So people get angry in these conditions. There is not a week that goes by that I do not witness an altercation. New Yorkers really are an angry lot. That bit is true. My theory–and it is not a profound one, but rather obvious–is that a New Yorker has a lot less control over details than a suburbanite and, because of this, a lot more little things can grate a person and get them worked up to an annoyed, ready-to-lash-out state. Take the commute to work, for example. A suburbanite has the luxury of doing the commute to school in a car with ample personal space. They do not have to wait for their car to arrive like a New Yorker has to wait for the subway to arrive. Then the subway might arrive late but there is no room for you to get on it, so you have to wait for the next one. Or, you can choose to squeeze yourself in and a scenario similar to this one will ensue:

You will get lots of sighs from the others or, worse, get yelled at for getting in when there is no room. In this instance, someone may stick up for you and criticize the standers for not aptly utilizing all the space in the middle of the car. This can turn in to a back-and-forth exchange with expletives inevitably thrown in. At the same time of the argument, the subway conductor may come over the loudspeaker and he or she is irate. People were holding the doors open. People were trying to get in and there is a train right behind this one! So now you’re getting what feels like a lecture from the conductor and the tone they use is threatening. But there’s no real threat from the subway conductor who is not physically present and people will inevitably snicker, make eye contact with another passenger and laugh, about how angry the subway conductor is. It’s a bit like the reaction that teenagers have in a classroom with a huffy old teacher. They’re not taken seriously and become the object of ridicule.  But really, you have to feel for the subway conductor because it’s not an easy job streaming through the sewers of NYC all day long with no fresh air to claim. Did I mention that a lot of subway stations resemble sewers and, if I can conjecture, may have once been a sewer?

It’s worth mentioning that I have never been the object of someone’s wrath on the subway nor have I ever scolded anyone else for their behavior. Which is not to say I haven’t been annoyed: loud teenagers  annoy me most and the way they talk with that bad language and inapproriate content always sends me into a state of pontification about the wrong direction that society is headed. My head will fill with dozens of “my child will never….” statements.

Gratefully, I have kept my distance in these inclement underground scenarios. The only time someone said something to me directly is when I was stuck in the corner at the end of the car and I had to do several “excuse mes” and some gentle shoving to get myself out. A young woman said in a frustrated tone, “why are you back there when you know you’re getting off at the next stop?” I instinctively defended myself and said back to her, “because other people got on at the last stop.” I mean, where else was I supposed to go but back when people were getting on at the last stop and I was not getting off yet? You can’t fight to stay in one position when people are getting on; you have to go with the flow. Not according to her though. But that’s it. My only direct subway verbal brawl and a mild one at that. I, for my part, will try my hardest to keep it that way.

But anyway, I digress. Today I want to talk about the bus. Public transportation. Now living in Orlando, I never personally knew anyone that had used the Lynx system. I knew where the hub was located (downtown) but, again, never considered using the bus. Why would you when you have a car? Not only do the people I know not use it in Orlando, but there is a definite stigma attached to riding the bus. There are several stereotypes of people that immediately come to mind, which is ironic since I’ve never even been on it so I can’t say for sure who the  bus riders actually are or what they’re like. But, alas, assumptions abound. So when I arrived in New York City, I took to the subway with ease. It was the way to get around for us when a distance was too far to walk. In September, after being in the city for almost four months, I still had not used the bus system and the aforementioned stigma continued to prevent me from doing so. In September, I met up with a friend who had just taken the bus to meet me. I made some face that reflected my disdain towards the bus when she told me that is how she got there. She has been in New York over ten years and graciously ignored my ignorance. But I feel embarrassed today for that reaction. You see, there is no stigma with riding the bus in NYC. Sure, the elderly tend to be on the bus more than the subway*, but that is really the only thing I can stereotype about the bus system here.  The bus is an accepted, normal way to get around the city. It’s a nice ride if you can relax and don’t have to be anywhere by a certain time. It never goes above 10 mph in the city because it stops every other block (which is a bit too often if  you ask me) and you can almost always get a seat (unless you’re going crosstown and then it is a bit harder to find a seat even though it’s the length of two busses). I even prefer now to take the bus in the morning to work rather than the subway because I can get a seat and read my book. I find it hard to read on the subway. But the subway is another post.

Just one more example that shows a major attitude shift regarding the bus: When we found our apartment, the broker pointed out how there was a bus stop right outside the door of our building. I counted that as a negative but now am terribly pleased that the bus stop is right outside our door. It’s quite convenient to have it right there actually. I rather like it save the whistling sound of the bus lowering itself that can be heard in our apartment every 4-6 minutes.

*I discovered this through observation and noting that it is difficult for the elderly to climb up and down the stairs to catch a subway. Also, by one elderly lady telling me on the street one day that she “doesn’t like going underground.” Fear of death perhaps.

I have loved my twenties. It has been my best decade. Besides celebrating my birthday this month, I am also celebrating the time when I became a Christian. It was seven years this month.

