To a Princely King, a Self-proclaimed King, and the King of All Kings

"Movement to Overcome," Michael Pavlovsky, Memphis Civil Rights Museum

NOTE: This was supposed to be published for MLK Day. Clearly, it wasn't. I hope it's still an encouragement. I believe it's still timely. I believe discussion of Dr. King's legacy will remain timely for many, many years to come.

Dear Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.,

I was first asked to write this piece for The Well. I had it all planned out, especially after reading Michael Eric Dyson's beautifully controversial book about you. In some ways, you were the best of brothers. You fought hard for justice. You spoke for those who had been robbed of their God-given voice. You sacrificed much--most notably your life--for the cause of equality among human beings. You fought for all Christians--black and white--to see each other as brothers and sisters. A dear brother, and much missed.

But in some ways, you were not a good brother.

In I May Not Get There With You, Dr. Dyson talks about why it is important to see your entire story and not overlook who you truly were, the good and the bad. As I read it, I thought, "Yes! What a great word. I'll talk about what a good brother MLK was, then about how he wasn't perfect, and how women in the academy and professions can partner with good, but humanly flawed brothers, as we pursue the best of brothers--Jesus!" It was a great concept, and I was excited to write it.

I researched. I outlined. I drafted. I enjoyed the process. And then two things happened.

First, Trump won the election. And as it came to my attention that MLK Day 2017 would fall just four days before the Inauguration, I began to struggle with writing. Suddenly my neat categories were blown apart. As the time went on from November until the present, the lines between yourself and President (then Elect) Trump were in some ways clearer, but in some ways blurrier. And most of those "blurred lines" (yes, I'm quoting from that horrible song, because sadly, it's applicable here) were in the treatment of women. This did not help my writer's block any.

Secondly, I overcommitted myself to a number of projects, I missed the draft deadline, and I started to not just struggle with what to write, but to actually doubt if I could write it. Procrastination, fear, shame, and exhaustion all combined to make the work of writing about you just too hard. I knew you were flawed, and I could forgive you for those flaws. Until your flaws lined up too eerily with Mr. Trump's flaws, and then I had to re-think everything.

Ironically, it was that wrestling with your flaws that brought me back to writing, and purpose, and ultimately, back to thinking about Jesus--which is where I had wanted this piece to lead all along. Because I realized that you, too, dealt with procrastination, fear, shame, and exhaustion. You, too, made promises you did not keep, and you, too, had to rely on the saving grace of the gospel of Jesus Christ to make sense of things and keep going in faith.

So what do I want to say to you?  It seems a bit grandiose to say "I forgive you" when I never met you, never was affected by your infidelity or your crudeness. And yet, as a woman, aren't I? As a woman living in a culture where women are thought of as lesser, where women are debased, dehumanized, and objectified, don't I bear the burden of every one who has ever (myself included) allowed coarse talk about women? Who has allowed the sanctity of marriage to be cast aside to the idols of convenience and lust? Isn't the point of Dr. Dyson's book that if we are to properly celebrate the legacy of your life, we must do it whole-heartedly, without reserve, and without skimming over the uncomfortable parts?

Many amazing women of the 1960's Civil Rights Era put up with a lot of nonsense from men, including yourself. They persevered. They still do. And God used you to accomplish much for both men and women. God did that, and you and I can (and will, someday!) join our voices in praise of his work.

So I forgive you, Dr. King. I am incredibly grateful to your legacy. Because unlike some other leaders, you did point to Jesus. Unlike some other sinners, you wrestled with your sin, and depended desperately on the forgiveness of God. And that is what it looks like to partner with good brothers, such as yourself, who are also fallen, sinful men. We wrestle with our sin, and we depend desperately on the forgiveness of God.

With incalculable gratitude,
A sister and fellow activist.


Dear President Trump,

I really wrestled with whether to include you in this post or not. When I asked my dear husband, who is one of the most respectful men (of women, and of people in general) I know, he thought I shouldn't even mention you. Shouldn't sully the legacy of Dr. King by in any way putting you alongside him. On the one hand, I agree with this. In the same way that I will not waste my time (or my typing) mentioning the name of the Charleston shooter who took the lives of Rev. Sen. Clementa Pinckney and eight other beautiful souls, I don't want to waste this special time of reflecting on the work of Dr. King by entertaining hateful, non-peaceful, anti-gospel work.

But as I studied the life (and times) of Dr. King, the similarities to how you treat and think of women became too much to ignore.

Many would argue that you are far beyond Dr. King in your empowering of women. In fact, you have women in roles of leadership, where Dr. King honestly didn't. That still does not score you a point, sir. Because despite his infidelity, despite his rough talk, and ignorant attitude toward women leaders, Dr. King still exhibited restraint. Whereas you dismissed your crude comments about women as being mere "locker room talk," and therefore tried to justify your attitude, Dr. King had at least some sense of reason, of shame. Though he was both culpable and a product of his times, he was foremost a professing Christian. He was a man who knew he wasn't perfect and who had much to repent for.

Because in the end, what set Dr. King apart from you was the fact that he knew he was a sinner. He knew he needed Jesus. He knew he wasn't Jesus. Your words--where you say that you've never asked for forgiveness, because you don't need it--show that you are not a believer. Just on the level of basic beliefs, you have disqualified yourself. And that doesn't mean there isn't common grace at work in your life. No, far from it. Because I respect God as the ultimate authority, I will respect you. I will respect you as president, because I respect the office and the system that has produced it. Even if I feel like you yourself are not respecting the office nor our country, I will fight to stay respectful in my disagreements. Even as I point out what I believe are facts about your misogyny, even as I protest what I believe are violent statements against the most vulnerable, even as I disagree vehemently with your hateful speech about immigrants, I will do so properly, with gratitude for the privilege of being in this country. Not because I at all agree with you or your tactics, but because Dr. King showed a better way. Dr. King followed the way of Jesus.

Praying for you,
A (fellow) citizen.


Dear King Jesus,

I'm tired, dear elder brother. Worn out from being mad, sad, and everything in-between. I need your rest, for I am weary. I need your sanctifying work, for I am sinful. I need your affirming presence, for I am shamed and belittled. And I need your guidance, brother. I need your perfect example, your gracious welcome, your comforting and radical proclamation as the first fruit of the redemption that is to come. I need you. We need you--your church the world over. Heal us, Emmanuel. Heal our country in a way in which it has never really been. It's been yours all along--all things are--but we ask for hearts to be changed, Lord. We ask for your kingdom to come, on earth as it is in heaven. We ask for you to be exalted, for governments and institutions to cease, for the blessing to come of basking in your light alone. We don't ask for you to fill the presidency, Lord. We ask for you to fulfill the scriptures and magnify yourself. Come, Lord Jesus. We desperately need you.

