Seeing Blind Spots

For a little over a year now, I feel like the scales have gradually been falling away from my eyes, revealing particular injustices around me. Not that I've had any illusions that the world is fair, or that injustice happens on the grand scale, but that I'd failed to see its systematic presence in my own little sphere, in my community.

I grew up with certain narratives that explained how the world works. I initially thought adolescence was the classic stage for testing those narratives to determine their truth. But instead, I found adolescence was only the beginning of figuring out who I am. Adulthood seems to be the actual, lifelong stage for figuring out this crazy, complicated world.

Evidenced by the fact that I'm still overturning my own preconceptions in my late 30's - and now realize it won't be the last time I have to change my mind about something important, trading my assumptions for the truth (part of what the church calls "sanctification").

I think of these moments as tectonic shifts, mental earthquakes, because at first I resist the change. God has to present the same "new" idea to me from many angles and sources until I finally dive in to research it more fully (usually a 6-9 month process that requires an open mind and primary sources from each perspective -- not one source telling me what all the others say). When eventually the evidence tilts overwhelmingly in one direction...and I've had time to process it...I'll start to make the mental leap. It is scary and exciting, and followed by after-shocks as I discover all the ripple effects of the new-to-me landscape. Over time (years), this new aspect of my worldview settles in, even as it continues to be refined and incorporated. Ultimately, it is always liberating, because I land on far safer/stronger ground than I began (John 8:32).

This process seems particularly important for those of us who grew up as an American protestant in the late 20th century. Folks like James Dobson, John MacArthur, and the Christian Coalition appeared to assemble a long list of beliefs about the world that constituted what it meant to be a true Christian. Compared to the creeds of past generations which could be stated in a few lines (the Nicene Creed or Apostles Creed - even the Westminster Confession is relatively short), this list was extensive, including support for the death penalty, opposition to gun control, support for states' rights, criticism of welfare, glorification of the American dream, anti-affirmative action, disbelief in global warming, and enumerating exactly how the world began (ala Ken Ham) and will end (Left Behind). It was the Republican party platform of the 1980s-1990s plus some.

Which is not to say they were wrong about everything - just that they were certain about far too much. Where the Bible offers so much room for mystery and paradox and disagreement, this worldview I absorbed was black. and. white. I arrived at college honestly trying to find a democrat who was a Christian so I could figure out how those two identities could possibly fit together (which to be clear, seems absurd to me now).  

In hindsight, it is not surprising that this certainty about everything (modernism) gave birth to a generation that was uncertain about everything (post-modernism). Once you discover that one plank in your platform is not the whole truth, you wind up doubting all the planks.

And that brings us back to my own little walk of faith and all its earthquakes. Adulthood has been a process of testing plank after plank against special and general revelation (again, sanctification), confirming some, discarding others. I've alluded to a few of them briefly on this blog, from confirming the logic of Christianity to realizing the world is not getting worse to embracing the scientific community and confirming again and again that the Bible is trustworthy...

...To this year, discovering the pride and injustice in my own heart. This latest journey began when I read Americanah by Chimamanda Adichie over a year ago. Adichie's winsome novel was like a trojan horse, attacking my latent preconceptions unawares. Her two main characters are an educated Nigerian woman and man who immigrate to the US and UK (respectively) and then return to Nigeria. These international transitions allow us to "experience" (vicariously) how race, ethnicity, and culture impact the main characters and how their views of both countries shift over time. Their experiences were eye-opening for me. They brought to light errors in "conventional wisdom" that I hadn't really examined, but which have since been pummeled by many articles like this one, statistics, this podcast, a friend's perspective, and most recently the discussion around Ferguson, MO, including:

Commentary on #Ferguson by Ben Watson

Why Ferguson Must Lead to Change

#Ferguson: A Gospel Issue
When Whites Just Don't Get It

How could I have thought that racism had been overcome? Or that the struggles facing modern African Americans were not the result of centuries of the worst kind of oppression and abuse? How did I not see the evil of stereotypes -- or the evil of the pride that takes credit for privilege?

It seems so obvious to me now that I have not earned the benefit of the doubt when I interact with strangers so much as I have been given it by my lucky demographics. I haven't earned my financial security so much as I was graced with a generous environment that cultivated that security. The list goes on - probably even further than I have yet discovered.

And that, really, is the point. Being willing to discover. To re-examine assumptions, to consider other viewpoints, to change my mind. Because the only thing scarier than replacing old assumptions with the truth is never examining the old assumptions at all.

Why We Fled the Country

Josh and I love to travel. We love the adventure, the experiences, the diversity, history, culture, food, perspective, adaptability, humility, and wisdom that can come with travel - particularly international travel.

I started to write out the various circumstances that led us to book an 8-day trip across the ocean without our three little boys (What!?). Then I realized it may be as irrational as it sounds. It really comes back to that single fact: we value travel, so we made the leap.

A few keys made it possible:

• I weaned Isaac in August.
• Our long-time, trusted friends and childcare pros were available to come stay with the boys.
• Our boys were able to stay in our home, in their routines (school/church) the whole time.
• Josh had to make the trip for business, so his major expenses were covered.
• He had enough frequent flyer miles to cover my airplane ticket.

A painting we bought from a vendor along the Seine,
because it is a mess of diverse colors and materials
yet with the right eyes, creates a kind of gritty beauty
that I have come to enjoy.

We have tried to make this happen before -- several times -- but the stars have never aligned. We were ecstatic when they did this time. Beforehand, I literally felt the excitement tickling inside my stomach like I did as a little girl before Christmas.
 
This totally sets me up for disappointment. Every. time. It's a little ridiculous, but in each place we visited (places I've been before), I was startled (again) by how real and gritty life is everywhere. There's graffiti in Paris. Run-down buildings in Oxford. Lousy restaurants in London. Josh and I had to laugh (once we got past the frustration) at how many of our targeted attractions were closed. We had to adapt, to find the beauty, to appreciate the whole messy business of life on this planet.

Which may be one reason I feel compelled to visit these places in person. I have yet to find a guide book that accurately describes the mixture of Gothic, Modern, new, dilapidated, classy, trashy, fascinating, mundane, etc that is life in these cities -- or how it looks different in each one (though Bill Bryson tries more than most). Witnessing the menagerie and finding the beauty in it is, I think, critical to appreciating life on earth.

I should be good at this - especially in amazing places I've visited multiple times. I set out determined to soak up the sidewalk cafes, the exquisite architecture, the historical sites, the quirky cultural differences, etc. I even read books about these locations to add context and narrative to their streets. And it all helped me love our trip. (To be clear, I did love our trip.)

But I still found I couldn't skip the culture shock, the disappointment at seeing filthy streets, the frustration with spending too much time in transit, the shock at seeing so much graffiti. It's the human condition -- part of me loves the gritty, authentic reality for its drama and honesty; the other part of me wants to airbrush away the wrinkles so it's a utopian dream.

Hopefully, these posts about our trip will have some of each. At various points along the trip, Josh would ask me, "What are you taking a picture of??" And I'd reply, "An eyesore." Never fear, the majority of photos in the following posts will highlight what we loved, but I've tried to sprinkle in a bit of what makes them real, just to remind you (and me) that the key is not to make a trip or a place feel like utopia. The key is to enjoy the place as it is, for all it is.

For the next post on our trip, see PARIS, Part 1.