Protected: Hollywood Was Right About Love (Part I)

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You know, and then you don’t anymore.

Truth be told, I was off to a pretty great start with this “blogging” thing for a couple of months there.

Then life happened.
>
I graduated from college.
My best friend got married.
My brother got married.
My personal life got real messy.
Friends got jobs & moved away.
I even got several job offers;
I haven’t accepted any of them.

Because sometimes, you think you know.
You think you’ve got it all figured out.
You think you’ll march across that stage, grab that not-actually-a-diploma, and then move on to the next chapter with your dream job.

But then you go to a bar the night of graduation.
And you realize, “Huh. That actually sounds pretty miserable.”

And then, you’re back at square one.
>

Life is hectic these days. My heart is overwhelmed.
Some days, there are too many words to fill this space.
Some days, there are simply none.

And apparently, one of my clients now eats walls, so I have a few more important things to deal with for the time being.

I’ll be back soon, probably when my Prozac starts kicking in.
Until then, I’m still over on twitter, wasting time and taking things way too personally.
See you there.

“But it was a hopeful kind of sad. The kind of sad that just takes time.” – The Perks of Being a Wallflower

11:45

This post is my first ever entry to a synchroblog over at A Deeper Story entitled “Embodied Stories.” I have three tattoos, but this one is my most recent, most visible, and most beloved.

In May of 2011, one of my dearest friends deployed to Afghanistan for a year long tour with the the 7th Battalion of the 158th Aviation Regiment of the US Army Reserve.

The day they left, I set a daily alarm on my phone for 11:45PM (my time) which was 7:45 am (Afghani time) with the reminder to “Pray for Spencer” at the beginning of each day.
For the next three months, I prayed every day at 11:45, for Spencer, for his unit, and for peace.

On August 6th, 2011, a CH47D was hit by an RPG-
& on that day, my heart was shattered when Spencer and 30 other men were killed in action.

Tattoo by Lars Van Zandt at Iron Tiger Tattoo in Columbia, MO

I could not bear to delete the alarm on my phone. It didn’t feel right.
Deleting that alarm would mean forgetting-and I would never be able to forget.
I would never forget his smile, his friendship, our memories.
I would never forget the cost of war.
I would never forget the way my Spence’s death shook the core of my pacifism.

On February 19th, 2012, he would have turned 22 years old.

For his birthday, I got a pocket watch tattoo on my arm- set to 11:45, with his initials in the hands of the clock.

“I REFUSE to let the pain of losing him overshadow the joy of knowing him.” -Megan Duncan, Spencer’s mother

Terrorism, the Saudi Man, and the Primacy Effect

Note: this is a nerdy post. About nerdy psych-major things that is probably of little interest to most of you, but I needed to write it out. 

Racism is the views and practices that reflect the belief that one biological group is superior to others, or that others are inferior.
I think racism is wrong. Always.

In the aftermath of the Boston Marathon bombings on Monday, I’ve been thinking about some of the prejudices many have been throwing around about the potential suspect. One news outlet reported a Saudi man who was detained for looking “suspicious” around the site of the first detonation. This is a prime example of racial profiling.

The question is, why?
Are all members of law enforcement just racist?
Are all the Americans who jumped to conclusions about the race of the suspect racist as well?
Maybe, but that’s a harsh assumption to make about that many people.
But perhaps there’s something a little more scientific behind the tendency to associate the word “terrorism” with people of Middle-Eastern descent.

Soon after the 9/11 attacks in 2001, we learned that the perpetrators were members of the Taliban. Since then, countless Americans have associated acts of violence with Muslims without any substantial evidence of the evildoer’s race.
It is obvious that racism still permeates American culture.
I’m not sure, however, that all people who jump to conclusions are racist, by definition. 

In psychology, the primacy effect is defined as a cognitive bias for the tendency for the first item presented in a series of stimuli to be remembered best. 
Usually, it is associated with remembering words presented in a list.
But what if the primacy effect is partially responsible for our association of the words “terrorism” and people of Middle-Eastern descent?

I don’t think I had ever heard the word “terrorism” or “terror attack” before September 11th. Granted, I was only 10 years old, but I think I can speak for many people of my generation. There was never a need for that language before 9/11 (at least not within our lifetime).

