Aj Schwanz

It’s great to open the paper to the Living section and read an article

• about the postmodern mindset
• about the postmodern Church
• about somebody from my hometown

Check out Geez for yourself.

WARNING:¬† Foodie geek about to blather on.¬† But I promise there’s content more than “mmmm, grilled eggplant” and “mmmm, balsalmic strawberries” and “mmmm, grilled Moroccan meatballs.”¬† Really, I promise.

So today my son and I swung by the library a) because it’s Thursday and I thought we could see how long we could sit in storytime (the answer is half of a book and half of a song) and 2) because I had holds in (it’s so convenient to place holds online, but the librarians do sigh as they remove a shelf’s worth of items for me).¬† Today I was especially excited because three cookbooks came in, one of them being Jamie’s Dinners by Jamie Oliver, a.k.a. the Naked Chef.

This is his most recent publication, one that is near and dear to his heart:¬† he has been filming a documentary looking at the food being served in public schools in England, and what he’s discovered hasn’t been pretty.¬† So he decided to do something about it with his Feed Me Better campaign:

Jamie’s School Dinners is all about making radical changes to the school meals system and challenging the junk food culture by showing schools can serve fresh nutritious meals that kids enjoy eating.

What we eat affects everything. Mood, behaviour, health, growth, even our ability to concentrate. A lunch time school meal should provide a growing child with one third of their daily nutritional intake. But the processed junk foods served in most school dining halls these days don’t.

The father of two adorable girls (named Poppy Honey and Daisy Boo - I wonder if they’re friends with Apple Martin . . .), he’s been motivated to find create and share recipes that are healthy, tasty, and economical to make for the sake of his daughters’ generation and beyond.¬† His compassion extends to the meals eaten at home with families:¬† “All the major factors that are needed to make a good affordable school lunch also apply to a mindful, clever cook at home.”¬† Many of these recipes have been served at his restaurant Fifteen:¬† “The purpose of Fifteen is to inspire disadvataged young people to believe that they can create for themselves a career in the restaurant business.”¬† He trains people to be chefs and then helps them find employments - 37 people have completed this program, and round 4 is in the works.

Talk about taking your talents and gifts and putting them to work to better the world!¬† His passion and his compassion collided.¬† True, he does make quality money, but he doesn’t spend all of his time on his career as some chefs do.¬† He probably could have been much more of a Food Network personality, but he stepped back to focus on these works.¬† He didn’t have to have any special “social work/non-profit” type training:¬† just his knives and a desire for healthy, simple meals for all.¬† Now that’s a post-modern/emerging foodie if I ever saw one.

What skills and gifts have you been blessed with?  How are you called to use those in your daily life for the sake of others?  These are questions the whirl in my head on a daily basis, so maybe I can get some answers by hearing your experiences.

As of 2005, federal funding was denied to all public school sex education programs except for those advocating abstinence until marriage. Consequently, a disturbing percentage of young people are equipped with nothing but G-strings and Jenna Jameson to guide them through the roiling sea of hormones they are entering, and all the attendant dangers of STDs and pregnancy that are its sharks. Our national love of porn and pole dancing is not the byproduct of a free and easy society with an earthy acceptance of sex. It is a desperate stab at freewheeling eroticism in a time and place characterized by intense anxiety. What are we afraid of? Everything . . . which includes sexual freedom and real female power. (199-200)

I just finished reading Female Chauvinist Pigs: Women and the Rise of Raunch Culture by Ariel Levy, and man: is my heart heavy.

The book, a bright pink cover with the sillouette of the girls you see on mudflaps, takes a look at the new kind of “empowered woman” - Playboy bunnies, Girls Gone Wild participants, bois versus butch, and other “liberated” women who laugh about porn, advocate “shopping for sex,” and somewhat have a bad taste for the roots of feminism thinking it was taken too seriously. A look was taken at the history of feminism and how far our society has come from the ideals espoused at the beginning:

Instead of advancing the causes of the women’s liberation movement or the sexual revoluation, the obdurate prevalence of raunch in the mainstream has diluted the effect of both sex radicals and feminists, who’ve seen their movement’s images popularized while their ideals are forgotten. As Candida Royalle said, “We’ve become a heavily sexualized culture, but it’s consumerism and sex rolled into one. Revolutionary movements tend to be co-opted — swallowed up by the mainstream and turned into pop culture. It’s a way of neutralizing it, when you think about it . . . it makes it all safe and palatable, it shuts up the radicals. Once that happens, the real power is pretty much dissipated.” (196)

How many revolutionary movements is that true of? Ouch.