Gratefully,
Your little sister.

To A Cold Front

photo credit Erin Kennedy White

Dear Wintry Weather,

Well, you've finally arrived, even here in Mississippi. I like the idea of cold weather, just not the actuality. I love the idea of snow and blustery snowball fights and icicles hanging from the eaves. Unfortunately, that doesn't really happen around here. No snow; no crisp, glittery mornings; no brittle, clear, frosty nights. Just cold. And rain. And more cold. 

I know Northerners think we're hilarious. Anything above freezing is no big deal in the North. But here in the South, 50 degrees Fahrenheit is about where we start whimpering, and when it gets below freezing--especially if it's rainy--we feel it in our bones. We've got thin blood; we're just not built for cold weather. 

I don't love wearing bulky coats, even though a trenchcoat with a pair of Chucks always makes me feel a little like the dashing Tenth Doctor. We are notorious in our house for losing mittens, scarves, hats, etc. We have to bundle up the baby, take her outside, then strip off her coat so that we can actually snap her in her carseat. Winter apparel, especially when there's no snow, feels like more trouble than it's worth. 

I'll tell you what else I don't like about you, wintry weather. It's hard to forget the poor when it gets cold outside. Each night, sitting around our table, eating warm food with people I love, I have a hard time not feeling guilty about those that don't have a table, or warm food, or a family. I am keenly aware, as I tuck my babies into their snuggly, safe beds, that there are mamas out there who aren't able to provide that safety and warmth for their babies. 

It's easier during warm weather to forget these hard things. To forget that there are still those that are thirsty, overheated, and dangerously unprotected from the elements in summer. Hot weather can be just as deadly as cold weather, but somehow it's easier to ignore the plight that others face, when it's hot outside. In summer, there's a certain solidarity where we all melt, and pant, and wilt away in the heat. In winter, when my loved ones are safe within our home's walls, I feel the exclusion of it all--the fact that there are "haves," and there are "have-nots." Summer feels like camaraderie, like warmth, like light. Winter feels like alienation, like a chill that won't go away, like darkness. 

So I don't like you, cold weather. I want to enjoy God's good gifts, to be grateful for what God has provided. But there's something about cold weather that makes that hard to do. And because of my selfishness, wintry weather doesn't necessarily make me more generous, more prayerful, or more active to help those in need. It just makes me feel guiltier. In a season which is full of busyness and family and travel and so many things--good and bad--to be praying about, I selfishly want to avoid feelings that I can't control, can't sculpt, can't hang lights on and make pretty. 

I guess I can't use a cold front as a scapegoat any longer. Really, I should be addressing God. And addressing the poor. But how? How does one thank God for all that I have and then cry out in anger for those who don't, all in the same breath? How does one see the inherent humanity in those outside? How does one not reduce the poor to a monolithic, faceless group of people that is so easy to dismiss?

Well, God, I guess I'll look to your Word and ask these questions. So I cry out to you, "How long?" I join the Psalmist in asking for justice and your mercy on your people (Psa. 79:5).

I ask for your shalom to come--which necessitates your justice--and I join with the prophet Jeremiah in speaking your words that we, God's people, must seek the good of our cities (Jer. 29:7). 

Along with the tax collector, I beg for your mercy on me, a sinner (Lk. 18:13), and ask you to change my heart, to make me see with your eyes, to break my heart for those in any type of need. I join with Jesus as he looked out over Jerusalem and wept at the misery of his people (Lk. 19:41).

As a drowning person among other drowning people, I ask that you bring me forward in conviction, O Lord, to do your will. To join you in making things right. I cast my guilt away as a scheme of the devil, and desire only to serve you, Lord. I listen to the pangs of hunger that others are feeling, I shiver in the cold that others must constantly live with, and I weep with the loneliness that image-bearers feel, especially during the cold and the holidays. 

And what can I say to you, the hungry, the cold, the homeless, the destitute and the grieving? I will say, I see you. I see your needs, and I want to help meet them. But I also see your imago dei--your status as deserving of respect and dignity because God made you. I see your uniqueness--I will not yield to easy stereotypes nor blame-shifting which abdicates me of all responsibility in your plight. I see you, and I will not look away in shame for either of us. 

And to my family and fellow believers, I say, let us join together in doing God's work. We must pray, and then listen, and then act. We will do good, not to get rid of uncomfortable realizations and guilt, but to be in solidarity with fellow human beings. We will do good, not in a position of power, but recognizing our own desperate, needy state. We will do good because we realize that without God we have nothing and can do nothing. We will do good because God has given us resources to grow his kingdom, and "there, but for the grace of God, go we." Because we recognize that what separates us from those outside in the cold has nothing to do with us or our supposed goodness. And we recognize our frailty, and even that sometimes, we too, are lonely, even in our warm, glowing homes. 

The question we must ask ourselves is not, "Will we invite the sojourner, the stranger, and the needy to our dinner table?" The proper question is "How? How do you want us to serve, God?" Some of us are called to host international students, or others without family nearby. Some of us are called to scale back our food budget, so as to be able to give more to our churches and worthy charities. Some of us are called to foster or adopt. Some of us are called to serve at soup kitchens, children's homes, or homeless shelters. There are as many ways to serve as there are believers to do the serving, if only we'll listen to God's call. Some of us are called to bring people to our table and some to bring the table to those in need, but all are asked to pray. We all must sit with the painful reality that he sends rain on the just and the unjust (Matt. 5:45), especially when it's freezing rain. We all must confront the truth that some have shelter from those cold rains, but others do not. We all must be willing--even as we embrace our families and thank God for all he has done for us--to lament the injustices of the world and continue to ask God to use us to love our fellow humans. 

Shivering, but grateful,

A Fellow Human Being.

To My Fellow Americans (Part 3)

Dear Fellow Citizens,

Well, here I am once again, with delusions of presidential grandeur. I figure if some of the current candidates can fancy themselves worthy of the presidency, why can't I? Ah ha ha ha ha! *whimper*

If you know me at all, you're pretty aware that I'm no fan of Trump, nor am I a big Hillary fan. (I miss Bernie. Hell, I miss McCain as the Republican nominee, at this point.) But the reasons I did or didn't vote for him or her might not be what you'd think:

I didn't vote for him or her because of his or her personality.

