There is a bond between women that extends far beyond mere friendship. It’s an intimacy that links our hearts and souls. Words cannot adequately express the connection between us, and the relationships we have with our sister-friends fulfill a need that defies definition.
My female friends are treasures that bless me beyond my imagination. They have taught me how to open my heart, and have given me unconditional support during some of the darkest moments of my life. There is a power in this connection. It’s the power to build each other up. It's the power to give our sister wings when she has lost the strength to fly. I am a better person, a better woman because of them.
The world expects us to meet outrageous standards and excel at everything while we juggle the many different aspects of our lives. It’s a comfort to know that we can turn to our sisters and have their understanding and their acceptance; know that we are not alone in our struggles, large or small.
Each of us is unique and each of us has value. Our worth is inherent in our humanity and we are important because we are created by a loving God who cares for us no matter where we are in our journey. We can never let each other forget that. Not ever.
Our current culture seems to prefer to keep women at odds with one another. Sharing petty gossip, judging each other harshly according to superficial standards of beauty, and back-biting are things that are expected and accepted. Rather than seeing our sisters as allies, we have shows like BAD GIRLS where the violence and inappropriate behavior of young women is glorified. How about the REAL HOUSEWIVES franchise that promotes the curse-laden screaming matches and juvenile antics of grown women? Some of these women are the mothers of young girls.
The media and culture at large is not building women up in a positive and supportive way and there is no reason for this to continue. We deserve better.
Imagine if we could extend the positive power of our sister-friend relationships beyond individual connections. What if we shared this powerful and uplifting bond with women we’ve never met? What if we reached out to women who might be feeling alone, or who need to be reminded how important they are because the world has been kicking them around. What if a sister is just frazzled and needs to have her spirit lifted and her heart embraced by those who understand?
If we could expand our bonds across borders, across religious beliefs and beyond socioeconomic statuses, then we could have a positive impact on the lives of our sisters beyond our own backyard.
To build a better sisterhood, a more inclusive and impactful sisterhood, all we need to do is join forces, open our hearts, and be there for each other. This is about more than just sharing diet secrets or discussing the latest fashion, this is about ignoring the superficial and focusing on the meaningful. This is about being cheerleaders for each other on this journey called Life.
Join with me on this venture and help ensure that the women in our world aren’t overlooked, aren’t forgotten, or to left to suffer through the difficult moments of life on their own. The cashier at the grocery store could use a smile. The customer service rep on the phone would love to hear a kind word from someone who isn’t yelling at her. When you pass a sister on the street and she seems beaten, look into her eyes and remind her you’re cheering for her, praying that she finds the strength to continue.
If you want a cheerleader or need to hear some positive thoughts, give me a call and I’ll be there. If you need someone to pray for you, to listen to your broken heart, or to just share a glass of wine and the silence, let me know.
You’re my sister, and I love you.
If you’re on Facebook, please like my page HEART BOUND SISTERHOOD. Leave an encouraging word, post one of your favorite quotes, or just ask for support after a tough day. Together, let’s lift each other up and build a better sisterhood together. I can’t do this alone, I need help from my sisters.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
The Christian You Know
The moment I tell you that I am Christian you will, undoubtedly, compare me to a Christian that you know...and I’m pretty sure you know at least one. Good, bad, or indifferent you probably have expectations about who and what Christians are and judge me accordingly. I’m not saying you’re necessarily wrong, I’m just saying you might have me confused with someone else.
You see, there are many things that you might not realize about Christians, but because so many of us focus on living our faith and not just talking about it, you might not know that someone is a follower of Christ unless they tell you directly. Seriously, it’s easy to miss us because we’re into the Applied part of our beliefs and working our hearts out to do what is right. This form of our faith isn’t very glamorous, nor does it get a lot of attention because in our culture, flashy matters.
My form of Christianity isn’t very flashy and I like it that way.
It’s almost comical the number of people who thought they knew me and then deserted the friendship the moment I told them that the way I live my life is tied to a label they don’t like. I’ve lost friends, jobs, and even scholarships because when it was discovered that my devotion to a life of service and integrity was influence by my Christian faith, they no longer saw my actions as a conscious decision, but assumed that I was a mindless zombie just doing what I was told by some guy at church.
It was as if placing a label on me negated who I was or what I do. Were they afraid I was going to turn into a one of those hell-fire and brimstone preachers that froth at the mouth and threaten them with the burning pits of sulfur if they did not instantly convert? Seriously, that’s not my speed.