Today I have been thinking about all my birthdays and have been able to recall some details from the past ten years. I don’t have the best memory so I thought it would be good to write them down for posterity’s sake.

1998: I turned seventeen. This was the first week of my senior year of high school. I had a pool party at my house on Red Gum. It was the first big party that I had as a teenager. It was a big deal for me. I gave out invitations, invited girls and boys, and had a great time. It was an innocent party. My parents were there and stayed in their room for most of the night. I have good memories of that party.

1999: I turned eighteen. It was my first week of college at UF. Christian had just been born earlier that week. I was living in Simpson Hall with my random roommate, Michelle, and had just finished rushing a sorority. On my actual birthday, the sorority was having some sort of induction and I was wearing a white skirt and a white eyelet shirt. 

2000: I turned nineteen. I was planning on moving out of the sorority house and ditching the sorority, which I did. I celebrated with my friend Tara over at Campus Lodge.

2001: I turned twenty. Jen and I had just moved in to an apartment at Treehouse Village. I had just become a Christian a couple of weeks before when I had been home for summer break. I had been baptized in the ocean at Jupiter Beach. I was starting my last year of college.

2002: twenty one. I had just graduated from college and moved to Orlando. Brynne was starting graduate school at UCF and we moved in together. I went to Wet n Wild for the day. I was on the hunt for a job and ended up starting soon after as a server at Buca di Beppo.

2003: I turned twenty two in Amsterdam. I had been working at the hostel for less than a month. We had a birthday celebration at dinner and ate homemade cake. Johanna, the manager and my mentor for the year, was at dinner that night. I received a big teddy bear pillow from my Shelter mates.

2004: I was still in Amsterdam and had just returned from my travels to Italy and Poland. Madelinde made me a cake and I had a delicious Greek meal for dinner. I sprained my ankle that night running up the stairs of the Shelter City and flew to Finland the next day to see Johanna, my roomie. 

2005: I turned twenty four as Chad’s girlfriend. We had only been dating for a month and we went out to dinner to a Mexican restaurant with Kathy, Sarha, and Rosie. I was living with Kathy and Sarha at the time. I had recently lost my job at House of Hope and was unemployed. Soon after, I got my job as a Language Arts teacher at Freedom.

2006: I turned twenty five as Chad’s fiance. We had gotten engaged in June, on our eleven month anniversary. We went to my parent’s house for my birthday weekend and Pat and Dale came along as well. We went out to dinner at Cheesecake Factory and Pat bought me a Nintendo DS. I had just started working at TFA and was living in the “inside-outside house” with Sarha.

2007: I turned twenty six as Chad’s wife. We were living in our cozy little place at Park North. We went to Babbo’s in College Park and had dinner with Tina, Erin, Jessica, Hannah, Richard, Wes, Suzanne, and Natalie. 

2008: Here I am today, recently having moved from Florida to NYC. Chad and I met at Central Park for a picnic lunch. I am unemployed and hoping to get a job offer this week. We are moving out of the mouse house/cub at the end of this week into our own place.

There were two quotes that were said by the Rebbe in “The Gift of Asher Lev” that were laden with truth and brought me great comfort as I continued to digest them. Here they are:

“My father, of blessed memory, once said to me, the verse in Genesis: ‘And He saw all that He did and behold it was good’–my father once said that the seeing of God is not like the seeing of man. Man sees only between the blinks of his eyes. He does not know what the world is like during the blinks. He sees the world in pieces, in fragments. But the Master of the Universe sees the world whole, unbroken. That  world is good. Our seeing is broken.”

“The Bratslaver Rebbe taught that obstacles are given us in order to make our desire even stronger. The more a thing is hidden from man, the more he desires it, and the greater chance that he will one day discover it.”

The second one immediately made me think of our invisible God. God often feels distant and it is hard to sometimes feel that we have an intimate relationship with HIm. This quote therefore reminded me that perhaps God chooses to remain more hidden out of His love for us. By remaining hidden, we will not be able to take God’s presence for granted or mistakenly view Him as common; we will thus seek Him more and through that seeking will be blessed by Him.

But what does it testify about the book that it led me to weep? It is a testament to the author that he or she crafted characters that the reader really grew to care about and identify with on an intense, involved level. Maybe the reader could relate to an experience or emotion that a character was enduring, or maybe the reader admired who the character was and was thus able to grieve with them, as a friend would. These three books have left me feeling more human and more alive as I witnessed the characters experiencing the commonalities of the human experience like death, loss, and relational conflict. 

 Which books are your favorite? Which books have made you weep?

By the way, I picked up Dred by Harriet Beecher Stowe and My Name is Asher Lev by Chaim Potok today.