Our very first association of those words was with the Taliban.
Does that make it right to assume that all attacks labeled “terrorism” should be associated with the Taliban? Not at all. We still have a responsibility to fight injustice in the form of prejudices. And even if the primacy effect is partially responsible for these associations, it doesn’t make it okay to pass judgement or make assumptions.

I have no evidence or research to support my idea here.
I’m just suggesting that the association of these words and this people group are more than just blatant racism.

Maybe its because I like to have a little more faith in humanity than to believe that everyone is just bigoted and incapable of progress.
Food for thought.

The Night I Cried At A Drag Show

This is not a post about homosexuality.
This is not a post about religion.
This is a post about humanity. Because that’s all I saw tonight.

I tagged along to my first drag show with two friends who had been before. I didn’t know what to expect, and the fear of the unknown was creeping up and making me nervous.

As we waited for the show to start, a rush of calm came over me.
It wasn’t the kind of calm you experience when you crawl into a bubble bath after a long day and the scent of a lavender candle fills the air.
It was a new kind of calm-the kind you experience when you join with several hundred people in belting out a Beyoncé song while waiting for a show to start.

The performance began, and I was expecting to feel a little uncomfortable.
But I didn’t.
I thought the target audience of drag shows was LGBTQ people.
But it isn’t.
I thought I would be the odd one out because I’m straight and just wore a pair of jeans.
But I wasn’t.

In the audience, there were many white people, many black people, many of Asian descent, and a Muslim woman. There were college students, parents, and even one of my TA’s from last semester.
And there was harmony.
There was happiness.
There was camaraderie.

Nobody in that room cared about sexuality, or race, or religion.
They just cared about each other.
They saw the performers on stage having the time of their lives dancing and entertaining.
The drag queens and drag kings were up there because this was a space where they are accepted. Because they were having fun. Because this makes them feel alive.
(And because they like glitter a lot.)

And the audience? No one was there to promote a political agenda.
It wasn’t about being homosexual or bisexual or any other label.
The people in that audience came to have fun. They came to show support for their friends.
And that’s it.
That’s all it was.
It was community, in its purest form.

After the show, a bunch of us from the audience joined some of the performers and did “The Wobble” together in the front of the room. We danced and sang along to pop songs, and I knew in that moment that nothing I wore or said or believed mattered to any of the strangers who I spent the night laughing alongside.

People in this community understand what it means to love someone for who they are, and they love one another better than any other community I’ve witnessed or been a part of.

So I cried. 
Partially because I was relieved that I wasn’t left out.
Partially because I was sad about how I, along with so many in the Christian community, have viewed & treated those who identify as LGBTQ in the past.
But mostly because I was happy-happy to see people who are often judged and ostracized thrive in a place where they are known and loved. 

That’s the kind of community I want to be a part of.
One where it’s not about sexuality.
It’s not about religion.
It’s just about the accord of humankind.

Ancient Words in the 21st Century

I have a 7-year-old client who is very high functioning on the autism spectrum. I’ll call him Brandon. A while back, his parents asked me to start introducing Brandon to religious concepts and teachings.

Many children with autism see the world in black and white. They tend to think in concretes and absolutes rather than anything abstract, so the idea of a higher power is tough to grasp. (In all honesty, I’m a neurotypical 22 year old, and I still struggle with it from time to time.)

Last night, Brandon and I were reading the story of Noah’s Ark. I asked him,

“Do you remember what book this story comes from?”
       “The Bible!” he answered, enthusiastically. 
“Yes! You are right. Do you know what the Bible is?”
       “It’s an app on your iPad.”

How’s that for concrete and tangible?
iPad app….Word of God….same thing, right?

I am the oppressor.

Last Spring, my advisor told me I could add and complete a social work minor in my last year if I took 18+ hours both semesters. Challenge accepted- and it has been the best decision I’ve made in my college career.

The first course I took in the field was called “Exploring Social and Economic Justice.” This class blew me away with how much I learned about classism, racism, ableism, sexism, and so many other forms of oppression that are running rampant in American society.
We learned about how far we’ve come in these areas as well as how far we have yet to go. I was exposed to people from subcultures I have never been a part of and got to know them, which humanized all my prejudices and biases in a way I never thought possible.

Leaving that class, I felt so inspired to fight against injustice.
I felt empowered and educated and seriously considered delaying my upcoming graduation to double major in social work and learn more.
Never in my four years at Mizzou has a class taught me so much and opened my eyes to the beauty of humankind.