I’m not ashamed of my faith, but I don't feel the need to beat people over the head with it either. I think my time is better spent putting my faith into action and not boring people with labels, don't you agree? My life is extraordinarily blessed because of my faith in Christ. Knowing that the one who created the universe also created me is an amazing experience.
To know that God made me and that He cherishes me regardless of any bad choices or missteps has freed me from the obstacles of this world where our value is based on what you own or what you look like. Do I want everyone to have this kind of peace and assurance in their life? Absolutely! Will I disrespect you, belittle you or judge you because you have chosen a different path? No, because that’s not what God wants and if it was, then that’s not a God I would follow.
The pacifist and activist Mohandas Gandhi said, “I like your Christ, I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ.” There are days when I watch the news and cringe because people claiming to be Christians are working hard to create an image of Christ that doesn’t speak of love, forgiveness, or grace, but one that screams of bigotry and hatred instead. This is not the God I know, and this is not the God I follow.
So the next time you hear that someone is a Christian, take a moment before assuming you know them. Those of us who are busy applying our faith and trying to make this world a better place would appreciate not having to deal with the stereotypes.
Thanks.
You see, there are many things that you might not realize about Christians, but because so many of us focus on living our faith and not just talking about it, you might not know that someone is a follower of Christ unless they tell you directly. Seriously, it’s easy to miss us because we’re into the Applied part of our beliefs and working our hearts out to do what is right. This form of our faith isn’t very glamorous, nor does it get a lot of attention because in our culture, flashy matters.
My form of Christianity isn’t very flashy and I like it that way.
It’s almost comical the number of people who thought they knew me and then deserted the friendship the moment I told them that the way I live my life is tied to a label they don’t like. I’ve lost friends, jobs, and even scholarships because when it was discovered that my devotion to a life of service and integrity was influence by my Christian faith, they no longer saw my actions as a conscious decision, but assumed that I was a mindless zombie just doing what I was told by some guy at church.
It was as if placing a label on me negated who I was or what I do. Were they afraid I was going to turn into a one of those hell-fire and brimstone preachers that froth at the mouth and threaten them with the burning pits of sulfur if they did not instantly convert? Seriously, that’s not my speed.
I’m not ashamed of my faith, but I don't feel the need to beat people over the head with it either. I think my time is better spent putting my faith into action and not boring people with labels, don't you agree? My life is extraordinarily blessed because of my faith in Christ. Knowing that the one who created the universe also created me is an amazing experience.
To know that God made me and that He cherishes me regardless of any bad choices or missteps has freed me from the obstacles of this world where our value is based on what you own or what you look like. Do I want everyone to have this kind of peace and assurance in their life? Absolutely! Will I disrespect you, belittle you or judge you because you have chosen a different path? No, because that’s not what God wants and if it was, then that’s not a God I would follow.
The pacifist and activist Mohandas Gandhi said, “I like your Christ, I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ.” There are days when I watch the news and cringe because people claiming to be Christians are working hard to create an image of Christ that doesn’t speak of love, forgiveness, or grace, but one that screams of bigotry and hatred instead. This is not the God I know, and this is not the God I follow.
So the next time you hear that someone is a Christian, take a moment before assuming you know them. Those of us who are busy applying our faith and trying to make this world a better place would appreciate not having to deal with the stereotypes.
Thanks.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
These Hands
I am a writer, an artist, a painter, and a graduate student. All of these skills require two things: my mind and my hands. While my mind is still fairly sharp and my imagination shows no signs of dimming, my hands are another story altogether.
I’ve known for a while that I have a degenerative form of arthritis and I’m barely past 40 years old. My hip began to fail me many, many years ago and my knee is grumpier than a two year old before a nap, but in the past few months this disease has made its way to my hands. I’d be a liar if I said I wasn’t extremely scared.
For a while I tried to ignore the pain in my fingers, brush it off as them being overworked from writing papers, or spending hours going over research notes. I rationalized the stiffness and ignored the signs because I don’t have time to slow down. But now, the pain that shoots through my joints and keeps me up at night is beginning to demand my immediate attention.
I’m an intelligent person. I realize that the pain means the deterioration of the joints is beginning. I know that medical treatment is the only way to ensure my fingers will remain nimble. I know what can happen if I let it go for much longer because I’ve seen the warped fingers of friends and relatives who have struggled with the destructive types of arthritis. It’s just so much easier to stifle the fear and just ignore it for a little bit longer.
Then the other day I had a very sobering moment: I couldn't wear my engagement ring because of swollen joints.
Sometimes it’s the little things that hit us the hardest.
