Gender Roles in Children's lit (and other thoughts around it)

I was minding my own business, and thinking about nothing overly stimulating this morning as I read through my google reader feeds. That is, until I read Janelle Paris' blog about the thoughts she encountered while her boys sung Yankee Doodle. My thoughts of chocolate macaroons (there's a box of them in the office I'm in), and what word would get me the most points in the current scrabble game I'm playing online, were suddenly replaced with feelings of feminist spite (ok, maybe not that strong, but it sounded good, didn't it?).

After writing a brief comment back, I quickly went to brainstorming the books that I had been exposed to as a young child and into my elementary school years. Since I clearly can't remember the books that were read to me as a very young child, I asked a friend of mine what sex and/or gender the main characters were of the books she read her two year old son. I wasn't too surprised to hear that most of the books had male main characters. I can't say that she was specifically looking for books that had male characters since she has a son (I'm sure we'll talk about that idea later), but I'm not so sure that there are many female characters in young children books. There are, of course, exceptions to the rule, but really, what was read to you when you were a young child?

Now, this whole thing got me thinking. What we read to children and later require them to read in school is not only solidifying harmless gender roles, but normalizing the dynamics of power and privilege with (white) males on top. **Now this is completely based off my own experiences and what I've observed when working with children and teens.** Most of the books that we are required to read through out school have male main Characters (especially in high school) - Catcher in the Rye, Of Mice and Men, A Farewell to Arms, The Great Gastby, the Grapes of Wrath... I could continue. Again, there are exceptions - A Tree grows in Brooklyn (something I recently picked up, but that was required for some of my friends), The Bell Jar and a few others. As required reading, both males and females are exposed to the ideas and roles of the author and characters. Is it possible that being read, and required to read books that predominately feature male main characters through out the first 18 years of our life could socialize women into an already male dominate society, and in the same token, socialize men to step into the dominate role?

I'm obviously not the only who thinks about these things... am I crazy for letting my thoughts wander down these paths? Is there anything being done about it (I think yes, but it's small)? What can I do about it? What can others do about it?

New year, New questions

Something has been simmering in the back of my mind for a few months. As it seems to be bubbling over into my comments I leave on other blogs I suppose I should make mention of it here.

Over the past couple of years I seem to have acquired a group of teenagers. To a few of them I am known by their friends as "the friend who cares." To others, I'm the house parent that gets way too excited about Jesus. Either way, I've recognized I have a significant voice in their lives. My hope would be to engage them in the beginning (or continuation) of a spiritual conversation and journey. However I struggle with providing a path to follow - at least a somewhat structured one. In the past I have been able to invite individual teens or groups of them to church. I've always been very intentional in which churches I've brought them to, as well as doing my best to connect them to others in their age group that might be influential. Here's the thing though - I don't go to a traditional church anymore. My church meets in the living room of an apartment. We're a group of adults generally geeking out about the Bible, theology, ethics, world news and other such issues that can be difficult for teens to pull into their understanding of the world. Let's face it, I can struggle to stay afloat in our conversations, should I expect teens to?

So what does teenage spirituality look like in an nontraditional, dare I say house church setting? Do I pawn them off to another ministry when it's clear they don't feel comfortable in the YoungLife or other various youth group settings? I'm at a loss! One on one I can talk to them about the deeper things in life, but I know life is better in community.

I'm sure I'm not the only one who thinks about these things.

Year-end thoughts

As a writer (in my own way), I can’t help but try and put some year-end thoughts down on paper. This year could write a book by itself. I’ve traveled more than 30 thousand miles in my little yellow beetle, and if only I could quantify the emotional, intellectual, and spiritual journeys 2008 has taken me on, I’m sure it would amount to a number greater than the miles my odometer states in my car.
I’ve attempted several times to write something about this past year. As I am rarely brief and short winded, the endeavor has often led into a haphazard rambling mess. So to keep it readable, I’m just going to go for a few lessons learned.

On Passion

Passion is unpredictable, and can lead you to many different places, it can be volatile, jealous, and self-seeking, yet God given. It must be held in an open palm, but not let loose. Somewhere in 2008, I realized I had neglected my passion. In an effort to remember what it was I found myself driving across the country to spend another summer in eastern Michigan. It wasn’t until the end of the summer on a road trip where I found myself in Atlanta, GA that I reclaimed that passion and found the peace to come back home to San Francisco.

