Shuffle

Do you ever put your iPod on shuffle and then, a few songs later, think, “Wow, I have ridiculously good taste in music!”?

Finally Feminist by John Stackhouse

I read this book a couple of times before I decided to start this blog and write about what I was thinking through. However, before I got to re-reading it, I read How I Changed My Mind About Women In Leadership, edited by Alan Johnson, and came across a nice summary of Finally Feminist in Bonnie Wurzbacher’s chapter. Because I’m lazy she’s done a good job of capturing the essence of Stackhouse’s argument, I’m going to quote her rather than trying to work out how to say it better:

“Stackhouse concludes that both God and Paul promoted the temporary accommodation of Christianity to the patriarchy of the time, because nothing was (or is) more important than advancing the gospel. To do so, in that time and place, would likely have interfered with this purpose.

But what about the church in our culture today? Stackhouse concludes that today we now face exactly the opposite problem in our country (and other countries that no longer espouse a patriarchal culture). In other words, by not embracing women in leadership roles, the western church is actually impairing the advancement of the gospel in their own countries” (page 262.)

It sounds quite blunt when summarised apart from the introduction, in which Stackhouse stresses that he doesn’t have all the answers. In fact, he argues that there may not be definitive answers for us in this lifetime. Our task, he writes, is not to wait until we have this issue all figured out so that we can move on to the next problem. Rather, we are to “dwell on the Bible, with the help of the Holy Spirit and the church; to make the best decision one can make about what Scripture means; and then to respond to it in faith, obedience and gratitude”. This means “remaining continually open to refinement of one’s interpretations and even to the acceptance of quite different positions as the Holy Spirit gives one more light” (both quotes from page 24).

I was convicted by this attitude of humility. In an article I recently found, Ian Morgan Cron suggests that there are five words that could save the church: “...but I could be wrong”. I don’t like admitting that I might be wrong, and I really don’t like admitting that those people might be right. I need to continue repenting of my pride and soak in this message until I’m wrinkly with its truth. I’m pretty sure that right now God’s more concerned with how I approach my research into this topic in particular than with what I discover from it. This “continually open” attitude also means that this isn’t an issue I’ll ever be able to pack away in my ‘solved’ box, never to look at again; there’s no issue I’ll ever be able to pack away in my ‘solved’ box, never to look at again. As someone who writes up retrospective to-do lists purely for the joy of crossing all of the (already completed) tasks off it so that I can bask in the gigantic sense of accomplishment, this was an especially painful revelation.

And that was just the introduction!

I really, really like this book. I relate to Stackhouse’s frustrations with the arguments commonly presented in books on the gender issue: “No one I had read (and I had read quite a few) could put all the relevant texts together into a single, finished puzzle with no pieces left over, with none manufactured to fill in gaps, and with none forced into place” (page 23). Stackhouse doesn’t work through each of the ‘difficult’ passages, trying to mould them to fit the egalitarian view, so I had fewer squirmy moments than I often do while reading books on this topic. I also agree with his theology, so no bending was required to line it up with mine. I think his argument makes a lot of sense of the patriarchy found throughout the Bible, history and our culture today. At first I thought this book was a good place to start in thinking about the gender issue; I’m starting to think it’s actually a good place to end up.

But I’m open to other suggestions...

Shortbread

from here

I’m not really a natural when it comes to baking. My husband, on the other hand, instinctively knows things like how to separate egg yolks from the whites or what temperature the oven should actually be on even when the recipe says 180˚C. We cook very differently: He follows recipes to the letter, even if it asks him to do something illogical, while I like to experiment; he uses a rolling pin, I pummel things flat with my fist.
 

He often stands around the kitchen while I’m cooking, offering suggestions such as, “Maybe it would help if you actually switched the stove on”, or “TURN THE POWER OFF BEFORE YOU OPEN THE BLENDER OR YOU’LL CUT YOUR WHOLE HAND OFF!”, or, “Please take the baby to the balcony while I put out that fire you seem to have started in the oven”. Before we were married I explained to him that I was not going to be anything like [Perfect Wife A] or [Perfect Wife B], so I don’t feel like I’m letting him down by being a dunce in this regard; he was warned.

Having said all of that, I still bake. Like a baby who thinks falling is fun because he’s always caught by his loving parents, I am encouraged by my husband/coach hovering nearby with ready advice and fireman skills to try and try again. So I decided to make shortbread. “You know shortbread is one of the hardest things to bake, don’t you?” said my husband. I didn’t; the recipe was in the 4 Ingredients cookbook! It couldn’t possibly be that difficult.