So in the coming months I will be seeking treatment for this disease. I’ll just add this to my already crammed schedule because the alternative means I would lose a very important tool. This experience has forced me to look at my hands as more than just an extension of myself; they are an extension of my faith and that is something bigger than just the need to feed my creative desires and do schoolwork.
These sore hands are not just things made out of flesh, bones and cartilage, they are tools of change and a way to show the love of my God to those who may not know Him or the peace He offers. The power of touch, the ability to wipe away a tear or hold the hand of a little child goes far beyond my dislike of doctors and the discomfort that treatment will bring.
I type words to speak out against the injustices I see, to offer support to those with broken spirits, or to cheer on those who are fighting for the forgotten children of the world. I do not spend hours studying in the hopes that I will become rich, but to make a positive impact on our world. When I look outside of myself and my own selfish wants, I see that these painful little phalanges are a way of sharing the gifts and blessings I’ve received.
Yes, these hands are an important part of me, but I now see them as more than just my hands; they are my voice as well and they will continue to speak out against social inequality and about a loving and generous God.
Funny that it took a disease to teach me how to appreciate the simplest things, like the ability to type words onto a page. I can assure you, I’ll not be taking this for granted again. Ever.
Does it hurt when I type these words? Yes, a little. But the alternative would be far more painful, I can assure you.
Let us never forget that we all have the ability to make this world a better place for the weak and vulnerable among us. Let us not waver in that work no matter the discomfort we may suffer.
I’ve known for a while that I have a degenerative form of arthritis and I’m barely past 40 years old. My hip began to fail me many, many years ago and my knee is grumpier than a two year old before a nap, but in the past few months this disease has made its way to my hands. I’d be a liar if I said I wasn’t extremely scared.
For a while I tried to ignore the pain in my fingers, brush it off as them being overworked from writing papers, or spending hours going over research notes. I rationalized the stiffness and ignored the signs because I don’t have time to slow down. But now, the pain that shoots through my joints and keeps me up at night is beginning to demand my immediate attention.
I’m an intelligent person. I realize that the pain means the deterioration of the joints is beginning. I know that medical treatment is the only way to ensure my fingers will remain nimble. I know what can happen if I let it go for much longer because I’ve seen the warped fingers of friends and relatives who have struggled with the destructive types of arthritis. It’s just so much easier to stifle the fear and just ignore it for a little bit longer.
Then the other day I had a very sobering moment: I couldn't wear my engagement ring because of swollen joints.
Sometimes it’s the little things that hit us the hardest.
So in the coming months I will be seeking treatment for this disease. I’ll just add this to my already crammed schedule because the alternative means I would lose a very important tool. This experience has forced me to look at my hands as more than just an extension of myself; they are an extension of my faith and that is something bigger than just the need to feed my creative desires and do schoolwork.
These sore hands are not just things made out of flesh, bones and cartilage, they are tools of change and a way to show the love of my God to those who may not know Him or the peace He offers. The power of touch, the ability to wipe away a tear or hold the hand of a little child goes far beyond my dislike of doctors and the discomfort that treatment will bring.
I type words to speak out against the injustices I see, to offer support to those with broken spirits, or to cheer on those who are fighting for the forgotten children of the world. I do not spend hours studying in the hopes that I will become rich, but to make a positive impact on our world. When I look outside of myself and my own selfish wants, I see that these painful little phalanges are a way of sharing the gifts and blessings I’ve received.
Yes, these hands are an important part of me, but I now see them as more than just my hands; they are my voice as well and they will continue to speak out against social inequality and about a loving and generous God.
Funny that it took a disease to teach me how to appreciate the simplest things, like the ability to type words onto a page. I can assure you, I’ll not be taking this for granted again. Ever.
Does it hurt when I type these words? Yes, a little. But the alternative would be far more painful, I can assure you.
Let us never forget that we all have the ability to make this world a better place for the weak and vulnerable among us. Let us not waver in that work no matter the discomfort we may suffer.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Respect please..hold the anchovies
We have no problem calling up the local pizza delivery place and ordering dinner the way we like it. We don’t call them up and say, “Just send me whatever pizza you’re in the mood to make.” We don’t buy a new car with the options the salesperson really wants, nor do we download the music that our neighbor prefers.
So, if we won’t let anyone else decide what we eat, what we drive, or what we listen to, then why (oh why) do we allow others to dictate how we are treated?
We all have flaws, but that doesn’t mean we don’t deserve to be treated with respect and appreciated for who we are. If we’re not being treated properly, we need to tell them how to do it right.