On Faith

Faith is yet another intangible that is more easily misplaced than expected. I spent a greater part of the year nursing the wounds that can sadly come with sharing faith in a community. While God is unchanging, people do not have that privilege. Even though I left my church, I can thankfully say I did not leave God. Unfortunately, bitterness settled into my wounds, and my relationship with God and the church as a whole suffered. There came a dark moment that scared the beejeezees out of me, when I realized that losing faith and my relationship with God wasn’t about leaping off the deep end, but rather small quiet steps. Thankfully the end of 2008 saw more steps towards God than away. My bitterness has edged off (I’m not very good at holding grudges for too long), and I’m reclaiming my faith.

On People

People come in and out of our lives. They just do. Sometimes, for better or for worse, people leave when you least expect them to. Other times, people stay when you wish they would just go away. And again, other times you get to do the coming and going. I did a lot of coming and going this year. So, in this moment I’m going to apologize to those who I left. There are a few people I couldn’t have made it through some painful times without, and I don’t think I took nearly enough time in letting them know how much they meant to me. Thank you for being there, and I’m sorry if I didn’t let you know at the time. With that said, I could say something similar (perhaps without the apology) for people who have come into my life this year. God does not leave you high and dry. He created us for relationship, so I’m sure it’s no mistake, as some go, others come.

I think that’s as brief as I can get for 2008. I’m looking forward to 2009 – the changes, the challenges, the triumphs, and the growth.

I hope everyone has (or had) a safe new years eve.

ramblings from your daughter across the ocean

This morning I read a facebook note by a teen that I had the opportunity to work with this summer. Tomorrow, the 23rd is the 11th anniversary of his father's death. 44 years young, just a year younger than my dad currently is. He states, "All I know, is that life is pathetically short." I don't know if this is what finally tipped my need to get in contact with my dad, but it struck something deep. So in honor of the memory of his father, and the memories I don't have with my living father, I wanted to share the email I wrote to my dad.

Hey Dad,

So you've come up a few times in my conversations with friends as of late, so I figured I should drop you a line, and let you know I've been thinking about you. The problem is, every time I get the urge to call or write you, I never really know quite what to say. It's always such a long time between the times that we communicate.
This past Wednesday my friends and I were celebrating Advent and we lit the candle of Joy. A friend of mine asked us to share joyful moments, and beyond small moments of joy for the week, I though of the first visit I had back to England when I was 15. It was such a difficult trip, emotionally. I was so angry at how poorly our relationship had been for the first 7 years I'd been living in the states, and I really wanted some resolution. From our conversations over the weeks that I was there, I gained a sense of anticipatory joy. Maybe not joy in the moment, but the hope of future joy in a possible relationship with my dad. I realized as I shared that story with my friends on Wednesday, that some of that hope and joy had fizzled out. We are so horrible and keeping up with each other, and honestly, I don't know what a relationship with you looks like. I feel like the whole father-daughter relationship that kids expect is unrealistic for us to have. Then again, the whole grown child and father relationship doesn't work well for us either, because I don't really know you. Again, neither of us are really good at keeping up with each other.
Sorry if this is completely out of left field (baseball terminology), but I thought I should share my feelings with you... since, well... you're the other party involved. With all of that said, I thought it might make sense to let you know what's going on in my little piece of the world. So here goes...

The next two pages consisted of a long rambled monologue of my current life in San Francisco, which I will spare those who end up reading this.

Life, on this earth feels "pathetically short" sometimes. There are days that I don't want to face the broken relationships that exist in my reachable reality. However, there are days, and people that remind me of the preciousness of life and no mater how messy relationships get, God created us to be in them. Yesterday, we lit the fourth candle of Advent symbolizing love. Hope, peace, joy and love for the coming celebration of the birth of Christ.

It is in this very moment, that I'm starting to grasp onto an idea of what the Christmas season could possibly mean. While I push against what Christmas has become, and the strangeness of all our many traditions. It pulls deeply on my soul that celebrating the birth (even though it's not really at the right time) of an unsuspecting saviour that didn't quite fit the idea of the Messiah in that time, is a powerful and sacred thing.

What's your focus?