Please appreciate my syntax here. That can be read both ways. It could be "the reason for my negative vote is the horribleness of said candidate." And there's something to that, especially with rhetoric that I believe defies ideals that the United States (at its best) stands for: acceptance, community, respect, and inclusion.

But syntactically, it could also be "I voted for him or her, but not because of his or her personality." Because at the end of the day, personality is only part of what does (or doesn't) qualify a candidate for office. Do I want a bombastic, hateful, unrepentant person in the White House? No. Do I think we've had those before? Actually, yes. But I think they could do their jobs because they knew how to lead, and how to inspire, and how to negotiate. Please note that all these descriptors, depending on how one defines them (good and bad), could apply equally well to either of the two main candidates, and probably to Gary Johnson, as well. (I only know this because I'm from New Mexico, and I fondly/embarrassedly remember him as governor.).

Lots of previous presidents have had terrible personalities. And discussions of social media, globalization, and a digital age aside, we were more shielded from those personalities. Those personalities sometimes got in the way, and sometimes didn't. But we're not voting for a pastor, people. We're not proposing to a future spouse. At the end of the day, it would be nice if our president were honest, gracious, and well-spoken. But some of our best past-presidents have been adulterers, thieves, liars, and awkward as hell. Yet they could still do their damn job. So that's who I voted for. I voted for the person I thought could best do the job, based on experience, credibility, reliability, etc. Not being an asshat is part of the job, but honestly, I'm willing to go with someone who can fumble through it and fake it a little. Is that cynical and defeatist? Maybe. Is that wasteful and hypocritical? Possibly. Is that enough reason to not vote? For me, no. If you didn't vote because you despise both major party candidates, I hear you. And I'm not judging you really, just looking at you a little sadly. Which really is far worse, right? Ha ha ha sorry.

So I did vote for him or her because of his or her abilities, or at least what I think they are. And I voted. Because I'm a citizen of heaven who trusts in the Kingship of Christ but has been sent into temporary exile in this world to love God and humans who are created in his image. My ultimate, heavenly citizenship doesn't mean I blow off caring about this world, it means I try to do it as Christ did. I want to engage people well. I want to remember to keep my eyes on heaven, part of which means seeing the people and needs around me. I want to engage people with passionate kindness and kind passion. (Ooh! That's a good one. Lawyer friends, please help me trademark that phrase.)

So who did I vote for? Not Jesus Christ (ugh), because he doesn't need my vote and he's in charge of everything, anyway. I voted for [SENTENCE REDACTED FOR PRIVACY AND NATIONAL SECURITY ISSUES]. We'll see how it goes.

Hopefully, Respectfully, and Patriotically Yours,
Chandra Crane, write-in candidate, Opinionist Party

Free Shipping Fridays: Fluff and Stuff

Dear Readers,

Some days you just need a laugh, or an "awwwww" or even a large amount of sugar. Hopefully these links will supply you with the first two, while you go in search of the latter. Check your mailbox, friends, there's some virtual cotton candy stuffed inside...

Baby animals, including more than just puppies and kittens:
http://justcuteanimals.com/page/2?fp_type=news

Funny, clean memes:
http://cleanmemes.com

Faith in Humanity Restored (Common Grace, y'all):
http://www.cbsnews.com/pictures/heartwarming-tales-that-restore-our-faith-in-humanity/

To Those Who Are Leaving

Dear Disgruntled Friends,

To those who are considering leaving your church, no longer supporting a missionary, or giving up on a friendship, I'd like to share my spin on a parable. This may be blasphemous, and if so, I beg your forgiveness, as well as soliciting your gracious correction. But if you know me, I hope you'll see my heart, know that I'm mostly orthodox in my beliefs and practice, and have patience with me. Perhaps that's the entire point I'm trying to make.

Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant seeking beautiful pearls, who, on finding one expensive pearl, departed...

because he saw that there were scratches on one side, and although the core was of great value, he could not accept any pearls that had any flaws whatsoever.

If the core of something is rotten, friends, then yes, we must in good conscience depart. If the core principles of something shift so much that we find we no longer have shared values enough to support an organization, it would be foolish and pointless to remain.

But what if the kingdom of heaven isn't, on this earth at least, perfected yet? What if the pearl of great price--God's people, grouped together in various organizations and places--still has some scratches on it? Can we dismiss it so easily? What would it look like to find that we have some disagreements--important ones, even--that need to be addressed and discussed together... yet we don't depart? What can it mean to say to our pastor or that missionary or those teachers, "I still see the good here. We still share a desire to seek God's holiness, and justice, and mercy. But I am concerned about this trend or that movement, and because I believe in this organization, I won't walk away. I'll ask questions, and pray, and strive to work alongside brothers and sisters to see change where needed, and the shoring up of Gospel truths where I may fear we are slipping."

What would that look like?

I'm not Jesus, and I don't claim that this parable is divinely inspired or inerrant. But I will say that I am, in the same way that Jesus sometimes was, being purposely oblique in expressing my views. Jesus did it because he was bringing about the kingdom of heaven, and he knew his father's will. I'm doing it because I don't want to offend, and I hope to make people think about larger issues, and also maybe because I'm a bit chicken to wade into turbulent waters. But all around me, I see people leaving, withdrawing support, and condemning people and organizations which they used to love, and it saddens me.

If the pearl in your hands is crumbling and completely eroded, then by all means--don't slip it on a string and put it around your neck. But if it's not a perfect sphere, or it's lost a little luster on one side, don't assume that there's nothing there of value. Jesus doesn't do that for us, and I don't think he wants us to do that for each other, either.

Happy Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, everyone. With love,
Chandra

To Our Children

NOTE: No, I am NOT pregnant. So quit squealing and read on (mmm hmmm, Mom).

Dearest Little Bit,

It's been just over three years since we first learned of your existence, and it is just short of three years since we learned that meeting you in person was not to be. How hard that was! How we grieved. We miss you still, but this year for the month of October--Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month--the grief is less sharp and our joy is less shaky. It would have been so amazing to see your chubby arms and legs, to play with your wee toes and fingers, even to fumble through clouds of exhaustion to change your diapers. I don't think we realized just how much we had lost until your sibling came along. The first Christmas that we hung your ornament on the tree, our arms were still so empty and aching. Yet it was a different type of ache when we looked at little Annabel and hung your tiny ornament from the tree two years later. Realizing what we had lost, that you should have been hovering over your baby sister, showing her the shiny tree that We Do Not Touch.