There are two ways we tell people the way we want to be treated: how we treat ourselves, and how far we allow inappropriate treatment to go without correction.
When we verbally berate ourselves by saying that we’re fat/stupid/no good/etc., we are broadcasting to the world that it is perfectly fine to treat us like dirt. I’m doing it, so why shouldn’t everyone else? Go ahead, disrespect me, it’s completely acceptable.
We all have bad days, but that's no reason to demean ourselves over it.
Another great way to ensure disrespect is to not stand up for ourselves when others have crossed the line. We don’t need to go all medieval on the perpetrator, we can calmly inform them that we did not appreciate [insert behavior here] and we would be grateful if they would refrain from it in the future.
A simple, “It hurts when you say those types of things. Please stop,” should suffice. If this person continues, well then you have to decide if there is a place for them in your personal life.
You cannot change people. You can take control over how you’re treated. Bottom-line is that you’re worthy of respect. You are worthy of being treated with love and understanding, and if someone doesn’t grasp this concept...then are worth the energy?
One of my favorite scriptural verses is, “I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.” (Psalm 139:14).
Never forget that you were created by a mighty God who loves you above all things. You are more important than the rotation of the sun, the flow of the tides, even the movement of the universe. The very God that created all things loves you more than our human finite minds can comprehend. Your talents, your laugh, your smile...your very essence is a necessary part of this world, and we all need the gifts that you offer.
No, I’m not claiming we are perfect or that we should sit on a pedestal because we’re better than everyone else. I’m saying that we are all human, and within our flaws there is a beauty and humility that we should appreciate.
Bad days will come and you will want to berate yourself for not measuring up. Go ahead, call me...I know what that feels like. We can remind each other how important we are in the eyes of God. We can laugh at our silly mistakes over coffee, share some cake, and treat each other with the respect that we deserve.
So, if we won’t let anyone else decide what we eat, what we drive, or what we listen to, then why (oh why) do we allow others to dictate how we are treated?
We all have flaws, but that doesn’t mean we don’t deserve to be treated with respect and appreciated for who we are. If we’re not being treated properly, we need to tell them how to do it right.
There are two ways we tell people the way we want to be treated: how we treat ourselves, and how far we allow inappropriate treatment to go without correction.
When we verbally berate ourselves by saying that we’re fat/stupid/no good/etc., we are broadcasting to the world that it is perfectly fine to treat us like dirt. I’m doing it, so why shouldn’t everyone else? Go ahead, disrespect me, it’s completely acceptable.
We all have bad days, but that's no reason to demean ourselves over it.
Another great way to ensure disrespect is to not stand up for ourselves when others have crossed the line. We don’t need to go all medieval on the perpetrator, we can calmly inform them that we did not appreciate [insert behavior here] and we would be grateful if they would refrain from it in the future.
A simple, “It hurts when you say those types of things. Please stop,” should suffice. If this person continues, well then you have to decide if there is a place for them in your personal life.
You cannot change people. You can take control over how you’re treated. Bottom-line is that you’re worthy of respect. You are worthy of being treated with love and understanding, and if someone doesn’t grasp this concept...then are worth the energy?
One of my favorite scriptural verses is, “I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.” (Psalm 139:14).
Never forget that you were created by a mighty God who loves you above all things. You are more important than the rotation of the sun, the flow of the tides, even the movement of the universe. The very God that created all things loves you more than our human finite minds can comprehend. Your talents, your laugh, your smile...your very essence is a necessary part of this world, and we all need the gifts that you offer.
No, I’m not claiming we are perfect or that we should sit on a pedestal because we’re better than everyone else. I’m saying that we are all human, and within our flaws there is a beauty and humility that we should appreciate.
Bad days will come and you will want to berate yourself for not measuring up. Go ahead, call me...I know what that feels like. We can remind each other how important we are in the eyes of God. We can laugh at our silly mistakes over coffee, share some cake, and treat each other with the respect that we deserve.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Strength in the Sorrow
Today would have been my father’s 72nd birthday. Tomorrow will be the anniversary of his death.
Every year I think I’ll be strong enough to get through these few days without breaking down. Every year I’m wrong because sorrow doesn’t play fair. When sorrow comes, it comes with the force of an army to beat down the walls around my chest until my vulnerable heart is exposed, and then it drains me of the strength to even breathe. There really isn’t any way to stop the onslaught. I just have to suffer through and wait it out.
