How Did We Get Here, Ladies?

One day last week I viewed a romantic comedy made in the late forties, starring June Allyson and Van Johnson. In the movie, a young couple dance around the usual plot of boy meets girl; boy looses girl (because of a misunderstanding that makes the young man look entirely unsuitable); the misunderstanding is cleared up, and boy gets girl again. At that point, boy proposes marriage; girl accepts, and all is right with the world. Granted this is not reality, but it illustrates the accepted mores’ of the time.
Later that day, I watched the contemporary reality show, “Clean House.” In that show, a young woman with a teenage daughter lives with a semi-starving artist and his three boys. The men refuse to help around the house, so the woman and her daughter are left to cook and clean. At one point in the episode, the artist presents the woman with an engagement ring. She reacts with elation and relief!

But what choice did she have? She is living in his home; she is sleeping with him daily; she has made him a father figure to her daughter; she has become a mother to his children—and she is probably ironing his shirts!

How did we get to this point? Women aren’t just settling for bad bargains but are overjoyed to do so.
Well, Duh.

It’s time to get back to reality and claim our God-given value. The Bible said it first, “We’re worth it.”

Bible in the Hamilton County Schools

Hamilton County has had Bible history classes in public schools since 1921—the oldest such in the U.S. Based on a supreme court ruling in the 1980’s, classes are privately funded, elective and for credit. No evangelizing goes on in the classroom, but the intent of nearly 1,000 Christians gathered this evening at Brainerd gym was unmistakable. Fifteen preachers from fifteen separate congregations and nearly as many denominations led us in prayers for every teacher, every administrator, every board member, every student or public official involved now, in the future or never. Those of that number in attendance, including school board members, city council members, Representative Fleishman and Mayor Littlefield, had hands laid on them in prayer. The prayers, unbridled and fervent, asked God to hold sway in our schools, our city and our country.  Praise God for Patsy Hazlewood who put the meeting together, and Amen!

Mr. Keillor Went a Courtin'

And he did ride, with Sara Watkins by his side.

Garrison Keillor’s Summer Love Tour reached erogenous zones all the way back to the balcony of the War Memorial Auditorium last Saturday night with an intoxicating and incongruous mixture of love songs, patriotism, poetry, slightly off-color humor and Christian hymns. First, an ad hoc rap set to music expressed interest in his intended lover, the entire city of Chattanooga. He followed that with foreplay--intimate duets and revealing fantasies designed to give us palpitations.  Like a practiced con artist, he took us for all we were worth and left carrying our hearts, a large chunk of our change and our blessings.

Seeking Mr. Keillor

Garrison Keillor’s, “Summer of Love” tour was in Chattanooga last night, and I wanted to see the show. On-line tickets cost over $70, so I decided I would have to miss it, but I did go down to the auditorium to plug my book by sticking advertizing on cars and, if possible, get a copy to Mr. Keillor. (Of course he will love it if he only reads it.)
I know where performers’ buses usually park, so I drove down behind Soldiers and Sailors about two hours before the show and checked. Sure enough, two custom buses and a security car sat just across the street. I looked for signs of life, hoping no one mistook me for a crazed fan or a terrorist. Nothing moved.
I parked, grabbed the copy of my book that I had inscribed “to Garrison Keillor, Thank you for years of entertainment” and found a perch between the buses and the back door of the auditorium. Three or four persons came out for a smoke or a look around. I asked each if they could get my book to Mr. Keillor. Nope. One said, “Someone who can help you will be out shortly.”
Meanwhile, a very dark gentleman carrying a large valise and one of Garrison’s books walked up and asked in a Middle Eastern accent if I knew how he could get the book signed. He explained that he was an Ethiopian who wrote poetry and song lyrics in Amharic. He had driven all the way from Atlanta and said repeatedly, “Mr. Keillor is a genius.” I was incredulous and told him so. Who would think that the humor of “Lake Woebegone”, so couched in American culture and idiom, would resonate with a man from Ethiopia?
But there we stood, the Midwestern grandmother and the Ethiopian poet, waiting to connect with the man who, for that evening at least, united the two of us in a common goal.
We waited for another thirty minutes during which time a security guard and another man said it would be better to come back after the show. I decided to go swim and come back later to advertize, but I did not want to wait around outside until after eleven to see Mr. Keillor. I gave my new friend my book and told him to keep it if he did not get a chance to give it to Garrison.
I came back at seven carrying another copy of my book and several dozen business cards which I proceeded to distribute. Just before the show was to start, I went in and asked for a cheap ticket. They had several seats in the balcony for forty dollars, so I stayed. (A whole ‘nother blog and well worth the forty dollars.) Afterwards, I sat in my car in view of the buses and waited until the crowd cleared. Still, no one came out of the auditorium. Finally, I got up the courage to walk up to the first bus, praying all the way. The driver was sitting in the front seat and opened the door when I waved my book.