So I launch in and blend the ingredients together and when the mixture seems a little too buttery add a little more flour and a little more icing sugar while my husband looks on in disgust (“Are you even measuring that?!”), and then I add a little more flour again and then I pummel the dough flat, cut out heart shapes, chuck the tray in the oven and set the timer. Throughout this process I’m singing a song I’ve made up for the occasion called 'I am the Baking Queen' to the tune of a Pirates of Penzance classic. The recipe says they’ll take 30 minutes, but I sneak a peek at 15 and see that they’re already looking golden and ready, so I take them out.

You’re expecting a disaster but this is a tale of victory, my friends: 

Best. Shortbread. EVERRRRRRRR.

It was after the third successful batch weeks later that one of the little voices in my head started insinuating that perhaps I was not in fact a superb baker but that my husband had been wrong about the difficulty level of shortbread-making. But I don’t really like that voice (we’ve never got on that well). I choose instead to listen to the other voice, the kinder one, who still sings with me:

I am the baking queen!

(You are, hurrah for the baking queen!)

And it is, it is a glorious thing to be the baking queen!

(It is, hurrah for the baking queen, hurrah for the bakiiiiiing queen!)

Thank you, thank you very much.

Anyone want some biscuits?

The Response

I’m not an internetty person. I left Facebook. I don’t tweet. Before this year I was only following two blogs, one of which was my mum’s. I worry too much about etiquette; when I first joined Facebook, I absolutely freaked out when an acquaintance from high school ‘hugged’ me. I called my brother: “Am I supposed to hug her back even though I wouldn’t feel comfortable doing that in real life?”

Now there’s a whole world of blog etiquette to get my head around. Am I allowed to read about other peoples’ lives without letting them know I’m doing it? It feels a little like eavesdropping. So should I comment and let them know I’m listening in? But what do they care what I think when they have no idea who I am? These questions don’t keep me awake at night, but they niggle occasionally.

I recently crawled out of my safe, eavesdroppy shell to comment on a blog post; it was my first comment ever on a non-family member’s blog and the stress of it almost killed me (I’m a nervous person, okay?!), but the discussion had provoked me enough to take the risk. The post (which is here, from Ben’s blog) was about the ‘Jesus: A Prophet of Islam’ billboards, which sparked a discussion in the comments, and then between me and my husband, and later that week between a few of the members of our Bible study.

It really surprised me that so many Christians responded with a pro-free-speech attitude rather than outrageous offense (my first reaction), and I’m still not sure I completely disagree with the billboard being vandalised (can’t vandals express their views freely too?). I can’t imagine the God of the Bible responding to people telling lies about Him with, “Whatevs, people are entitled to their own opinion. Hurrah for free speech!” - I’m pretty sure He’d smite them. However, I do concede that there are more mature and respectful ways of handling offensive billboards than to tear them down, and I was overjoyed to see that one group of Christians has found one of them: http://aussiechristians.com.au/

P.S. This is the post that made me start reading Ben’s blog – it cracked me up.

P.P.S. The top photo is by Dean Sewell. The bottom is unattributed on the Aussie Christians website.

Kinds of Blue

So I have a new friend, her name's Karen.

I discovered today that she's edited an anthology of comics about depression. Intrigued, I mosied over to the site to check it out. It's amazing. It made me cry. I love it.

You can (and should) read it here. And you can find out more about supporting the project here.

Labels

During our pre-marriage counselling our pastor asked us each to tell him what our perfect Saturday would look like. Mine looked like this: Waking late, lazily leafing through the pages of the weekend paper, walking to the beach where I’d work on the samurai Sudoku and swim, then meeting up with my husband-to-be for dinner, after which I’d wander home, flop on the couch and watch Gilmore Girls with my flatmate before finally collapsing in bed feeling sun-kissed and content and in love (*sigh*). My husband-to-be said, “Watching the cricket”.

Our pastor married us despite the fact that our ideal days involved very little time spent together.

from here

That has nothing to do with the topic of this post, however; it was the introduction to an introduction that I've now scrapped. :o)

I’ve been thinking a lot about labels recently, trying to work out which to tag myself with. Labels are important; it sounds wrong to say that they let us know how to categorise people (no one likes to be boxed), but I think it's true. Sometimes lidless boxes are helpful. We’re asked to label ourselves fairly regularly, whether it’s filling out a blogger profile or introducing ourselves to someone new, and the way we label ourselves can reveal a lot about who we are. It feels good to have an interesting answer to the big “So, what do you do?” question. I used to enjoy being able to say, “I’m a linguist!”; now I’m not quite sure how to respond.

From the birth of my son I’ve been calling myself a full-time mum, but now that more women in my mother’s group are heading back to work I’m having to rethink that label. Those women are still mothers even when they’re at work; the ‘full-time mum’ answer seems as unsatisfying as saying, “I’m a full-time daughter!” – Yes, me too... But what do you do?