The logical part of me gets a little miffed at that tender side of me. Giving in to the emotional messiness of mourning follows no predetermined pattern. I am a row boat in a hurricane, and I’ve lost the oars. Overwhelming and confusing, the frustration of it all leaves me lethargic...apathetic to the demands of life.
A part of me is angry with the world for acting like nothing happened. People are getting married, babies are being born, shoppers fill the malls as if it were the holidays...and I just want to scream at them to stop. How dare they act as if nothing is wrong while I’m sitting here drowning in the unrelenting deluge of my tears.
How dare people continue to live.
But that’s what we do, isn’t it? We suffer through until we find the strength to face normality. We hold on to the hope that the pain will subside and life will, somehow, be filled with love and joy again. We wait impatiently for the moment when we can breathe without guilt or pain.
As I fumble my way through these next couple of days I find that the strength I need is not within me. There is nothing left of that headstrong and self-assured woman who, just yesterday, inhabited my skin. I’ve plowed down through the very depth of my soul and I’ve found nothing there but the ache of loss.
The only strength I have is gathered from those who love me. Their strength is a blanket that I can wrap around my heart and it keeps me warm as the assault of sorrow continues. I lack the effort to breathe, to walk, to even move from this moment. It is my friends who give me breath, the strength to walk and to move forward. Right now, their arms hold me up and their love gives me the strength to put one foot in front of the other and move towards the moment when the pain no longer owns me.
It is through their strength that I can return to my life again.
My blessings in life are many. I live a life filled with contentment and peace, and the most profound blessing that God has honored me with are the people in my life. As Jesus mourned with Martha and Mary at Lazarus’ tomb, He also mourns with me and I feel that love poured out through the hearts of my friends. For this, I am eternally grateful.
In a few days, I will be myself again. The rawness of my emotions will have been tamed, the tears will have dried up. Thankfully, life will go on because I am surrounded by people that will not let me give up or let me get lost in the emotional storm.
When sorrow comes to you, and someday it will, please call me. It will steal your strength and make it difficult to breathe, to move...but I have strength that you can borrow. I will be your breath, your feet if necessary. I will be what you cannot be. We are not meant to face the trials of life alone, and I’m here for you, just as you were there for me. I will be your strength in the sorrow as you have been mine.
Every year I think I’ll be strong enough to get through these few days without breaking down. Every year I’m wrong because sorrow doesn’t play fair. When sorrow comes, it comes with the force of an army to beat down the walls around my chest until my vulnerable heart is exposed, and then it drains me of the strength to even breathe. There really isn’t any way to stop the onslaught. I just have to suffer through and wait it out.
The logical part of me gets a little miffed at that tender side of me. Giving in to the emotional messiness of mourning follows no predetermined pattern. I am a row boat in a hurricane, and I’ve lost the oars. Overwhelming and confusing, the frustration of it all leaves me lethargic...apathetic to the demands of life.
A part of me is angry with the world for acting like nothing happened. People are getting married, babies are being born, shoppers fill the malls as if it were the holidays...and I just want to scream at them to stop. How dare they act as if nothing is wrong while I’m sitting here drowning in the unrelenting deluge of my tears.
How dare people continue to live.
But that’s what we do, isn’t it? We suffer through until we find the strength to face normality. We hold on to the hope that the pain will subside and life will, somehow, be filled with love and joy again. We wait impatiently for the moment when we can breathe without guilt or pain.
As I fumble my way through these next couple of days I find that the strength I need is not within me. There is nothing left of that headstrong and self-assured woman who, just yesterday, inhabited my skin. I’ve plowed down through the very depth of my soul and I’ve found nothing there but the ache of loss.
The only strength I have is gathered from those who love me. Their strength is a blanket that I can wrap around my heart and it keeps me warm as the assault of sorrow continues. I lack the effort to breathe, to walk, to even move from this moment. It is my friends who give me breath, the strength to walk and to move forward. Right now, their arms hold me up and their love gives me the strength to put one foot in front of the other and move towards the moment when the pain no longer owns me.
It is through their strength that I can return to my life again.
My blessings in life are many. I live a life filled with contentment and peace, and the most profound blessing that God has honored me with are the people in my life. As Jesus mourned with Martha and Mary at Lazarus’ tomb, He also mourns with me and I feel that love poured out through the hearts of my friends. For this, I am eternally grateful.
In a few days, I will be myself again. The rawness of my emotions will have been tamed, the tears will have dried up. Thankfully, life will go on because I am surrounded by people that will not let me give up or let me get lost in the emotional storm.