I think the Christmas before we had felt an unspoken guilt over our excitement at your sibling growing in my belly, the way you never could. Perhaps this year at Christmas we will feel yet another emotion as we watch Annabel's distinct personality continue to emerge. An awareness that Annabel is, and never could be, your replacement, but rather that she could have been a complement to you. It's that "could have been" that still stings--the cry of our hearts that things aren't the way that they're supposed to be, that primal realization that all is not right with the world.

Yet what precious joy you did bring us for those couple of months and what precious grace we received from those around us after we lost you. (Thank you, dear friends, for carrying us in prayer and tangibly helping us during that time!) I still marvel at how having to learn to let you go has made me a better mother for your sister as I strive daily to trust her to God's care. And what bittersweet joy I have found in being able to step through that place of continual healing to minister to others as the consequences of a fallen world wreak havoc on us all. Is it blasphemy or merely desperation to thank God that at least you were spared all that? Perhaps both... yet God is big enough to handle it all.

So on the 15th, we'll light a candle for you. Are you swinging on heaven's gates? Perhaps. Maybe you are just resting, waiting with all the saints for the triumphant return of Christ. Either way, we send our love to you and thank God for your precious little life.

Love, Mommy & Daddy

Dearest Annabel,

How you melt our hearts with all the sweet things you do! How much you crack us up at your antics--even the ones that showcase just how sinful man can be. What joy we've had over the past 16 months (Happy Birthday, darling) of getting to know you more. We ask God's blessings over your little life and are breathless with gratitude for your presence in our lives. Rest well, sweetheart--you have a full day tomorrow of playing and eating and testing our patience and melting our hearts all over again.

Love,

Mommoo and Daddoo

Precious Future Children,

Some of you are probably still that proverbial "twinkle in the eye," so we pray for God's providence in bringing you into our lives eventually. Perhaps some of you are already born, or will be born not with us, and adoption paperwork will bring you to us. If so, we pray now for your protection, your guidance, your childlike awareness of a good God. For all of you, we pray that God will continue to grow us in our parenting skills (poor guinea pig Annabel!) that we might be better equipped to help you grow and to soothe hurts and bring about healing where needed.

Perhaps you will come to us broken by the world, or with poor health, or perhaps, like wee Little Bit, we will know you for only a short time. We pray that will not be the case with any of you. Regardless, we ask God's blessing over your souls--that he has known since before the foundation of time--and rejoice to know that he loves you more than we ever could. And we believe in him for your lives and growth, and ask him to help our unbelief. So get ready, wee ones. You are going to have some kooky parents that love you wholeheartedly.

Much love,

Mom & Dad

And a note to the Father--thank you for making us your children, your heirs. Grant us the patience and the grace to show your love to our children and to point the way to you. And... thank you for the couple of hours each night between Annabel's bedtime and ours! It is awfully nice to talk as adults and not be preoccupied with what she's sticking in her mouth, what she's doing to the cat or what we can do to not go insane reading Brown Bear, Brown Bear for the millionth time...

Gratefully,

Two of Your Children

To Vicksburg, Mississippi

(I know it's been literally years since I last wrote. But if we move to Vicksburg, I may have a heck of a lot more time on my hands to blog. Although not as much to blog about...)

Dear Burger Village,

Fabulous. So fun to see all the pictures with famous folks such as Frankie Valli and LL Cool J. The burger was indeed delicious and seeing a sweet old black man working alongside a young white woman does my heart good and gives me hope for race relations in this area. Maybe my (mixed couple) parents can come visit here without (too many) stares.

And as the kid at the counter said, $4.90 for a cheeseburger and fries is ridiculously cheap. Thank you, Burger Village--I'm glad you were my first impression of Vicksburg!

Dear Fredericks,

What a crazy small world. Seriously, Nice Owner Lady, your cousin owns George's in the Highlands? How fun is that. Thanks for appreciating Annabel's cuteness. When she is old enough to need shoes, if we're living here, we will indeed be back to shop your store. Although I know that seeing you will make me homesick for the ViHi area, at least for awhile. (sigh) And I doubt I'll ever be Southern enough to purchase a camo pillow dress! "Great for baby showers" indeed.

Dear Cinnamon Tree,

Well, I've found my Swoozies. I mean, you've got it all--Vera Bradley, Trumpette, even MudPie (not that I can really afford any of it...). Fun stuff. And THE BUNNY SLIPPERS. Oh, the Bunny Slippers. If we live here when Annabel's feet get big enough, we are soooo stocking up. And if a tragic accident ever happens to my feet and shrinks them to child's size 10/12, ohhhhh my. What a happy day that will be. Your 50% off selection rocks, and Annabel loves her new book. Maybe I can do Southern Preppy, after all. Katherine will be proud.

Dear Highway 61 Coffeehouse,

I know, I know--I'm a big city snob. I would have sneered at me, too, had the situation been reversed. I'm just in pre-emptory mourning for Octane, that's all. I had such high hopes for you when I saw the Batdorf & Bronson and Dancing Goats coffee signs. My heart skipped a beat when I saw the grinder and I got positively in a tizzy when I heard the classic CLACK CLACK CLACK that has often lulled Annabel to sleep. But then I asked about french pressed coffee and you asked me about whipped cream, and it all went down hill from there.

I know we won't find anything of Octane's caliber no matter where we end up, but COME ON. THERE IS NO X IN ESPRESSO! The words "french" and "press" put together shouldn't confuse you (I had mercy and didn't even inquire about Chemex). And what did you put in my mocha (sans whip) that made you call your coworker over to see before you handed it to me with an evil smile? I probably don't want to know.

Alright, this city slicker is headed back to Atlanta soon. But I might be back. And this time, I'll keep my mouth shut... but keep an eye out while you make my coffee, just in case.

Dear Biedenharn Candy Company and Museum of Coca Cola Memorabilia,

Well, the Coke Museum in Atlanta you are not. But at $3 for admission, as opposed to the exorbitant rates at the Coke Museum, hey--I'll take it! Oh, and thanks for letting me know NOT TO GO PAST THE COUNTERS UNTIL I'VE PAID ADMISSION. I might have missed the 15 signs. Southern Hospitality meets Capitalist Necessity.

Dear Salvation Army Thrift Store of Vicksburg,

Tragic. I think if we move here, my thrift store days are over. I mean, of course you're not as fabulous as Nearly New or even the SA Thrift Store near Tech. But dark and dingy are just not working for you. Neither are quiet and grumpy. At least I got to drop off the giveaway crap that's been in our trunk for quite awhile now! The patron saint of getting lost still appears to be with me.

