Mother Inferior

Crossing Cultures Community Writing Project: Wrap-Up

Wow! I was so thrilled by the response to the High Calling community writing project we announced last week. Thanks to everyone who participated. The entries were amazing--well-written, engaging, and so diverse! :)

Here are a few highlights--

In New Girl, one of two posts she linked to, Laura Parker of "Life Overseas" remembers being rejected after she tried to reach out to other Americans in a new culture.  Laura writes: "Maybe one day, I’ll be the girl with more answers than questions on this piece of foreign soil. But, I pray that when that day arrives, I’ll keep enough margin in my schedule and in my heart to speak vulnerable. To ask questions.  And to get the New Girl’s number." A vulnerable post with great food for thought.

Bob Gorinski 's post, Why Not, eloquently describes an experience when he "accidentally" walked into a church very different from the one he'd grown up in.  At his blog, "So Whattya Think, Robert?," he writes, "So I stood amazed and uncomfortable for about fifteen or thirty minutes in a sea of soulful Christians. I felt like an obstacle, worse than out of place." (BTW, the hand on the small of his back was my favorite detail...and the ending is great.)

Dan King, The High Calling's Social Media Editor, recently returned from a mission trip to the Dominican Republic. He shares about the industriousness of the people overseas in Selling a Spiderman Kite on his blog, "BibleDude.net." The post is entertaining...and convicting. A big #fistbump to Dan!

I love this quote from Nancy's ("Out of My Alleged Mind") piece, Family Resemblances:"Feasting with others who represent a beautiful tapestry of tribes, languages, and tongues is what diversity looks like in our family. In other words, our experience with diversity feels like a foretaste of heaven." Her linked post is a beautiful reflection on what family REALLY means.

Marilyn Yocum talks about culture shock in all its forms in her compelling post, Swimming in New Waters. Here's a snippet: 

"There is no
holding your breath until it’s over,
so you better learn to breathe
in the midst of it."

And Adriel Booker (of "the mommyhood memos") linked up to two posts which detail the ways she's crossed cultures in her work with YWAM. I especially loved her portrait--in photos and words--of the little gyspy girl who stole her heart in Cairo.

Awesome stuff!

Be sure and visit ALL the posts in the linky tool below (on the original post) and leave encouraging comments (as well as virtual hugs). Just keep the tissue close at hand--because several of the posts are incredibly moving.

The bloggers I visited--some old friends, some new acquaintances--each taught me something through their stories. (BTW, Will Ratliff, who wrote "Crossing the Tracks," is my brother. He's a very talented author and new blogger, and I know he'd appreciate some encouragement.)

I--along with everyone else on the High Calling editorial team--truly appreciate everyone who linked up with this project. Thanks for taking time out of your hectic lives, and reaching deep, to participate.

Credits: Image by Jenny Rain. Used with permission via Flickr.  Post by Dena Dyer.

Community Writing Project--Crossing Cultures

Sometimes, all it takes is a little eyeshadow.

 

Last Saturday, I spent several hours at our local civic center with hundreds of Girl Scouts at a celebration honoring them for their community service. Local businesses, including the non-profit I work for, provided fun activities--giveaways, games, and crafts--for these future world-changers.

 

The hall rang with giggles and squeals, and the air smelled of popcorn and nacho cheese. At our booth, backed by my co-worker Katy's world music mix on her Ipod, I helped Scouts make "Prayers for the Planet" out of card stock, stickers, and ephemera. Next to me, Katy and one of our refugee clients, Heba, wielded eyeliner, eyeshadow brushes, and disposable mascara wands with flair. Girls lined up in droves to have their eyes by an exotic middle Eastern beauty.

Heba can't speak much English beyond a few simple phrases. She hails from Iran, where her family feared for their lives and ended up in a refugee camp. I don't even know much of her story--but I love her bright smile and the way she takes my hand in hers when she says, "Thank you."

At the beginning of the afternoon, Katy, Heba and I waited near the back of the hall, watching the opening ceremonies. My Iranian friend stood with her hand over her heart and recited the Pledge of Allegiance carefully, because she had just learned it in Katy's English class.

"You did great!" we told her, and she beamed with pride. Later, as I watched girls placed themselves trustingly under Heba's skillful hands, I saw them cross cultures without fear, distrust, or preconceived notions.

Yes, Heba wears a headscarf while they wear ponytails. She speaks Arabic and they speak English. She doesn't eat pork, and they munched on hot dogs from the concession stand. But they're all girls, and they all adore playing with makeup.

See what I mean? Sometimes, all it takes is a little eyeshadow.

Over the next week, the community at The High Calling, where I joyfully serve as welcome editor, is hosting a "crossing cultures" writing project. The idea began with Ann Kroeker's excellent post on marrying into a multi-cultural family.