When sorrow comes to you, and someday it will, please call me. It will steal your strength and make it difficult to breathe, to move...but I have strength that you can borrow. I will be your breath, your feet if necessary. I will be what you cannot be. We are not meant to face the trials of life alone, and I’m here for you, just as you were there for me. I will be your strength in the sorrow as you have been mine.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
I'm a Who, not a What
If I told you I was a 19 year old, female college student, what would you assume about me?
What if I said my parents were from Ghana? Or Guatemala?
What would you think if I said my parents came from Pakistan?
If I were a Christian, how would you view me?
How about a Muslim?
An Agnostic, or an Atheist?
Would the things you believe about me make you want to stop reading now?
What if I claimed to be a 43 year old single mom with four kids living on welfare, what would you think about me then? Did you think that I was milking the government? Or did you take the time to hear my story and realize that I work two jobs, but it still isn’t enough because my ex-husband hasn’t paid child support in twelve years?
If I were a 57 year old man, huddled under a bridge in dirty clothes and matted hair, what would come to mind? Am I just too lazy to get a job, or just a crazy old man? Perhaps you took a moment out of your day to listen and you learned that when I lost my job several years back, I also lost my health care. Yes, I have mental and emotional issues, but the medication is expensive and I have no place to go.
Do you have a few bucks so I can buy a sandwich?
How much do you really know about the people around you? How often have you taken a step outside of your group of friends, your church group, or your co-workers and talked to the lady that clean the men’s room?
That pair of hurting eyes that watch you every morning from the street corner as you drive by...there is a person under that dirt and he could use some kindness.
In our safe little cocoon where we go from house to car to work, we have lost a little bit of our humanity. We communicate via the internet and keep our Friends List limited to the people who are like us. We close ourselves off from the rest of the world and dismiss people based on their labels, because it is the easy way; the safe way to live.
It can be a daily struggle for me to remember that that no matter how much stuff I have to get done, the people are always more important. The minute I prioritize things to-do over people, I've lost one of the best parts of myself.
The truth is that I’m not a 19 year old co-ed. I’m not a 43 year old mom, or a 57 year old homeless man. I’m a 42 year old wife, student, and an aunt. I’m a writer, a Christian, a Quaker, and loyal friend.
I’m a woman that prays desperately every night that her young nephew will survive another day in Afghanistan where people are shooting at him as he risks his life to tend to the wounds of his fellow soldiers.
I’m a graduate student praising God that she has the opportunity to continue her academic career at one of the top universities in the nation...so that someday, she can make a difference in the lives of women and children living in poverty.
I’m a wife that cooks and cleans during the day, and at night pours out her thoughts and emotions into a little blog, hoping that her words will touch the heart of someone and begin a positive change in the world.
No matter what label I wear be it wife, student or aunt, it will never truly define me. To know me, to really know me, you have to stop for a moment and let me into your world. You have to open your heart and listen to me, share with me and smile with me.
~ESW
What if I said my parents were from Ghana? Or Guatemala?
What would you think if I said my parents came from Pakistan?
If I were a Christian, how would you view me?
How about a Muslim?
An Agnostic, or an Atheist?
Would the things you believe about me make you want to stop reading now?
What if I claimed to be a 43 year old single mom with four kids living on welfare, what would you think about me then? Did you think that I was milking the government? Or did you take the time to hear my story and realize that I work two jobs, but it still isn’t enough because my ex-husband hasn’t paid child support in twelve years?
If I were a 57 year old man, huddled under a bridge in dirty clothes and matted hair, what would come to mind? Am I just too lazy to get a job, or just a crazy old man? Perhaps you took a moment out of your day to listen and you learned that when I lost my job several years back, I also lost my health care. Yes, I have mental and emotional issues, but the medication is expensive and I have no place to go.
Do you have a few bucks so I can buy a sandwich?
How much do you really know about the people around you? How often have you taken a step outside of your group of friends, your church group, or your co-workers and talked to the lady that clean the men’s room?
That pair of hurting eyes that watch you every morning from the street corner as you drive by...there is a person under that dirt and he could use some kindness.
In our safe little cocoon where we go from house to car to work, we have lost a little bit of our humanity. We communicate via the internet and keep our Friends List limited to the people who are like us. We close ourselves off from the rest of the world and dismiss people based on their labels, because it is the easy way; the safe way to live.
It can be a daily struggle for me to remember that that no matter how much stuff I have to get done, the people are always more important. The minute I prioritize things to-do over people, I've lost one of the best parts of myself.