Dear Emory University (Vicksburg campus) and ChristChurch Vicksburg,

Crap. Nevermind.

Okay, Vicksburg. It's been interesting. Your historic downtown reminds me of Galveston, but the rest of you reminds me of Clovis, NM (sadly, minus Joe's Boot Shop). Soooo... we'll see what God does. I trust in his providence for our family and hope that Kennan's interview went well today.

EDIT: I forgot to sign off! So...

Love,

The Snobby City Slicker in the beat up Toyota Corolla

To Whom it May Concern

Dear Reader,

I really enjoyed the letter writing format on the "Panera Girls" post. So I think I'll try to do that from now on. There is much to tell about from the past month or so (the promised MPJ show review is finally here!), and I think this medium will lend itself to my particular brand of quirkiness quite nicely.

I'm not sure what that last sentence was about, but it sounded good.
ish.

Thanks for reading, friends!
Love,
Ch


Dear Teenybopper Band that Opened for Matthew Perryman Jones,

I give you an A for effort. It certainly wasn't a boring show. It was just very... contrived. Your stage decorations were weird--the empty wall frames wrapped in colored icicle lights might have been clever, but the fact that you wore T-shirts that matched them was just too much. Not to mention that although the lead singer/keyboardist's red shirt was an exact match for the red thingie, the guitarist's green shirt was also a good match to the green thingie, and the drummer's yellow shirt matched nicely with the yellow thingie, the bassist's teal shirt was NOT a good match with the blue frame-light-thingie. If you're going to be cute, please be consistent!

And I admit, I liked your song the first time I heard it. The second time you played it (oh, was that supposed to be a new song? Really?), it was okay. By the fifth time you had played your song, though, I could have quite calmly beaten you with your super-cool Vans. Or scratched your face off with the lenses from your hipster glasses. Or smacked you with your nearly empty can of hair product. There is only so much dramatic chord-banging, meaningful pauses and angsty high notes that one person can take. Well, one person out of puberty, anyway.

You asked me to go to your MySpace page. Something about "Musical Parachutes." You also asked me to tell my friends about you. Although I won't be adding you as my TOP FRIEND on MySpace, I will tell my friends. It's the least I can do.

And what will I tell them? That if Ben Folds, Dave Matthews (minus the band), Jack Johnson, and Lars Ulrich all had an orgy... 9 months later, we would be able to RAWK OUT to your fabulous sounds. Congratulations, it's a... boy(band)!

Oh, and keep drinking tall cans of "Old Milwaukee" on stage. That is so clever, and shows all the teenage groupies that you are cool like that.

Yes. Cool. Like. That.

Thanks for the memories,
The married couple who laughed a lot at the table in house right.


Dear Matthew Perryman Jones,

An hour? That's all we got to hear from you? That, my friend, was NOT ENOUGH. And since there was another act coming on, I couldn't even holler for an encore. I was glad that Smith's Old Bar is here in Midtown, just down the road, but it's not my favorite venue. There's none of the intimacy of Eddie's Attic nor audience attentiveness of a church setting, but it was loud enough that I could shamelessly sing along for some of the songs. I certainly did behave myself during quieter numbers like "Meghan's Song." Speaking of your lovely wife Meghan, good for you for wearing your wedding ring on stage. It may have made playing your guitar a little more difficult, but we're proud of you for making that subtle little statement. Good for you and for your family.

It must be hard to leave your family so often, but we sure appreciate it. I don't remember your exact setlist (and I'm not sure how Team Redd always manages to remember the setlists of every show they see), but I do remember it was a great show, and all too short. It was great to see you with a full band! I especially dug the sounds on "Echoes of Eden" and "Waiting for the Light to Change."

Shame none of your shirts matched the decor, though.

Thanks for coming by to say hello to us. It's fun being your groupie. Maybe one of these days I'll be shameless and ask you to take a picture with us for my Facebook profile. After all, I did with NT Wright!

Much love,
The Atlanta transplants who always hope you'll do "Machine-gun Love."


Dearest Kennan,

You're my favorite person ever. I had so much fun at the MPJ show with you, celebrating our 7 year wedding anniversary a little early. Hard to believe it's been 7 years! I'd say that evening pretty much summed up our entire marriage: lots of laughter and fun, sweet times, and just a little squabbling. :)

Thanks for letting me be your number one groupie, dear.

Always your,
Ch

Somehow, I got Old part II

Three decades. Really? I do indeed feel old.

Mehhhh! When I was your age...

Happy Sacrifice Day

I meant to post this yesterday, but I'm really behind on posting these days...

Finally, a video set to Mercy Me's "I Can Only Imagine" that isn't sappy or stupid. In fact, it's amazing. A true picture of a perfect father's love reflected by an earthly father.

Father's Day isn't easy for us this year. We are so grateful that my dad is healthy, and that Kennan's dad is on the road to a full recovery. Still, it's hard, knowing what we had and lost. It's hard to trust in our heavenly father, but we're determined to cling to grace.

The video really sums it up. Sacrifice. That was the point. Christ didn't just come to be good (and he was indeed perfect!) and then call it a day. God didn't just give his son to come hang out with us sinners and then move on. He made the sacrifice to let his son--part of the perfect, holy, triune God--come and make the ultimate sacrifice. Unlike with Abraham, there was no ram caught in the thorns to take the place of Isaac. Rather, we are Isaac, and Christ took our place. Willingly. In my book, the words "father" and "sacrifice" should be interchangeable, and I've seen that reflected in many men around me, Kennan foremost.

So, Happy Father's Day to our fathers, our friends who are and will be fathers, and those that have been like fathers to us. And Happy Sacrifice Day to all, for whom the greatest sacrifice was made.

I'll post about the MPJ concert, drive-in movies, Indelible Grace concert, etc. etc. (it's been a packed couple of weeks!) soon, I promise.

Keeping the Faith

Jesus didn't promise sunshine and kittehs. Following him means taking up one's cross daily, and in a sin-stricken world at that. Thankfully, there are companions along the way--family, friends, and websites.

What? Did I just say "websites"?

