they were owed.

"Don't I have the right to do what I want with my own money? Or are you envious because I am generous?"

And then Jesus interprets His story with the famous statement:
"So the last will be first, and the first will be last."
Matthew 20:15-16

So what are my thoughts? As humans, our first instinct after survival seems to be comparison - "...now that I'm pretty sure I'll live through the day, I want to know where I rank in relation to the five bodies standing in closest proximity to me..." - and we are pretty darn good at it. We, as Christians, talk a lot about giving up our lives for God and relying on Him for survival, but somehow the message of this parable doesn't translate so easily... we continue to do a stellar job at hierarchical organization.

Some Christians have a harder road to walk. Some get their hands dirty. Some get regular headaches. Some have hands covered in ink. Some hold Bibles; some, boom poles; some, guns; some... scripts. Some Christians work 9-5 at a desk, on a roof or in an assembly line. Others are actors, producers, writers, and make-up artists.

The value of the work is not found in what a person does, but in who has asked them to do it. God doesn't tell us to stack these callings against each other and see which is higher on the Tower of Babel measuring stick, He asks us to be faithful to His commands and to be the Body of His Church.

It didn’t matter to the owner of the vineyard that some men worked for twelve hours and others only one. He didn’t compare how much work they had done – instead, he stayed faithful to give them the wage they had agreed upon. In the same way, it doesn’t matter to God whether we join Him early in life or late, or whether we work in a factory or a production company. He gives all of His workers the same grace He promised.

Jesus’ statement that the last will be first and the first, last doesn’t mean we need to grovel to get ahead… it means we should stop thinking about who’s ahead anyway, because no one person's work in the Kingdom is better than another's. He is not saying that Z replaces A, creating a new, reversed, hierarchy. He’s saying that there is now no order except grace, which by its nature puts us all on the same level.

So there are my thoughts. Have any thoughts?
And if you can figure out my title, I'll give you... a high five or something. Googling is not allowed.

Divine Appointments

My roommate Sarah has a thing with dessert.  She keeps a bowl of cookie dough in the fridge.  Last Tuesday night, she decided to make brownies.

We decided that it would be cool to scope out the thrift store scene in our area, since we're tired of borrowing clothes and looking like we're from the East Coast.  Her GPS was confused, but we didn't get horribly lost - we had just accidentally driven past it when we had to stop in the turn lane at a big intersection.  Did God mean for us to miss our turn?

Sarah drives a little Echo that looks like it might float away if it hit a puddle.  We were wondering why our lane wasn't moving, when the guy ahead of us pulled out and around a SUV that was stopped in the lane.  Sarah was about to do the same when a kid jumped out of the passenger's side and ran toward us, waving his hand.  We thought he might want to borrow a cell phone, since the vehicle was clearly broken down, but when he got to the window he asked if we could push them.

With our car.  Through the intersection.

It was awesome, the little car the could.  Sarah's little Echo got fender-to-bumper with a Ford Explorer and pushed it through an intersection and into a parking lot.  Well, I had to get out and push it into the parking lot, but the car made a great effort up to that point.  The kid and I got the car pushed into a parking space (very well-lighted.  I'm not an idiot.) and started trying to figure out what was wrong with it.

Fifteen minutes later, I was trying to find something not wrong with it.  We brought the Echo around and  gave the battery a jump, but after it ran a few minutes we were overwhelmed by a cloud of smoke billowing out of... well, everything.  The kid had taken the family's (there were four people in the vehicle) cash and run into the store with it.  He returned with two quarts of oil and a bottle of power steering fluid, both of which he emptied into the engine with much room to spare.  He had nothing to replace the coolant that was pouring out on the ground.

It was the image of my dad's worst nightmare.

About the time the second quart of oil went in and didn't touch the dipstick, I accepted the fact that I really had no idea what to do with the poor engine, but Sarah and I didn't want to leave them.  They were Christians, so grateful that we had stopped to help them in this city where people only look twice to cuss you out or honk their horns, constantly blessing us... and regardless, they obviously needed help.

We got the car started again (I turned it off in hopes that some of the coolant could be saved) and Sarah and I followed them the 5-6 blocks to their street.  Still, it felt wrong to leave, so I decided to leave my number with them and offer to give them a ride if they had anything really important that they needed to get to.  We made the offer, only to discover that they had been on the way to the pharmacy to pick up a prescription for mother, who has a serious condition.  Five minutes later, the little Echo that could was trekking down Santa Monica Blvd. with four people squished in the back seat.  Such a brave little car...

Looking back on it, I'm not sure that it all happened.  We took them to Ralph's, where they got their prescription and did some shopping for dinner, and we had the opportunity to ask them about their lives. Turns out the accent we couldn't place wasn't from LA at all - it was definitely Queen's, New York, with the addition of a thick Greek twist.  They've been living here for five years and, to my confused amusement, they attributed our unique kindness to the fact that we're from the East Coast rather than to our faith.

Because the East Coast is so full of really nice people...

Sarah and I were practically giddy when we dropped them off and drove away - it was such a different experience that I almost don't know how to begin to talk about it.  I won't speak for Sarah, but I was incredibly humbled by the fact that God chose us to be the ones to help them.  For better or for worse, I feel the most alive when I'm helping other people, and sometimes just giving back rubs and encouraging words seems so petty.  Being the one pushing the car, checking the oil, calming the family, offering to help... I felt like a real adult and for the first time, I didn't see that as such a depressing thing.

God is great, and if I had any doubt that my time here is by His appointment, these little events along the way convince me even more.

In other news, we arrived home to the rich smell of chocolate smoke.  Christina didn't notice the brownies burning in her excitement over the chicken dinner she had prepared.  We were saved a few calories, and one of the boys' apartments got a good laugh out of the brick of brownie that we addressed to them, with love <3