My heart aches for the women the author interviewed as I read their confident and careless words: did they realize what they were saying? Did they see the holes in their stories? Not free, but chained to an image that culture has created.

And I can’t help but be discouraged when thinking about sending my son out into such a world. Already my husband and I have had many conversations about education: I find fear creeping into many of my thoughts. I *hate* thinking, “What educational experience will cause my son the least amount of damage?” rather that “What educational experience will help my son become the man that God created him to be” - because secretly in my heart I don’t believe such a place exists.

Some friends of mine are working on bringing awareness to and helping eliminate the sex trade industry in Thailand. I wonder about those trapped in the sex trade here - those “confident, sexually-liberated” women walking around right in front of our eyes.

If we believed that we were sexy and funny and competent and smart, we would not need to be like strippers or like men or like anyone other than our own, specific, individual selves. (200)

The chains are harder to see, but still there. Identity in God: it’s SO life-determining to have an identity rooted in God. Where do you see evidence of these chains?

The lifestyle of schizoid Christians is erratic because at different moments we deliberately separate ourselves from our real selves. We hug certain events, experiences, and relationships to ourselves and exclude the presence of the indwelling Spirit. It may be a movie, a conversation, an illicit love affair, or a business transaction. Later, we re-entere the self that calls itself Christian and take part in events where God is celebrated in speech and song. Afterward we confide to friends, “Worship was kind of flat tonight.”

I recently wrote of my frustration at being able to pay attention well to anything around me: my mind seems to be going in so many different directions. In discussions with my husband I’ve commented, “There’s got to be more to this! There should be a rhythm, a way to breathe the same in worship and at the store and at the dinnfer table . . . or at least to acknowledge that the air/spirit is the same.”

When we periodically close ourselves off from God, our hearts are touched by the icy fingers of agnosticism. Christian agnosticism does not consist so much in the denial of a personal God as in the unbelief of inattention to the sacred. The way we live bears unmistakable witness to our loving awareness or lack of it. Brennan Manning, The Importance of Being Foolish

So, how to live in such a way that life bears unmistakable witness to my loving awareness of the attention to the sacred? When the daily consists of feeding, changing diapers, cleaning up messes, reading books, and playing with stacking cups; and the unusual consists of getting a root canal from a specialist and trying to figure out what to do with a vcr that crapped out? Can an air of holiness surround all these activities?

Our attention span is shot. We’ve all got Attention Deficit Disorder or ADD or OCD or one of these disorders with three letters because we don’t have the time or patience to pronounce the entire disorder. That should be a disorder right there, TBD - too busy disorder. - Ellen Degeneres

How are y’all doing on paying attention? I ask simply because my mind is currently drawn in so many directions that I wonder/am hoping that it’s not just me . . .

The other day I was chatting with a friend about how I’m having a hard time engaging with a small group. “I don’t know if it’s because I’m not preparing enough or maybe I’m supposed to move on to something different or maybe something’s just wrong with me.” “Or maybe it’s because you’re a parent of a small and very active child, and life’s a bit crazy, and you’re worn out by the end of the day.” “Oh . . . huh . . . I hadn’t thought of that.” Thanks, friend.
Yesterday while sitting in Easter service, my *favorite* service of the year, I found myself staring at the pastor’s microphone contraption attached to his head and wondering if it was comfortable; looking at all the plastic flowers around and wondering who spent time and money decorating the sanctuary and if the flowers got dusted; noticing the girl bass player and wondering why more girls don’t play the bass; hoping the Little Man was getting along okay in the nursery since I made the fatal error of saying “Good bye” when leaving the room; wishing my new coat that my Mom kept complementing would stay buttoned; making a mental list of if we had enough food at home to get through til the next day or if we needed to stop at the grocery store on the way home; hoping the bananas hadn’t gone too far south to make Alton Brown banana bread; trying to remember- Book Club on Monday, root canal and small group on Tuesday, Bible Study on Wednesday, MOPS meeting on Thursday? nursery on Sunday, and in-law coming to town; when are library books and bills due?; when to sign up the hubby for softball?; whenis Alias coming back on tv?; how long has it been since I’ve blogged? Wait, service is over? . . .
Yeah, not so with it. I know the message was about hope: but I don’t really know why I’m supposed to have it, where it comes from, or what I’m supposed to do with it.

Part of it was attending a church different than my home gathering, jumping into the middle of a sermon series. Part of it was a different congregation and a different sermon style. But it’s more . . .