Oh, did I. The past year has been (as my good friend and coworker Tony would say) a "Praise the Lord/ Lord have Mercy" rollercoaster. Ups and downs. We've had the joy of sharing in celebrating a dear sister (both literally and in the family-of-Christ sense) marrying a wonderful brother. The pain of losing of losing our first child. The overwhelming, chance-of-a-lifetime, wonderful trip to Asia to celebrate the Hwangs' wedding once again, to attend another wedding, and to finally meet up with my birth family. The struggles and frustrations and joys and pressures of our jobs and school. The fear of wondering if Dad Garrett had prostate cancer (he doesn't) and the fear of finding out that Dad Crane was in need of a heart transplant (keep reading). Sharing with so many the joys of marriages and births and careers and adoptions and graduations, and sharing with far too many the grief of deaths and illness and depression and abuse and theological despair.

Through it all, we've clung to our faith in Christ Jesus. How, you ask? (Let's pretend you did ask, okay?)

As I said, through websites. Okay, the primary (and easy) answer, is "by grace." By the gracious, constant presence and protection of the triune God. By community and sharing and crying and counseling and medicines (shocking!) and prayer and reading of the Word (sigh... far too little on those last two!) and pursuing spiritual disciplines and sheer stubborn God-given determination.

How else would we have gotten through the past couple of weeks, in which we traveled to four different cities (Denver/Colorado Springs, Raleigh-Durham, DC, and Houston/Galveston); celebrated/mourned on Mother's Day, pushed through what would have been the due date, attended a conference, freaked out/rejoiced in a donor heart becoming available for Dad Crane, celebrated/freaked out about the graduation (and thus departure) of so many fabulous students, and celebrated Mom Garrett's birthday, all in the same two days?

How? (Sorry, I'm getting there!) By a (growing) understanding of our sinfulness and God's holiness, a desire to see redemption...

... and a weird sense of humor. So I present, for your reading/clicking pleasure, sites that help me examine my faith, laugh at my failings, and praise God for loving us all anyway:

The character who does Bible scenes out of Legos (you have to see it to believe it!) appears not to be a Christian, but in some ways, I'd say he appreciates the Bible more than a lot of Christians I know (probably me included). He does have something of an agenda, though, which is evident in some of his interpretations of the passages. And there's some non-G rated stuff... but that's the Bible for you!

I mentioned the classic, sacrelicious Lark News in a previous post. My new, fabulous find (thanks to Tim and others for showing me the way) is all about Stuff Christians Like. Whoo hoo hoo hoo hoo! Wait. I do that. And that. Oh, and I do that, too! Ouch.

I've also stumbled upon the Wittenburg Door. Yes, they know they spelled it wrong. (No, I didn't know.) It's similar to Lark News, so when I find that I haven't procrastinated quite enough for the day, I head there. Particularly fabulous was the... interview... with NT Wright. (And no, I'm not quite sure if the entire thing is made up or not! Sheesh. Must I admit all my ignorance, all in one post? What will I do in further posts? Make sense?)

I also mentioned Snopes in that previous post. Specifically, if I need to feel superior about how intelligent I am (mostly after I go to the other websites and find that I don't get most of the jokes), I visit the Religion page, or the Glurge Gallery.

There are also several good sites (with less satire, more theological discussions, but still a sense of humor) that Team Redd could no doubt direct you to, that I've visited from time to time. When I really want to stretch myself, though, I go to a website for the "satirical church service for the thinking masses." It's basically a comedy routine that mocks the Western Evangelical church stereotype. These folks are not Christians, and I doubt they've ever met a Christian they liked, much less respected. While I could probably never attend a "service" (show), because even my irreverent self would probably get offended and "prove" their point that Christians are fun-haters, the website sure makes me think. About what I take for granted, what I practice and preach, and where I get distracted from Jesus and focus too much on me and "my" church.

And when I really need to get back to basics, I go here. Because I'm oh-so-pious... and a little bit of a tech geek.

Praise the Lord... Lord have Mercy!

Happy Mother's Day

Sigh.

My love to Sam and his family on a difficult day. Our prayers go with you.

My thanks to the women who have nurtured and loved me over the years.

My gratitude to those that have walked this difficult path before me, who have taught me the meaning of gracious strength.

My thanks to those that have loved on our little family over the past months, who rejoice when we rejoice and mourn as we mourn.

My love to my husband for walking this path with me.

We cling to grace and the hope that comes with Christ's resurrection, my friends. This alone sustains us.

Oh, and Pretzel the Bear says hello.

Insult to Injury

May 12th will not be an easy day for us. We were ready to celebrate my Mom's birthday on that day with the due date of our first child. Now we will celebrate her birthday with a definite bittersweetness. It's also the day after Mother's Day, which I imagine will not be easy, either. And, May 12th is Emory's graduation, where several of my favorite students will be closing the grad school chapter of their lives and moving on to what God has next for them. They will be sorely missed. We will be in DC for a conference that Kennan is presenting at, which is exciting (and I'm actually glad to be out of town and away from subtle reminders of what we've lost), but it will still be a rough time.

Now, to add ridiculous insult to genuine injury, I have discovered that the postal rates are increasing on May 12th! AGAIN. So now we face the dilemma, once more, of whether to buy a bunch of "Forever" stamps or not. At this rate (pun intended), it may well be worth it.

Anyone else in? We can stand in line for hours at the Post Office, dress up like postal characters, blog and talk and read and think and basically obsess about what will happen next...

Sorry. I was having a flashback to an obsession from last year... I have to say, reading that post again (and a few others around it) was rather cathartic and encouraging (especially the comments sections). I should do that more often.

No, Really.

I voted for Ron Paul in the Primaries.

I can eat an entire jar of pickles in one sitting.

I love small dogs that bark a lot.

My favorite colors are red and black.

I wish I lived in Texas.

I know all the words to "Enter Sandman."

My secret ambition is to meet Janet Reno.

I've decided to become a nun.

I once caught a fish this big...

I think David Hasselhoff is hot.

My cat likes to eat peanut butter.

My favorite magazine is Star.

I've been calm and obedient since 1978.

Yes, Happy April Fools' Day! You decide which ones are true.

Contrasts

I'm attempting a deep, meaningful, artistically chiasmistic post, so bear with me. Hee hee hee.

Chinese New Year:
a new beginning
enjoying dumplings and red envelopes
a time of well-wishing
a hopeful reprieve from bad luck and
death... Lent
the suffering and death of a King
a season of repentance
giving up good things with joy
a new creation:
Easter.

Happy Year of the Rat, friends! May the next >40 days bring you and yours a season of deep reflection and the true hope of being buried and resurrected with Christ Jesus our Lord.

Where to Start?

Aw, shucks. Sam linked us off his blog, and here I haven't posted in months. Let's not discuss how long it's been since Kennan posted.