The truth is that I’m not a 19 year old co-ed. I’m not a 43 year old mom, or a 57 year old homeless man. I’m a 42 year old wife, student, and an aunt. I’m a writer, a Christian, a Quaker, and loyal friend.
I’m a woman that prays desperately every night that her young nephew will survive another day in Afghanistan where people are shooting at him as he risks his life to tend to the wounds of his fellow soldiers.
I’m a graduate student praising God that she has the opportunity to continue her academic career at one of the top universities in the nation...so that someday, she can make a difference in the lives of women and children living in poverty.
I’m a wife that cooks and cleans during the day, and at night pours out her thoughts and emotions into a little blog, hoping that her words will touch the heart of someone and begin a positive change in the world.
No matter what label I wear be it wife, student or aunt, it will never truly define me. To know me, to really know me, you have to stop for a moment and let me into your world. You have to open your heart and listen to me, share with me and smile with me.
~ESW
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Love and Fashion: Wearing my Faith
Since the day I could hold a paintbrush in my hand, I painted. Art was an adventure in self-expression for those moments when words served as a prison for my soul’s emotions. My love of fashion was born from my addiction to art. Fashion presented me with a way to celebrate my uniqueness; fashion becoming one with art as they both fed my hunger for creativity. They were forever linked in my heart and I could not imagine my life without them.
This passion for art came second only to my dedication to the issues of poverty, the lack of education, and abuse, especially in children. I am blessed to be able to attend graduate school at Boston College, a university dedicated to serving people from all walks of life, and a champion of social justice. Earning an advanced degree will enable me to work for the betterment of those that our society often forgets, which is, for me, a calling rather than simply a career plan.
While downsizing for our move to Boston, I gave away most of what was in my closet, including things that still had the tags on them. Such waste made me sad, so I decided that any future purchases would have to be unique clothing items that spoke to me and that supported a person rather than some faceless corporation or a big-box store. There was a lot I had to learn about the clothing industry in order to hunt down American manufacturers and international artisans, and this research into the apparel industry broke my heart.
My devotion to fashion seemed to be enslaving people for my very vanity. Children as young as 10 have been found in the sweat-shops around the world making the latest fashion for the consumer rather than attending school. It is criminal for adults to labor away for pennies a garment, but to drag children into these slave-like conditions is inhuman.
How can I claim to serve a mighty God who loves us equally, while knowingly becoming a burden to my brothers and sisters? Is it enough to speak of love and say that I follow Christ if I my words are not supported by my actions? What kind of hypocrite was I?
How can I claim to be a person of great faith, if my vanity trumps my love for humanity?
I know that in some countries a job at a factory is far better than the alternatives (i.e., prostitution, scavenging in dumps, or petty theft), however when the human rights violations are so egregious (i.e., rape and the threat of rape, beatings, or being forced to work while ill). Is it really better, or does it just soothe our conscious to tell ourselves these things when we buy those cheap T-shirts made by the hands of an abused woman?
There are factories in these developing countries that allow their employees to create a union to ensure a fair wage and humane working conditions. If we support these, we send a message the manufacturers can understand because it speaks directly to their profit margin. With Fair-Trade items becoming more mainstream, it isn’t difficult to find beautiful pieces of clothing created by artisans; people who are guaranteed payment for their skills.
According to the U.S. Department of Labor, there is a downward trend in children working in these types of apparel factories, which makes me very happy. However, I have decided to make a change in my fashion choices so that I can personally reconcile my love of fashion with my desire to help the people of this world. If anyone in a sweat-shop worked on a piece of clothing, I will not purchase it. If a company has labor complaints against them, I will not honor their practices by shopping in their stores. If there is a question in my mind that the hands that sewed the garment were not paid an honest wage, I would not knowingly buy it or wear it if I have other options.
I know that my decision will not make even the tiniest dent in the profits seen by these big businesses, but my conscious will be clear. How can I work towards the good of the forgotten people of our society, while continuing to abuse those in other countries?
The changes I’ve made in my life have been small, but they matter a lot to me. I am focusing on creating my own clothes when possible, and using cloth made in the U.S., or by someone who received a fair wage. I patronize American designers who make an effort to produce their products justly. I search for the small businesses here in The States, online or down the street...there are plenty if I take the time to look. For me, it has been a good change, a positive move in the right decision.
Art and fashion are still an important part of my life, but now they mean more. They are no longer just for self-expression. Art and fashion have become a way to apply my faith in a way that is meaningful and personal; creativity with a conscious.
So many of us are careful as to what we put into our bodies. Perhaps it is time to be a little more careful as to what we put on our bodies.