Have you been paying attention lately? Where do you find yourself paying attention? What are you hearing?

Ah, different points of view are fun.

My friend and former fellow Balcony Person Cherice asks a good question this week:

I’ve been busy lately and we had some friends over the last few days so I’ve been neglecting blog-dom, and I don’t have time for a real post right now, but for the last few days I’ve been thinking about the Quaker concept of the Inner Light. Where did the phrase come from? What did it mean originally? What does it mean now? I’ll work on answering these questions later.

What a great idea: to explore, question, examine something that can be used so casually and unthoughtfully.

Elsewhere, someone does not question or explain from revelation/experience, but rather states what the Inner Light is.

Very different information, very different perspectives, very different presentations. One is very relational and engaging; one is very statement-oriented and persuasion-attempting. One comes out of experience with; one comes out of observation of.

So, good Light? Bad Light? What makes the difference?

CollegeAj: Hi, Registrar Person. I’d like to change a class.
FrontOfficePerson: You must wait in this line until an available clerk can see you.
CollegeAj: How long will that be?
FrontOfficePerson: About two hours.
CollegeAj: But the class I’d like to take starts in an hour and a half.
FrontOfficePerson: Well, you can’t attend that class until you’re registered.
CollegeAj: But you can’t get me registered before it starts.
FrontOfficePerson: That is correct.
CollegeAj: Do you see a problem with that?
FrontOfficePerson: No.
CollegeAj: Hmmm.

Two hours later.

RegistrarClerk: I can see you now.
CollegeAj: Yes, I’d like to take this class.
RegistrarClerk: You have a Student Accounts flag.
CollegeAj: What does that mean?
RegistrarClerk: You’ll have to ask them.

Another long line.

StudentAccountsClerk: I can help you now.
CollegeAj: I have a flag.
StudentAccountsClerk: Oh, I can’t help you: I only help out folks with last names M-S.
CollegeAj: Hmmm.

Waiting.

StudentAccountsClerk: I can help you.
CollegeAj: Can you?
StudentAccountsClerk: Yes, your last name falls within the acceptable parameters.
CollegeAj: Oh, good: wouldn’t want to fall outside of the parameters. I have a flag.
StudentAccountsClerk: You have $10.00 that needs to be paid on your account.
CollegeAj: Why?
StudentAccountsClerk: For this class.
CollegeAj: I dropped that class a while ago.
StudentAccountsClerk: It’s not showing up.
CollegeAj: It’s dropped.
StudentAccountsClerk: You’ll need to see the Registrar’s Office.
CollegeAj: I was there. They sent me here.
Together: Hmmmm.

RegistrarClerk: I can help you.
CollegeAj: Like a root canal?
RegistrarClerk: Potentially.
CollegeAj: Student Accounts said I owe them money for a class I dropped. Please make the class go away.
RegistrarClerk: Normally you have to get a signature.
CollegeAj: I did.
RegistrarClerk: Where is it?
CollegeAj: I gave it to you a while ago.
RegistrarClerk: Doubtful.
CollegeAj: Well, because I’m disorganized, I still have the carbon copy in my bag. See. Signature.
RegistrarClerk: I suppose that’s acceptable.
CollegeAj: Hmmm.
RegistarClerk: Next person!
CollegeAj: No, I’m not done! I need to change a class.
RegistrarClerk: You need your advisor’s signature.
CollegeAj: They said you needed to tell me if it was still open.
RegistrarClerk: It is.
CollegeAj: Hmmmm.

Two hours later after tracking prof across campus and classrooms and hill and dale and then waiting in the Registrar Line for an hour.

RegistrarClerk: I can see you now.
CollegeAj: I got my supervisor’s signature.
RegistrarClerk: Well, since the class has officially started, you need the prof’s signature as well.
CollegeAj: But when I was here, it hadn’t started.
RegistrarClerk: A class has passed since you were here. You need their signature.
CollegeAj: Hmmmm.

Two hours later after waiting on the prof who was teaching a class which was better than leaving the form with the prof’s assistant meaning it may never get signed. Returning to the Registrar Office and waiting in a smaller line (the line dwindled as students’ hopes were slowly worn away that their schedules were etched in anything other than stone).

RegistrarClerk: I can help you now.
CollegeAj: I don’t know about that. You said that last time. Help, I have not found; a more toned butt, I have.
RegistrarClerk: I have no ability to laugh - it has been absorbed into our cumbersome, antique computer system.
CollegeAj: Oy. Here is your form. I’d like to change my class.
RegistrarClerk: That class is full.
CollegeAj: No, it’s not. I’ve been getting signatures to take it just like you told me.
RegistrarClerk: It’s filled up since you were here. You’ll have to wait until someone drops or the prof approves an overflow, which rarely happens.
CollegeAj: I think that computer has sucked away your tendency towards kindness and compassion as well.
RegistrarClerk: Could be.