So I now return, with gusto, in the name of international friendships and recycling!

If you are expecting anything epic (either in meaningfulness or length), this post may disappoint you.

If, however, you are expecting a bit of rambling of what our life has been like for the past several months, here it is... in no particular order... the good, the bad & the ugly:

we've finally started recycling, and I'm pretty excited about it... Kennan has become as addicted to Facebook (the applications, mostly) as I am... we got to leave the good ol' US of A for the first time ever, traveling to both Taiwan and Thailand to go to two weddings and to meet my Thai family... we lost our first child to a miscarriage in November, and though we're sad, are healing... the groups at Emory and Tech are doing well, and I'm still loving my job... GT lost to Fresno State in the bowl game (AGAIN) and I'm disgusted with my team (but pessimistically hopeful for next fall)... we got the complete series of Stargate SG1 for Christmas and it's fabulous... I've been using the word "fabulous" a lot lately, and I'm not sure why... our cats are as bad and as cute as ever... our unbelievable friends threw a surprise party (happy b-day Kennan/condolences/bon voyage) for us before we left for Asia, and I have never before felt so loved or humbled... seeing the Taipei 101 "explode" with fireworks on New Year's eve was fun, but a little freaky... I'm finally reading "Mere Christianity" by C.S. Lewis, and it's excellent... I continue to be amazed by how God loves us even when we're angry at him... Aaron and Becky are engaged, and that's super exciting!... I'm pleasantly surprised by the array of choices in the presidential election thus far... 99.7 is now Q100 and 100.5 is now a rock station with some of the old 99x peeps, and it's confusing... it snowed in Atlanta the day we got home from being in 95+ degree weather in Thailand... our apartment flooded while we were gone, and the Hwangs and the Mustains saved the day!... I turn 30 this year and am a little freaked out by that... Paul and Sarah are eagerly awaiting the sprouting of The Bean and (I'm excited that) I'm excited for them... Pretzel the Bear is now a world traveler... it was great to see family at Christmastime and I don't know where 2007 went... we slept from 9:30 pm Tues. to 6 pm Wed. when we got home from Asia... we're doing much better about our sleep schedule now and it's 10:30 so I'm going to say goodnight!

WAUGH!

I was goofing off on MySpace (mistake #1, many of you might say). I came across a comment someone had left for a friend. It had bubble wrap to pop. I started popping. THEN, all of a sudden, this horrible, scary horror-movie face popped up on the screen, screaming! Waugh! I screamed (which added to the chaos) and am just so thankful that it's not 3 AM in the morning and glad that Kennan is still up to help me calm down.

What a dirty, low-down trick. If I ever get my hands on that person...

Anyway, WAUGH! not only describes that little shockeroo, but also life as of late.

Good WAUGH, bad WAUGH (exhausted WAUGH, too-much-sugar WAUGH, you name it)...

Good WAUGH: my inbox is down to 381 (since getting the number up from 666 to 777 seemed a daunting task, I opted to go down, instead)... Kennan passed his 2nd round of his written quals (next stop, oral quals and then 4 more years of grad school)... Easter choir practice started again (exciting, but time consuming)... more and more friends having birthdays, graduating, getting married, getting pregnant, having kids, etc. etc. (makes me feel old)... the groups at Tech and Emory continue to grow, as well as finding other discipline-specific groups to work with (great, but the nagging question is: Am I up to it?)... we got to go to the Chicago area for the annual GFM Staff Conference (so great, but rather overwhelming and exhausting-I need a vacation now!)... my awesome supervisor was in town (are you reading this, DP?)... Spring is finally here (but I know THE POLLEN is on its way!)... GT is going dancing (but will probably lose in the first or second round)...

Bad WAUGH: seeing friends lose children, marriages, parents, jobs, etc. (SO hard!)... realizing how badly I've fallen out of touch with so many friends from P-ville/college days (how do the years fly by so quickly?)... we tried to go to the Christmas Choir Reunion Party but got hopelessly lost in frickin' Sandy Springs (please don't try to tell me the suburbs are easier to get around than Midtown!)... The aforementioned evil popup (my heart is still beating so fast!)... seeing good friends struggle with budget/fundraising issues (why, O Lord, have you been so gracious to me?)... talking with a mentally-ill homeless man about Jesus (he seemed to be getting it, but then he started talking about how the sun used to be a man until he ascended and that someday we'll all have to pass through the sun to be purified)... our sleep schedule is a disaster (it's almost midnight and we're both still wide-awake)... one of the cats horked a hairball all over the dining room table (ew! ew! ew!)...

And how is everyone else? Any WAUGHs to share?

The Year of the Barf

The (Chinese) New Year started with a bang for me this year. Given that my sister-in-law will be marrying a wonderful Taiwanese friend in just a few short months, I've enjoyed learning more about the Chinese culture lately. To celebrate the new year, we went to Little Szechuan (oh, the sesame chicken! We were out of it so fast!) with our Thursday night small group and Canton House (oh, the sesame balls! I could not believe they were out of them!) when the mom-in-law was in town for wahdding plahnning. Our good friends Matt & Cheryl (and Becky! :) also shared with us some tickets to New Tang Dynasty Television's Chinese New Year Spectacular, which was both beautiful and a lot of fun. I enjoyed sitting next to Cheryl, who is also Taiwanese, as she could translate some for me and explain some of the customs. Good times with family & friends. Xin Nein Kuai Le! Happy New Year!

Unfortunately (as you might guess from the title), the Year of the Pig went downhill from there. The stomach flu descended on me that night and fun times at the Crane house ensued. There's nothing like a little projectile vomit (among other things, ew) to liven up your new year. I haven't been that sick in years. Being in bed all day for 3 days did provide a good time to (re)connect with my own Asian heritage, though. Between bouts of nausea and being passed out like a rock, I re-read Mai Pen Rai Means Nevermind (An American Housewife's Honest Love Affair with the Irrepressible People of Thailand) by Carol Hollinger, a very witty and downright hilarious book that made me yearn all the more to visit Thailand. Although... I identified all-too-well with her skirmishes with "amoebic" (dysentery) and am not sure I could be quite as laissez faire she was about the local water and crops. It does make sense that if you're going to be somewhere for an extended period of time, you might as well get the misery over with and acclimate as soon as possible so you can actually enjoy the culture. I would certainly not want to be the obnoxious, mincing American, scurrying around worrying over disease and pestilence. Perhaps when we go (someday!) I will enjoy the trip like I would while camping. I naturally relax when we go camping, and will tromp through all sorts of spider-infested areas and eat Lord-knows-what that fell Lord-knows-where with cheerful aplomb. Here's hoping.