The Mouse Works (Privately owned company specializing in recycled fleece items. LOVE his hats!)
Tom's Shoes (A GREAT example of what it means to be a company with a conscious...and still succeed financially. And they make SHOES! What's not to love?)
Fair-Trade Information
Sample of Fair-Trade Items
Sweat-Free apparel guides
Responsible Shopper Site (a sample of a site that lists companies and their practices)
American Apparel: Clothing Made in America
From TED.com, another great point of view on the consumer culture we live in, and how this fun-loving designer makes clothes shopping an adventure while retaining a conscious.
Jessi Arrington: Wearing nothing new | Video on TED.com
This passion for art came second only to my dedication to the issues of poverty, the lack of education, and abuse, especially in children. I am blessed to be able to attend graduate school at Boston College, a university dedicated to serving people from all walks of life, and a champion of social justice. Earning an advanced degree will enable me to work for the betterment of those that our society often forgets, which is, for me, a calling rather than simply a career plan.
While downsizing for our move to Boston, I gave away most of what was in my closet, including things that still had the tags on them. Such waste made me sad, so I decided that any future purchases would have to be unique clothing items that spoke to me and that supported a person rather than some faceless corporation or a big-box store. There was a lot I had to learn about the clothing industry in order to hunt down American manufacturers and international artisans, and this research into the apparel industry broke my heart.
My devotion to fashion seemed to be enslaving people for my very vanity. Children as young as 10 have been found in the sweat-shops around the world making the latest fashion for the consumer rather than attending school. It is criminal for adults to labor away for pennies a garment, but to drag children into these slave-like conditions is inhuman.
How can I claim to serve a mighty God who loves us equally, while knowingly becoming a burden to my brothers and sisters? Is it enough to speak of love and say that I follow Christ if I my words are not supported by my actions? What kind of hypocrite was I?
How can I claim to be a person of great faith, if my vanity trumps my love for humanity?
I know that in some countries a job at a factory is far better than the alternatives (i.e., prostitution, scavenging in dumps, or petty theft), however when the human rights violations are so egregious (i.e., rape and the threat of rape, beatings, or being forced to work while ill). Is it really better, or does it just soothe our conscious to tell ourselves these things when we buy those cheap T-shirts made by the hands of an abused woman?
There are factories in these developing countries that allow their employees to create a union to ensure a fair wage and humane working conditions. If we support these, we send a message the manufacturers can understand because it speaks directly to their profit margin. With Fair-Trade items becoming more mainstream, it isn’t difficult to find beautiful pieces of clothing created by artisans; people who are guaranteed payment for their skills.
According to the U.S. Department of Labor, there is a downward trend in children working in these types of apparel factories, which makes me very happy. However, I have decided to make a change in my fashion choices so that I can personally reconcile my love of fashion with my desire to help the people of this world. If anyone in a sweat-shop worked on a piece of clothing, I will not purchase it. If a company has labor complaints against them, I will not honor their practices by shopping in their stores. If there is a question in my mind that the hands that sewed the garment were not paid an honest wage, I would not knowingly buy it or wear it if I have other options.
I know that my decision will not make even the tiniest dent in the profits seen by these big businesses, but my conscious will be clear. How can I work towards the good of the forgotten people of our society, while continuing to abuse those in other countries?
The changes I’ve made in my life have been small, but they matter a lot to me. I am focusing on creating my own clothes when possible, and using cloth made in the U.S., or by someone who received a fair wage. I patronize American designers who make an effort to produce their products justly. I search for the small businesses here in The States, online or down the street...there are plenty if I take the time to look. For me, it has been a good change, a positive move in the right decision.
Art and fashion are still an important part of my life, but now they mean more. They are no longer just for self-expression. Art and fashion have become a way to apply my faith in a way that is meaningful and personal; creativity with a conscious.
So many of us are careful as to what we put into our bodies. Perhaps it is time to be a little more careful as to what we put on our bodies.
The Mouse Works (Privately owned company specializing in recycled fleece items. LOVE his hats!)
Tom's Shoes (A GREAT example of what it means to be a company with a conscious...and still succeed financially. And they make SHOES! What's not to love?)
Fair-Trade Information
Sample of Fair-Trade Items
Sweat-Free apparel guides
Responsible Shopper Site (a sample of a site that lists companies and their practices)
American Apparel: Clothing Made in America
From TED.com, another great point of view on the consumer culture we live in, and how this fun-loving designer makes clothes shopping an adventure while retaining a conscious.
Jessi Arrington: Wearing nothing new | Video on TED.com
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