“In my thinking, church doesn’t exist for the benefit of its members. It exists to equip it’s members for the benefit of the world.”

-Brian McLaren, A New Kind of Christian

This quote might just incapsulate my greatest struggle with the church right now. Sadly, it is not my only frustration – but a big one. The thing is, how is this measured? Can one church equip one person and not another?

election night

I will post more at a more reasonable time, because 6am comes too fast and I do need to sleep at some point in the very near future. Tonight was a moment in history that no one can take back. America has elected an African American as their president. The words he spoke were beautiful and awe inspiring. I hope even those who did not choose to vote for him, could hear the passion and drive he has for this country. Not to mention, the beauty that surrounded him. Each person listening to him in person, had their opportunity to view history in the making. I felt it while sitting in my living room surrounded by 8 teenage boys, my coworkers, and the volunteer tutors. The adults, more so than the teens let the reality of what was happening soak into us slowly. Most of us, admittedly had tears in our eyes. The teens whooped it up by encouraging people through the windows - even buses honked their horns.

I'd attempt to sleep at this point, but I live so close to one of the biggest epicenters of the controversial California Prop 8 that helicopters haven't stopped covering the area since 9pm.

Church buildings

From the pages of my journal 10/29/08

When I was a young child, about five or six, my mom allowed my neighbors fro across the street to take me to church with them. It wasn't too far, maybe two or three blocks. It was a big, old Methodist church, at least that's how I remember it. For all I know it could have been small and quaint. I have fond memories that almost feel like dreams now, of playing hide and seek after service - usually opting to hid under the choir pews, or up in the raised lectern thing. This church I've decided, was also where my love for coffee came about. Without fail, coffee and tea were available in the back of the sanctuary after service. As I wasn't accompanied by an adult I could have my fill of either beverage. Since tea was regularly available with my babysitter, Audrey, I drank coffee at church. Though it could hardly be called coffee after all the sugar and cream I poured in.
From what I can remember, I was greatly loved at that church, and I'm sure they made every attempt at seeking out my mother. She came once, when I received a Precious Moments Bible, and a copy of Lucy Atwells' first book of prayers - keepsakes I have long since lost track of. My last memories of that church are captured in photos I have somewhere at my mom's house. A few weeks before I turned eight I had a combined Birthday and going away party in the basement, that was used as a multipurpose room, just a week or so before I moved to America. I've never been back since. That was a little over 16 years ago. 2/3 of my life.

I am reminded of those memories as I lay on the ground of the chapel in my house. It might be the smell that brought them, but I think it has more to do with the dark wood pews and ornate furniture that you would typically find in Catholic, or old traditional churches.
Funnily enough, my first thought as I took in the view from my low vantage point (laying on the ground of slightly raised but carpeted "stage"... is it called a stage in a church?), was where I could hide easter eggs in this room.
It's strange that I don't feel the same way towards the ornateness of old chapels, churches and cathedrals as I do about the more modern ornateness of newer, "high tech" churches. In the beauty of old churches, I see the attempt of humans trying to create an alter o the Lord. The painted tiles, stained glass windows, decorative wall hangings, and carefully carved wood fittings. Each an attempt to please the Lord. However, I am not disillusioned enough to believe that this was the soul purpose, or was it? Were these beautiful things added to draw more people to the church, to attract the purses of the wealthy. To make them more marketable?
What was the original purpose of the church? Was it to be a place that people came to list? When I wa about the church I suppose I mean the church as a building. Was it the result of Christians regularly gathering in the same location for the purpse of corporately worshiping God, praying for each other, and having the opportunity to catch up with the neighbor that lived a little too far away to see on a regular basis? Was it meant to represent the Jewish temple? Did it become a place where those who sought out shelter, food, or an ear, could find what they were looking for?

When did churches slowly start drifting away from that? When did they start closing their doors at night? Was it because they we're being vandalized, or did the vandalism occur because they closed their doors? When did we forget what Jesus said and did for the poor, the meek, the downtrodden? Yet as a body, most of us quickly become uncomfortable when an unbathed man walks into the sanctuary. We grow frustrated that our pastor spends more time helping people that come to his door from the "outside" seeking help, than the time he spends preparing for his/her Sunday morning sermon. Maybe, just maybe, his/her service to others is one of the ways he prepares his heart for Sunday.