Well, today I fed my son and I kissed him when he fell and I put him to bed when he yawned and I continued to teach him what ‘no’ means and I prayed with him as we drove to mother’s group and I protected him from a rough kid at the playground. What’s the best label to capture that? ‘Stay-at-home mother’ seems too passive; an alternative for those who can't be bothered going and doing. There’s ‘domestic goddess’, which I like, but is it a tad blasphemous? And what does ‘housewife’ even mean?

Even if I find the perfect label for me being at home each day with my son, it’ll still be a description of me being at home each day with my son. Why do I feel like I need extra labels like ‘linguist’ or ‘student’ to pad this one, to make what I do with my time seem slightly more valid? It’s hard to measure my progress when the goal is raising a healthy and emotionally resilient boy who really loves Jesus and has a decent sense of humour; there are no daily to-do lists for this project, no deadlines to work to. I’ve found myself thinking back on some days and wondering if I’ve achieved anything at all, particularly when I haven’t even managed to get out of my pyjamas.

At this point I don't feel like I have any answers, although while looking at this passage in Bible study the other night I found comfort (yet again) from Romans 8:28: And we know that in all things – nappy changes, peekaboo and nighttime feeds included – God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.

P.S. I feel like this article may help as I think more deeply and prayerfully through all of this.

One Red Paperclip by Kyle MacDonald

It struck me not far into reading this– around the moment that I first thought (with disappointment), “this is the book equivalent of the film Legally Blonde” – that perhaps I was procrastinating. I really do want to re-read and write about Finally Feminist by John Stackhouse, but considering I keep finding myself repelled from it like a magnet with the same polarity, I don’t think my brain’s quite up for it yet. After a week or two of long stretches of sleep (thank you, God!), my son has reverted to waking us, and my body’s slowed down once again to cope with the missing rest. It was somewhat comforting to discover that my brain was functioning well enough to be unimpressed by mind-numbing writing; that can only be a good sign.

So, partly for some mental exercise and partly as punishment for picking it up in the first place, I am making myself write about One Red Paperclip by Kyle MacDonald.

This is actually a great (true) story: back in 2005, Kyle, a 26-year-old jobless Canadian, decided to revive a childhood game and trade a red paperclip for something bigger and better, in the hope that he’d be able to continue to “up trade” until he eventually ended up with a house. The fact that so many people got on board (helped by a couple of celebrities and a stack of publicity) and made this idea into a reality is very cool, and I enjoyed finding out about each of the traders Kyle met along the way and how the game panned out.

The problem is not that there’s no story here, the problem is that Kyle MacDonald tells it with no apparent help from an editor. Or maybe it’s just that I was tired and cranky when I read it. Either way, I found myself groaning audibly on more than one occasion at his sense of humour, and wishing someone close to him had read along and been able to say, “okay, stop talking now, Kyle!”. Let me give you an example, if only to prove that my crankiness wasn’t the only reason I found this book difficult (this is the first paragraph of the ‘one cube van’ chapter, on page 143):

Bruno almost crushed my hand. He had the strongest handshake I’d ever encountered. And I’d shaken Al Roker’s hand before. It was like some sort of medieval torture or martial art. I imagined Bruno being the world’s only purveyor of a special handshake-based martial art developed solely for negotiation purposes. Brunoshake. Bru-No-Sha-Ke. It sounded Japanese. Maybe Bruno was a ninja. A ninja in disguise. As a businessman. You never know. It made sense, actually. He was quite the accomplished businessman. General manager of Cintas operations in Québec. Everyone seemed familiar with him at the restaurant. Maybe he was a samurai. I looked at Bruno with a sense of respect, and calm. I wondered if I should bow or hand him my business card with both hands, but I remembered something: I didn’t have a business card.

THIS IS ACTUALLY IN THE BOOK.

The other thing that bothered me was that at the end of most chapters were ‘inspirational’ tips, such as “Ask not what your mind can do for you, ask what you can do for your mind”, with an accompanying self-helpy spiel. Yes, Kyle MacDonald came up with a great idea and then actually did something about it, but I’m not entirely sure that being really really lucky qualifies him to write a motivational manual, particularly when he a) is 26 years old and b) admits to running with the whole idea in the first place because he couldn't be bothered looking for a job.

So this was what I got for procrastinating. I blame the librarian; who puts the eBay/internet books on the shelf above the parenting section? Didn’t he/she know there’d be drowsy and easily-distracted mothers browsing in that area??

One Red Paperclip really was a brilliant idea, and I totally wish I’d come up with it first - but if you want to know about Kyle's trades, read the Wikipedia article.