Anyway, I'm all but back to normal and glad to be back in the swing of things. Happy Year of the Pig, everybody!

Entitlement

Or, Why I Deserve to Act Like an Only Child and Throw Tantrums as an Adult

Well, it's Valentine's Day. A day of love and charity. A day of peace, goodwill and affection toward our fellow men.

A day for a nasty confrontation in a chapel.

Thankfully, I was not the recipient of the drama this time, merely an observer. I'm on campus today at Emory (yay!) getting some work done in Brooks Commons, the lounge area in Cannon Chapel. I like people watching, and it's always interesting when you get to interact with a perfect stranger in a nice way, as a comrade with shared experiences. So I enjoyed chatting with one woman who was on the phone fighting with a DeKalb County school. It sounded as though someone had stolen her son's cafeteria code and was using it during another lunch hour to charge their own lunches. I mentioned that I used to teach in DeKalb, empathized with her situation, and we shared some good ol' fashioned emnity towards the evil entity that is DeKalb County schools. A moment of mutual kindness and generosity.

Then another man was on the phone, this time fighting with someone about his W-2 forms. They gave him a complicated list of instructions, and he had no pen. So I loaned him one quite happily, we abused the govermental machine that is the IRS, and he went back to his conversation.

But then entitlement crept in. And I find the first woman's conversation quite ironic, given that the one of the places I have encountered entitlement the most was in the classroom. May I suggest that if you are planning on teaching in a school where you are the minority ethnicity, find a picture of you with friends, family, etc. that are of the majority ethnicity, frame it, and put it on your desk first thing. Don't worry about a stapler, tape, pencils, or a computer until you have that picture up there. There was many a day when an irate parent tried to cry "Racism!" but was stopped short by seeing my family portrait. But I digress.

The aforementioned gentleman was one ethnicity, and the aforementioned lady was another. But more importantly, the third person who entered the scene was not the same ethnicity as that gentleman. We'll call him Clueless Man, and her, Cranky Lady. You can see where this is headed.

Clueless man was still on his phone, and speaking rather loudly. I ignored it. After the Figo incident, I am far from eager to harrass perfect strangers. But Cranky Lady had had enough of the interruption to her studying, and she asked him to either get off the phone or leave. She lectured. She ranted. And when he finally said, "Fine, I'll go!" and started to storm out, it was really just beginning. The person on the other end of the line (not his previous phone call) must have asked what was going on, because he said, "I just pissed off some lady for being on the phone, so I'm going outside!" She took the bait. Henceforth issued a shouting match that could very well have been enacted in my third-grade classroom:

CL: Well, you're rude!

CM: I'm not rude!

CL: Yes, you are! You don't even belong here! This is for the students!

CM: I'm an alum!

CL: I don't care! You're rude!

CM: Fine! Goodbye!

I didn't know whether to laugh or put them in time out.

The thing that gets me is the sense of entitlement. On both sides, I suppose, but "she started it." The idea that I deserve the room to be at my level of auditory comfort, and if I am inconvenienced or uncomfortable in any way, it is YOUR responsibility to change that, AND I don't have to be nice about it, because the world owes me.

It makes my head explode. Clueless Man seemed nice enough, just ignorant. Cranky Lady could have asked him nicely to lower his volume or to go outside. But that was just too much effort to be expected. Because it's difficult to confront someone nicely, but very self-gratifying to berate a perfect stranger.

Now why did I mention ethnicities? Because 30 seconds after the show ended and the curtain came down, another lady entered, talking loudly on her cell phone. She only talked about 2 minutes and then hung up, and so I suppose that would mostly account for Cranky Lady not jumping on her case, too. But I found it frustratingly interesting that this new person happened to be of the same ethnicity as Cranky Lady. It felt too familiar to similar situations I've seen or been in.

And Clueless Man certainly could have been more gracious and held his tongue. But he didn't; and to be truthful, I probably wouldn't have, either. Although, in the case of the Figo incident, I was too shocked to be rude. Oh, may I be shocked into kindness more often!

When, oh when will we all realize that we are all made in God's image? You certainly don't have to be a professing, "evangelical" Christian to be here at the Candler School of Theology, but it's a reasonable assumption that if you're here, you espouse some system of beliefs that says, "Play nice with others." Especially on consumeristic, bastardized national holidays that are supposed to be about love and kindness.

Well, Happy Valentine's Day. Call your mom, hug your kids, kiss your spouse, and be nice to a stranger.

Bugs, Rugs, and Thugs with Bombs

I am entirely too fond of that title.

So I had a good dose of NPR this morning. Morning Edition. Sad to say, we're so lazy we don't usually catch it, but I had an appointment, so there I was, sitting in traffic, listening to NPR and feeling all grown up. Har har har.

One of the news stories was about the color red. It was a Valentine's Day thing, I guess. I thought it was interesting to hear about the secrecy that surrounded the making of red dye before synthetic dyes were invented. I usually think of the color purple (not the book) as the color of royalty, but apparently the Sun King himself, Louis XVI, was very fond of red (among other creepy obsessions) and brought it quite into vogue in his days. He had very shapely legs, apparently, and liked to show them off in tight pants, hose, and high-heeled red shoes. Yikes. Do you think Baton Bob is a descendant?

But anyway, the secrecy. The dye came from a cactus-dwelling bug found mostly in Mexico. The workers there would harvest the bugs, dry them out, and then ship them to Europe, where the folks couldn't figure out what the little dried up pod-things (not the sci-fi monsters) were. Plant, animal, mineral? The Mexicans worked hard to keep it a secret so that the Europeans wouldn't come pillaging their way through and take over. Smart.

The interviewer was at a museum looking at some rugs from that era that were basically crushed red velvet, which she commented looked too nice to step on. I find an ironic symbolism in the mental picture of Louis-boy stepping on his crushed red velvet as calmly as he stepped on the crushed red (bloody and broken) peasants. It makes me want to see Les Mis again (although I think I'm way off on time periods, here).

I also listened with interest to an interview from someone on the security council about the state of North Korea's disarmament (is that a word?). Somebody remind me again why we're allowed to have nukes, but everyone else is supposed to disarm? Right, right... because we're benevolent peace-keepers, not invading war-mongerers.

See what a few minutes of NPR will do to a person?
hee hee hee