Now for some Nouwen

Today I discovered a Henry Nouwen book called "The Inner Voice of Love: A Journey Through Anguish to Freedom." With an understanding that I have been experiencing an emotional lostness and loneliness recently, providing the description from the back of the book should explains why I am so intrigued:

This is Henri Nouwen's "secret journal." It was written during the most difficult period of his life, when he suddenly lost his self-esteem, his energy to live and work, his sense of being loved, even his hope in God. Although he experienced excruciating anguish and despair, he was still able to keep a journal in which he wrote a spiritual imperative to himself each day that emerged from his conversations with friends and supporters.

For more than eight years, Henri Nouwen felt that what he wrote was too raw and private to share with others. Instead, he published The Return of the Prodigal Son, in which he expressed some of the insights gained during his mental and spiritual crisis. But then friends asked him, "Why keep your anguish hidden from the many people who have been nurtured by your writing? Wouldn't it be of consolation for many to know about the fierce inner battle that lies underneath so many of your spiritual insights?"

And in response, I've decided to reflect on these "spiritual imperatives" and record my reflections. Let's call them Nouwenism.

Nouwenism #1
"Do not tell everyone your story. You will only end up feeling more rejected. People cannot give you what you long for in your heart. The more you expect from people's response to your experience of abandonment, the more you will feel exposed to ridicule."

Wow, what a way to start this process of reflection. Did he write that directly to me? Recently I've been mourning the fact that I don't have many people to talk to about the grief I feel for my family situation. I feel lonely because I only have myself (and that God guy) to sit with in my sorrow and self-pity. But I think Nouwen offers a truth that I've never faced: "People cannot give you what you long for in your heart." Later in the note, he writes, "God will send to you the people with whom you can share your anguish, who can lead you closer to the true source of love." The important part, and most missed by me, is the hope that God will send someone who can lead you closer to the true source of love. Someone who can show me God is still there, He still cares, and He's still worth hanging onto. For that - I'll wait! Till then, maybe it is best to "close [myself] off to the world so [I] can enter [my] own heart and the heart of God through [my] pain."

Just a Thought

Chenoweth... Adoption... and Other Thoughts

It's true. For those who didn't know: my mother is my biological mother and my father, the only man whom I've ever called Dad, is not my biological father. My biological father left my mother when I was not yet born or just out-of-the-womb (I actually don't know which... but I know I can't remember a thing about him). I've always called Mike "dad," though. And yes, he did take me to court and he adopted me - changing my name to Stephanie Marie Stafford at the age of two. I've never really had any desire to seek out and contact my biological father - whom I believe is named Tim. I've been comfortable (all things considered) in the family that I was given.

Today I started reading "A Little Bit Wicked: Life, Love, and Faith in Stages." It's Kristin Chenoweth's autobiography. I may have known before I began, but did not remember knowing, that Kristin Chenoweth is adopted. She tells her story about being adopted in glorious words of praise for her adoptive parents and her biological mother that bravely decided to give her child a better chance at life with a complete family. She describes her feeling about being adopted in a way that somehow makes me feel connected to her:

"However, since the question always gets asked, no, I have no interest in contacting or being contacted by my biological mother. I've never felt the slightest frisson of something missing in my life, and the whole medical-record thing doesn't concern me much. I'm vigilant about my health. (In my profession, you're either vigilant about your health or you're Janis Joplin.) I do vaguely wonder if my biological mother suffers from Meniere's disease like I do.
... The light haze of curiocity isn't enough for me to risk disrupting my life or the life of the woman who gave me up for adoption. She made a difficult choice, and I have profound respect for that. In 1968, abotion was still illegal in the United States, but she apparently had the money (and the flight bennies) to go wherever she needed to go to get it done. She chose to have me instead, and thank you does not begin to cover how I feel. But that's all I'ver ever really wanted to say to her."