As conversations in that post's comments grew, we decided to find other stories about crossing over barriers--whether the barriers exist because of race, class, religion, age, or other terms that "define" us and keep us from understanding one another. We want to hear about what you've learned by taking a scary (or was it?) step into a different world.

So, play along! Write your own story about crossing cultures. When your post is published at your blog, come back here and drop your link into the tool below. A week from today (April 27), swing back by to check out the full list and enjoy highlights from participants.

And if you don't have a blog, don't let that stop you! Write up your story in a Facebook Note (set the Privacy settings to "Everyone") and drop that url in the linky tool.

(Initial image by oneroofafrica. Used with permission via Flickr.)

All Shook Up

When I was eleven, I wanted to go to India. Someone came to my church in Dumas, Texas, and asked for volunteers to join a gospel crusade. I longed to go on the trip, but my parents said no. (Now that I have a 12 year-old, I completely understand. Back then, I was just mad. And self-righteous.) Eventually, I surrendered to a life of ministry, not knowing where it would take me. I thought I would be a missionary to Africa or to some other exotic land. After all, the world was waiting. I just knew God would send me somewhere amazing, because I was willing.

Since then, I've gotten to be a part of mission work in Canada, the Philippines, Germany, South Korea, Switzerland, Austria, and Italy. I spent two gloriously difficult years touring 46 out of 50 states with a Christian drama/music team. In that group, I met my husband, Carey, and we've ministered together ever since through youth work, writing, speaking, and the creative arts. But I never lost the love for global missions that I had as a pre-teen. 

A few years ago, I was sitting in bed, reading an article about Natalie Grant and her passion for rescuing and restoring the victims of human trafficking. As I read her descriptions of the terrible things that were happening all around the world to innocent children, mostly girls, I began to sob.

I'd been through loss, depression, and immense fatigue during the previous few years, and God had used godly counseling, doctors, friends, family support, and scripture to begin the process of healing my heart. He'd also stirred up empathy in me. I hated to see people broken, because I had been there. I wanted to help--so they could experience healing, too. I guess you could say I was "all shook up." (Yes, that's a reference to Carey's amazing Elvis impersonation. But it fits!)

Carey came into the room while I was crying and asked what was wrong. When I told him, he held me. I said, "I don't know what God's doing, but He's working in my life and I can't get away from it." I had prayed for God to give me His heart, His eyes, His concern for people--and it seemed that He was answering that prayer.

He understood. After all, we had both read Irresistible Revolution by Shane Claiborne, and we knew we wanted our family to become more involved in global issues, shining the light of Jesus in dark places.

After that experience, I began working on a book proposal, called Brave New Woman, and praying about how God could use us. We raised money as a family to provide a well for a village in Africa through Life Today, tried to serve others through our church and other avenues, and kept talking. But to be honest, I never felt like we were doing enough or giving enough. Sometimes I got frustrated because our jobs and parenting didn't leave much time for anything else. I knew God had me where I was for a reason (and for a season)--and that maybe I was just changing the world, one diaper at a time, by investing in my kids, community, and husband.

At one point, I was sure God would give me a bigger platform--more speaking and traveling, bigger book deals and larger stages--so I could spread the word about the bigger causes He had laid on my heart. [I know God laughs at me when I try to figure things out like that. He probably shakes His head and says, '"Nice try, sweetheart."]

I never in a million years expected that He lead me to move back to the Texas panhandle, the very place I couldn't wait to leave as a precocious eleven year-old. I was shocked that He chose to uproot our family so soon after moving to Fredericksburg. It had to be God--I mean, who moves from the Hill Country of Texas to the flat, arid panhandle? Usually, people migrate the other direction!

But it's just like Him to plop me smack-dab in the middle of a faith-based organization whose very mission is change lives and bring hope. Every day, I see homeless, mentally ill, disabled, persecuted and poverty-stricken souls in need of assistance. Yes, some of them take advantage of the help offered them, but many of them only want a hand up, not a handout.

Catholic Family Service has a hunger ministry, a youth shelter, and more. In our division alone(Refugee Resettlement), we have people from 14 different nations who speak 19 different languages. You don't get more global than that!

And "shook up" doesn't really begin to describe the emotions I've felt as I've educated myself about the refugee crisis our planet is facing. Did you know the AVERAGE stay in a refugee camp is 7 years?! Did you realize that there are 15.2 million refugees in the world, and 4/5 of them live in developing or third-world countries? Over half of the refugees are urban, and many of them are children. Most of them will never go back home, or make it out of the camps.

Such facts are staggering, and knowing that I'm some small part of the solution (although a very, very tiny one) is extremely fulfilling.

As I work to create more awareness of CFS's role in Amarillo and the surrounding community, I'm grateful that God plucked me out of the land of beautiful wildflowers and put me back down in the land of gorgeous sunsets.

The world has come to Amarillo...and all I can say in response is, "Here am I...send me."