“Could you get this to Mr. Keillor?”

He said, “Yes,” and took it.

This is the fourth copy I have tried to deliver: one by mail, and three through people who told me they would “see what they could do.” So, maybe Mr. Keillor will get a copy; maybe he will read it; he will like it and ???

Abomination

      Someone posted a letter on my Facebook page supposedly written to Dr. Laura Schlesinger in response to her support of the Biblical statement that homosexuality is an “abomination.” After fact-checking, I found that the letter has been around since at least 2000 and has been attributed to any number of authors. Its intended recipient could be anyone from President Bush to at least one Catholic Bishop.
      The letter takes several Bible passages out of context and posits ten questions designed to prove that Bible teachings are essentially ludicrous.
      Frankly, it does a pretty good job, especially if the reader is ignorant of the teachings of Christ and the purpose of the Old Testament Law.
      The Bible, when viewed as a list of dos and don’ts, becomes an arbitrary obstacle course to a pie in the sky by and by. Why would God disallow a person with a birth defect from being a priest or declare women to be unclean once a month?
      Every Bible passage needs to be viewed in the light of Christ and his grace which replaces laws that could not save but did reveal the holiness of God and the nature of sin.
      So what does the Bible say about homosexuality? It says it is an abomination. I’m not sure I know what that means--not just the meaning of the word, but what I need to say to anyone who chooses to practice homosexual behavior. But I know I am to love them and treat them as I would be treated, and I know that Godliness is not a matter of law.

Harriet Beecher Stowe

I just retook an abbreviated version of the Myers-Briggs personality test. Yep, I’m still an INFP, meaning I’m likely to go off the deep end so far as following my heart is concerned, and I’ve done it more than once. Persons of my ilk tend to get buffeted, bruised and burned out. So I have gained a bit of caution in my old age—not so likely to tilt at windmills, but still passionate, i.e. still trying “write” the wrongs of the world.
I also just finished reading Uncle Tom’s Cabin and a biography of its author. What do these bits of achievement have in common? I have found a kindred spirit in Harriet Beecher Stowe.

Mrs. Stowe, as she was referred to in her time, felt injustice keenly, as I do. We both were reared in Christian homes in which religious and political debate was common. I and she are products of a religious doctrine that restricts women to certain roles and limits the use of our gifts. Both Harriet and I felt drab in comparison to our friends and sisters. We each had a father who wished we were boys. And we each have measured the world by a set of absolutes.

But the Puritan ethos of Harriet’s day was more optimistic than my own. In her time, a large portion of America believed that “thy kingdom come” would be fulfilled in an earthly utopia created by the heroic efforts of Christians. And many human ills were righted, at least temporarily, by people of that era; slavery being the most notable.

And yet, the twenty-first century has dawned with more humans in slavery and with as many, if not more, instances of mass inhumanity. Victorian optimism died with the Civil War and the last passenger pigeon. But we INFPs keep marching into battle with our hearts on our sleeves and in our throats—tempered by the knowledge that any good we achieve on this earth will be fleeting and inspired by faith that our reward will be eternal.

This link will take you to my radio interview.