Our ideal church would:

1. Have intimate community.
2. Have accountability for the leadership that is both local and non-local and that is both through individuals and other leadership that is local and non-local.
3. Have church leadership that is financially supported by the local congregation
4. Value theological education and seminary education.
5. Have ministries that reach out to the poor and the lost.
6. Be missions focused, locally and worldwide.
7. Have solid teachings, preferably from someone who has gone to seminary.
8. Be culturally aware.
9. Have a “deep bench.” This means there is more than just one leader who makes all of the decisions. Void of “cult followings” of one particular leader.
10. Be rooted in the historical church and not trying to “reinvent the wheel.” They are reverential of the decisions our spiritual forefathers have made.
11. Welcome the Holy Spirit and anything that He might offer, even if it is spontaneous.
12. Have women’s and men’s ministries
13. Have engaging, alive musical worship.
14. Have racial and stage-of-life diversity.

The list proved to be very helpful in helping us decide which church we should join of the two we were considering. We made the decision right after we went through the list with both churches.

What would be on your list?

The novel begins on the day a poor young farmer, Wang Lung, goes to pick up his wife, who is a slave, from the mansion in which she works. The couple has never met but Wang Lung looks forward to having a woman tend the house and bear children. The story continues on through the years of their marriage and doesn’t end until his wife, O-lan, has died and Wang Lung is on the verge of death. During their lifetime, they had endured extreme poverty and had at last acquired extreme wealth through the fruit of their land.

What left me feeling this book was, at its core, a tragedy was the lack of value placed on women and the lack of intimacy within the familial relationships.

Women were not valued in this culture beyond their ability to conceive men. When Wang Lung’s first two male children are born there is much relief and celebration. But when the third, a girl, is born her birth is announced by her mother as being “only a slave this time–not worth mentioning.” What haunted me most about the way women were treated and viewed in this book is the reality that China is not even free today of viewing women as less than men. I remember the first time that I learned of this: it was in high school and my History teacher was planning to adopt from China. She told us that they would adopt a girl because girls in China were often abandoned and intimated that even worse things could happen to a baby girl. I remember being disgusted and shocked that a baby girl could be killed or abandoned just for being born a girl. My sixteen year old mind could hardly fathom it. But fathom it this book will help you do. In it contains a world where men have multiple wives and women have no say in the matter. A world where a girl’s feet are bound because small feet are beautiful and they help make a girl a better prospect for gaining a respectable husband. When a girl marries she would then be all but forgotten by her own family. A woman inevitably marrying off was actually the reason given by Wang Lung as to why their births could be met with dismay: a girl would not stay with her family, but a boy would grow to be a man and continue to live in his father’s house and carry on his name, trade, and legacy. Having children thus becomes an act of pragmatism, not love.

There is no intimacy within any relationship portrayed in the book. Wang Lung’s first marriage is a practical one and although he often feels proud of his wife’s industriousness, there is no genuine love. This was painfully obvious when he disregards her feelings and takes on a second wife. This second marriage is a lustful one based on Wang Lung’s sexual attraction to a prostitute that he eventually gains for himself. His second wife is disregarded just as the first had been when, years later, Wang Lung gives in to another sexual temptation and this time takes on a third wife who is about forty years younger than he is.

One might think that because such value and esteem is placed on a man having sons that the father-son relationship would be the strongest, healthiest one. But alas, it is not. In fact, there is absolutely no semblance of healthy relationships in this novel, only broken human ones. It seems that for Wang Lung the merit of having a son is just so that he can say and so that his community can see that he has one. Wang Lung takes no interest in knowing who his sons are or building a relationship with them. As their father, he has a right to determine what their lives should look like and only gives in to their desires when it benefits his own life. For example, Wang Lung decides to send his two eldest sons to school after he tires of being made a fool during business transactions when it is evident to others that he cannot read and write. He designates his third son to be the one who knows the land and be a farmer. He decides not to educate his third son because he sees it as no practical need for his own concerns. After all, he reasons, he already has two sons who are educated, he has no need for his third to be so. It is only when his third son becomes restless that his first son is able to convince Wang Lung to educate him. Wang Lung concedes because he is desperately seeking “peace” in his house and doesn’t want the onus of dealing with his third son’s ill temper that has come as a result of being dissatisfied with the lot his father has given him in life. Wang Lung often makes decisions and gives in to others as a way to create peace for himself. The concept of him attaining peace was reiterated over and over again as Wang Lung aged. Sadly though he was a man who in his dying days could only find peace in his land, not his family, not in his religion, certainly not in his marriages. Although his earth was good to him in the ways in which he so desired–he was able to amass wealth and a respectable reputation within his community from it, in it the reader can also see that it served as an idol in this man’s life and he gave it the love and respect he should have given to his family. Nevertheless, we still feel pity for him when he reaps what he has sown and it is known that his sons, in disregard of their father’s wishes, will bring to pass his biggest fear and sell his land when he will die. It is no wonder though that his sons would disrespect his father’s wishes in this way; after all, he has not demonstrated a love towards them that would create a natural desire for them to honor his wishes, rather he has demonstrated a life that has been lived solely for himself. He will die then as an emotional stranger to his wives and sons who look forward to the day when they can sell his beloved land to feed their own selfish desires.

Pretty cool. I am going to set it as my home page.

The article is titled “Young, Evangelical….for Obama?

(Although if it were to more aptly reflect my sentiments it would be Young, Evangelical….for Hillary)