It has been three months now since that class ended, but the impact is lasting. I’m graduating in May with just a minor, but have (almost certainly) decided to get my Master’s of Social Work.
I’ve been feeling pretty damn good about the positive influence I can have on those I help as a social worker and all the ways I can call out oppression when I see it.

But then tonight happened.
Tonight, I caught myself completely ignoring everything that I’ve learned.

As I sat in the student center working on a paper, a campus organization was in a nearby area hosting some kind of karaoke/talent competition. They had every right to be there, as this space in particular is not designated as a “study zone.”

At first, I just put in my headphones and tuned out their covers of “U Got It Bad” by Usher and “Foolish” by Ashanti.
Then, one duo got on stage to perform some sort of rap, and they were just terrible–and they knew it. Everyone started laughing hysterically and slapping their knees and shouting across the room at one another.

Disrupted by the noise, I looked up at the group and thought to myself:

“Ugh, black people are SO loud and inconsiderate.”

And then I stopped.
I just stopped.
I swallowed a lump in my throat.
“Did that thought really just cross my mind?”
And then it got worse.
“I mean, at least I didn’t say it out loud.”

Ugh. I am a disgrace.
Even though I’m receiving this education about all the ways thoughts JUST LIKE THIS contribute to injustice in our society…I still think them.
I still forget.
I still return back to the days when I never cared about equality in any way and scoffed at people who did.

I’m going to be a social worker.
I am learning to be a part of the solution.
But I am still a part of the problem.

And that’s a tough pill to swallow.

“When a man is getting better he understands more and more clearly the evil that is still left in him.”

C.S. Lewis

When tragedy struck and spun my world.

—
Note: This is the post from which my blog title comes from. I wrote it back in July of 2012 (I didn’t have a blog then), and I’ve never made it public before now. Only a select few people have read this post, because it is such a raw expression of my heart. I’m posting it today because I have a feeling I will be touching on the topics mentioned here quite a bit on this blog, and this post is a poignant picture of a very complex and personal part of my life that has shaped who I am becoming.

“Farther Along” by Josh Garrels
(suggested background music while you read–lyrics at the end of the post)

——

It was 6:49 PM on a Saturday when I got the phone call. That call stopped my world in its tracks and flipped it upside down.

I spent the next fifteen minutes walking around the block screaming through my tears-“FUCK THIS WAR. FUCK THIS WAR. FUCK YOU, AMERICA. FUCK THIS WAR.”

I didn’t care who I was offending with either my language or my sentiments. I didn’t care if the neighbors heard me and wondered. I didn’t care about anything.

My heart had awoken to a nightmare, but I was never asleep.

—

Rewind: I grew up in an area where my roots were deeply embedded in conservative and patriotic discourse. Every morning at school, I’d rattle off words of allegiance to a flag and not think a thing of it. “Say your prayers, support the troops, NObama.” I’d heard it all a thousand times. I laughed with my friends when we saw a military bumper sticker that said “It’s God’s job to judge the terrorists. It’s our job to arrange the meeting!” When one of my best friends, Spencer, decided to join the Army after high school, I was nothing but proud.

Fast forward: It’d been a couple of years and I’d moved a few hours away for college. I kept in touch with my beloved friends back home, but new people, a new town, and new perspectives surrounded me. I was in for a shock when I began to understand that the “turn the other cheek” part of the Bible applied to more than just the bullies on the playground.
It didn’t take long before I was reading books like Jesus for President and began to understand that the Kingdom of God was here and now. As a result, by the summer of my junior year, a spirit of nonviolence had become the cry of my heart.
I saw another bumper sticker that June that summed it all up pretty well: “When Jesus said ‘love your enemies’, I’m pretty sure he meant you shouldn’t kill them.” My roots had grown wings, and I claimed the title ‘pacifist’ proudly.

Meanwhile, my friend Spencer was preparing to leave for Afghanistan. A few weeks after he left for the Middle East, I learned that one of Spencer and my’s best friends, Aubrey, would be joining the Army. My head began to spin with questions. These two men who I loved dearly were turning into what I then saw as “tools of war.” My conclusions about war and politics and my conclusions about the people in the military did not make sense. I knew the hearts of these men; they were two of my best friends. It didn’t add up.
Despite my internal conflict, my heart was still dedicated to the idea of all the world coexisting in harmony. I swore to never pledge allegiance to anything or any one but God himself for the rest of my life.