In college, this was a situation experienced by many students. MANY students. Instead of learning educational, edifying subjects, we learned that offices are bad, paperwork is worse, and that we might be doomed to run around the clocktower for life. As a freshman, I didn’t know how to avoid the Paperwork Gauntlett; but fortunately, I found some compassionate, experienced seniors who taught me how to navigate the obstacle course, and soon I could fly through a schedule change with no problem. In fact, my schedule was never nailed down until a week after school started, and I still got into all the classes I wanted/needed. Tricks are a good thing.

I don’t know that I ever figured out humility, respect, dedication, or direction in my education, but I did figure out “the system.” One summer I worked for the Vice President of Enrollment Services, and I got to know a slew of employees in Student Services roles: registrar, financial aid, student accounts, admissions, etc. The system was a bit wonky, for students as well as employees, but a few key employees could make it so easy for students to get what they needed.

One day I saw a set of folks walking around with a dazed look on their faces. “Can I help you?” “Well, we’re trying to register for classes and get this account taken care of, but we don’t know where to go . . .” “Oh, well, go to this building, ask for this certain person who will get you your classes fast. They’ll get you a great advisor. Then go to this room and ask for this person who will get your account taken care of; they may be on break, so say you’ll wait until they return: it’s totally worth it, otherwise you may be here until your next child is ready for enrollment.” I saw them later that day, happily walking to their car. “Hey, thanks so much for your help! It was so easy after we talked to you!”

Man, that was a great day in my college experience: not a speaker or subject, but knowing that I helped someone get through the gauntlet so they could get on with the important stuff - learning, being part of a community, etc.

I realized I really liked being an advocate. Just like other friends helped me, I loved being able to share with others how to navigate the waters of the culture/experience and skip out on the potential two-day process of simply trying to change a class from morning to afternoon.

Do you remember a time when you were advocated for? Who was it? When are you an advocate for others?

O God, within this strange and quickened dust
The beating heart controls the coursing blood
In discipline that holds in check the flood
But cannot stem corrosion and dark rust,
In flesh’s solitude I count it blest
That only you, my Lord, can see my heart
With passion’s darkness tearing it apart
With storms of self, and tempests of unrest,
But your love breaks through blackness, bursts with light;
We separate ourselves, but you rebind
In Dayspring all our fragments; body, mind
And spirit join, unite against the night.
Healed by your love, corruption and decay
Are turned, and whole, we greet the light of day.
~Madeleine L’Engle

Today at Bible Study, a friend brought her new baby - not even two weeks old. This blessed little creature made faces and snuggled into her blanket while we passed her around our small group, each person getting her baby fix. I played with her perfect fingers, touched her sweet head, scrunched up my face when she scrunched hers.

In a nearby city, other friends sit with their newborn son, except he isn’t being held: he’s hooked up to wires and monitors in the NICU. He was born with a blocked intestine and required surgery; recovery seemed to be going well until last night when a setback was evident.

Two babies: two similar pregnancies: two completely different experiences. Why is it this way?

It’s so easy to fall into fear, to worry that something like that might happen to my family if we ever decided to have another child. Jason pointed out that every moment brings an element of “danger”: every drive in a car, every walk on the street, every little germ that could create a cold or other . . .

God, break through the tempests of unrest and blackness of fear with your bursting light - for me, for my friends and their little ones, for all who need the light of spring and life and love and you.

God’s Wheel

God says to me with a kind of a smile,
“Hey how would you like to be God awhile
And steer the world?”
“Okay,” says I, “I’ll give it a try.
Where do I set?
How much do I get?
What time is lunch?
When can I quit?”
“Gimme back that wheel,” says God,
“I don’t think you’re quite ready yet.”*

Ok, so I wasn’t steering the world with God’s wheel, but I was steering a small child who *never* *stops* *moving* up at my parents’ house while the folks at my web hosting place were steering information from one server to another to another. No, I wasn’t doing anything illegal so that my site had to be taken down (Stacy :)), but wouldn’t that be funny: porn’s okay, but emerging/quaking/listening to God’s too controversial?!!

So yes: the blogging should return to its normal sporatic pace now.

**A personal experience of Shel Silverstein, though I think we’ve all given it a try, yes?