Really, I'm thinking aloud and you're reading it, so I go on to say: Aaron and I recently talked (very briefly) about adoption as an option for our path to parenthood. Before, we had spoken (again, very briefly) about it and he wasn't so sold on the idea. He really liked the idea of combining a little bit of me and a little bit of him to create the thing(s) we'll love most for the rest of our lives. Who doesn't think that's such a cool idea!? But all my life (ask my grandma) I thought I'd like to adopt. I told my grandma, back when I was in early high school years, that I will adopt. She said, "I'm sure your plans will change." She was adamant about my ideas changing when I got married and thought about the-little-bit-of-me-little-bit-of-him thing. And... yes... I do like the idea more now... but I can't say I've lost the love for adoption. Anyway, back to "Aaron and I recently talked (very briefly) about adoption as an option for our path to parenthood." We did. And Aaron said to me something very similar to, "we could adopt if you really want to." He doesn't know it (till now, I guess) that his comment broke me open and pulled out all sorts of dreams and images, overwhelming excitement and nervousness, like a clown pulling a colorful, unending scarf from his pocket... except mine came from my heart. I had always wanted to hear that! I always wanted to know we could look into that.

And when I think of my own feelings, and when I read Kristin's (lets go by her first name only, because, without her know, I feel that connected to and inspired by her) memories and feelings about her childhood, I think, I want to be a woman who gives a young mother (who may be too young to care for a child, or too poor, starving in a third world country) a chance to do good by her child. I want to be a mother that my child adores despite the difference in our skin tone or medical-record. I want to be a wife that is brave enough to embark on this journey, carrying the title 'a partner in passions.' I want to be a daughter that honors her father (despite the mistakes) by replicating the choice to be a parent to a fatherless child. I don't know if that's really what will happen. I don't know if we'll adopt and I don't know if we'll even be parents at all. But I do really like the idea of it being an option. I like knowing that, maybe, we could adopt.

Stuff White People Like

Have you seen this website? I'm not sure I'm supposed to like it... but I do think it's quite funny. The following is a funny (and horribly true, in my book) account of why white people DON'T like books turned into movies.


#127 Where the Wild Things Are

July 13, 2009 by clander

It is a guarantee that whenever it is announced that a popular book is being turned into a movie, white people will get upset. This is partly due to their fear that something they love will be made accessible to more people and thus enjoyed by more people which immediately decreases the amount of joy a white person can feel towards the original property. Yes, it’s complicated.

The other problem is that these announcements create a ticking time bomb where by a white person must read the book in ADVANCE of the release of the movie. This is done partly so that they can engage in the popular activity of complaining about how the movie failed to capture the essence of the book. But more importantly, once a book has been made into a movie, a white person can no longer read that book. To have read the book after the movie is one of the great crimes in white culture, and under no circumstances should you ever admit to doing this. Literally dozens of white friendships have imploded when it was revealed that someone read Fight Club after 1999.

The Philanthropist

I can't express my delight with the NBC show, the Philanthropist. It makes me cry and tears at my heart. I am so glad, however, that NBC has dared to air this TV series, knowing that common television viewer seek action, adventure, and romance - not images of starving children, bombings of innocent people, poverty that is taking lives at a faster pace than comprehended. Praise to them for their daring, bold move to show America what is really happening in OUR world.

The producers keep up on a wonderful blog - it's very informative and adds to the experience of the show. On this week's post, Aimee Christensen says "My colleague, David Spielfogel, and I have the great opportunity to work with The Philanthropist to connect the community to organizations who are doing important, effective work in these countries and on the issues that are raised in each episode. Given each show is based on actual issues in these places, supporting these organizations is critically important, and we're grateful to the show for raising the visibility of the topics. And it's a wonderful chance to introduce viewers to small organizations that you may not come across, but who are incredibly effective and need our support greatly.

The Haiti episode is especially near and dear to my heart..."

Praise God that even non-Christ-followers have compassion like this! I am so pleased to see a TV series move beyond self-centered, passive entertainment! Now, you Christ-followers, outdo each other in kindness and honor! (Romans 12:10) ...and enjoy the TV show too :)

"We're here to make it easy"

That's what the Staples Office Supply Store said to me when I was on hold. You know, that semi-creepy, only cuz she's everywhere, feminine recorded voice.

And then the man got on the phone and said.... "oh yeah yeah, I know what you're talking about... we don't carry that in the store, you'd have to order it online."

"On your (Staples') website?" I said.

"Yeah!" he replied, sounding confident and reassuring.

I left the phone conversation feeling jazzed because I can't find this item (11 x 8 1/2 landscape ruled paper) anywhere.

When I arrived at home and looked on their website... you know what, let's just say: STAPLES IS NOT MAKING IT EASY! (I still cannot find it... ANYWHERE!)

Today, as a reminder to myself, I wrote on a sticky-note: "cat litter and melon balls." This was, by the way, a reminder to do two very different tasks.