Pause: On August 6th, 2011, I got a phone call and learned that Spencer had been killed in action. My heart, the same heart that was committed to peace, collapsed under the pressure. The weight of death was a bigger burden than even a pacifist could contain. In an impassioned cry of shock and anger and confusion, I cursed the war that took my friend and the country that he died serving.

—

Today is July 13th, 2012. We are less than a month away from facing the one year anniversary of Spencer’s death. The memories of my horror and sorrow are looming close as the day approaches, and I’ve found myself reflecting on where the journey has left me.

In the past few weeks, other life events have inspired me to lean in to that confusion I met when trying to justify all of these things that didn’t add up after Spencer died. I’ve been humbled by the answers I’m finding as my truth:

•  Before Spencer died, I saw the flag as an idol-a representation of a country who’s people celebrated being citizens of America over being citizens of Heaven. What I’ve learned is that how others may view the flag has nothing to do with what that flag means to me. I still maintain my decision not to pledge allegiance to anything or anyone but God himself. It’s my choice. But this journey has brought me to a place where I can say that I will celebrate the country I live in and the country Spencer died to protect. I can say “I love America,” and not for what that means to anybody else, but for what it means to me. 
• The politics of war will never make sense to me. But I’ve let go of the pride that held me to the belief that I had all the answers. There is way more to this than I am capable of understanding. Do I believe that war is the answer? No. Do I believe that American lives are more valuable than the lives of Afghanis, Iraqis, or any other human beings? No. Do I believe America should just have no military at all? No. That might not make sense, but that’s where I’m at.
• In the journey of losing Spencer and honoring his memory, I have met more honorable men and women than I can count who served alongside him in the Army. I would be a fool to let their job dictate my opinion of them or my love for them. Members of the military are not monsters or robots; they are human beings. Just like you and me. I could never join the military because of my own convictions. But does that mean those who do deserve ill treatment? Does that mean they deserve less respect? Does that give me the right to judge them as evildoers? Does that mean I should do ANYTHING but love them with everything that I’ve got? Not at all.

This may all sound like a big contradiction.
I’m still working out how it all fits together, myself.
But this is my heart.
This is where this tragedy has picked me up and spun my world around and left me.
And for now, I’m okay with not having any conclusions.
I’m okay with taking this one day at a time and figuring out the details as I go.
The beauty of grace is that I am free to love wholeheartedly, without hesitation, and to live without answers.

http://www.makeitcounttoday.org/

SPC Spencer C. Duncan
February 19, 1990-August 6, 2011

Farther along we’ll know all about it
Farther along we’ll understand why
So, cheer up my brothers, live in the sunshine
We’ll understand this, all by and by

Tempted and tried, I wondered why
The good man died, the bad man thrives
And Jesus cries because he loves ’em both
We’re all cast-aways in need of rope
Hangin’ on by the last threads of our hope
In a house of mirrors full of smoke
Confusing illusions I’ve seen

Where did I go wrong, I sang along
To every chorus of the song
That the devil wrote like a piper at the gates
Leading mice and men down to their fates
But some will courageously escape
The seductive voice with a heart of faith
While walkin’ that line back home

So much more to life than we’ve been told
It’s full of beauty that will unfold
And shine like you struck gold, my wayward son
That deadweight burden weighs a ton
Go down into the river and let it run
Wash away all the things you’ve done
Forgiveness, alright

Farther along we’ll know all about it
Farther along we’ll understand why
So, cheer up my brothers, live in the sunshine
We’ll understand this, all by and by

Still I get hard pressed on every side
Between the rock and a compromise
Like the truth and pack of lies fightin’ for my soul
And I’ve got no place left go
‘Cause I got changed by what I’ve been shown
More glory than the world has known
Keeps me ramblin’ on

Skipping like a calf loosed from its stall
I’m free to love once and for all
And even when I fall I’ll get back up
For the joy that overflows my cup
Heaven filled me with more than enough
Broke down my levees and my bluffs
Let the flood wash me

And one day when the sky rolls back on us
Some rejoice and the others fuss
‘Cause every knee must bow and tongue confess
That the Son of God is forever blessed
His is the kingdom, we’re the guests
So put your voice up to the test
Sing “Lord, come soon…”

Farther along we’ll know all about it
Farther along we’ll understand why
So, cheer up my brothers, live in the sunshine
We’ll understand this, all by and by