To My Siblings in our Denomination

NOTE: Our denomination is theologically conservative. It is also culturally and politically conservative. It is complementarian, with a wide range of what that means for different people and churches. Part of why I am weary, of why this is so difficult for me, is that I am theologically conservative, but not culturally or politically so. I am a complementarian, valuing the overall leadership of men in the church, but also a "soft" complementarian, not thinking that women should be entirely absent or silent. It's a difficult middle ground.

I wish we could either have a new term, not having to use "soft" complementarian all the time, as though it's some wimpy, pitiful twisting of complementarianism. Or I wish we could reclaim the old term, resting in the beauty of the ways that the male and female genders complement one another, contrasting, highlighting, enhancing one another as we serve and lead together. But that is another post for another time.

Friends outside of the denomination, I apologize that this post may feel irrelevant or even frustrating. Thanks for bearing with me. Thanks for reading, anyway. I value your voices and regret any hurt I cause. But this is part of my journey, and this is important to me. So I can't help but write about it.


Dear Brothers in our Denomination,

Yesterday's sermon at church was beautiful.

I've recently had "remember your identity in Christ" preached at me by two men (with coincidentally the same name), and one could not be more different from the other. One strong, gracious, and Biblical. The other... not so much. I'm trying to hold to that truth I was reminded of yesterday--that my identity comes in Christ, not in how the world labels me (or even how I label myself), but it's hard. In part, because I sin. Because I play "I'm God's gift to the earth/Wait, I'm a worthless worm" mental games in between being reminded of the Gospel. Hooray sanctification.

It's also hard because the truth--that my identity is in Christ--isn't mutually exclusive with the pain of those other labels and the way I identify myself and others. We're in the "here and not yet" church age, and there are still things being worked out, still ways in which God is working out his truth in our hearts. Why is it important that I'm a multi-ethnic, multi-cultural woman serving my family, church, and graduate students? It matters precisely because of that truth--that I was created in the image of God, and he loves and delights in who he has made me to be. My gender, culture, and other identifiers aren't irrelevant because my identity is in Christ, they are celebrated in the wide diversity of the church. God hasn't saved a bunch of bland, indistinguishable people. He's saved a beautiful variety of people, in all colors, shapes, sizes, and personalities. He's saved men and women, and he values their differences.

And now we come to it.

After much initial drama and debate, our denomination has approved a Study Committee on Women in Ministry. This is a good thing. But it's also a polarizing thing. Already our little corner of social media has been ablaze with people who are both excited and distrustful. Already people are questioning the selection of the committee, the threat of it, the necessity of it, the timing of it. These voices are mostly white men. I don't hate white men. I'm really quite smitten with the one I'm married to. I respect and admire the ones who are our associate pastors and those who make up part of our elders. I gratefully sit under the tutelage of several white men in seminary.

The reaction on social media does seem to prove the necessity for the committee, and for it to include women. As one new friend on Facebook said, "If you want to know how certain things appear and feel to women members of the church, you kind of have to ask them." Thank you, sir.

And what I think many people are forgetting in all the hullabaloo is that behind it all are women. Women who have invested their lives in our denomination. Women who are more than stereotypes. Women who have submitted their lives to Christ, and are just trying to follow him faithfully.

But what I see in much of these discussions is the Three Female Ghosts that Haunt the Church. I'm haunted by these ghosts, brothers, and so are you. Please, I ask you--in all humility--see the women around you, hear our stories. Don't let whispers of ghosts and stereotypes be the only voices you hear.

Perhaps you see me as The Usurper--one of the women described in Jen Wilkins' above article as being perceived as "authority thieves." I'm not trying to usurp authority. I'm trying to serve from under proper authority--my elders, my husband, my God. Authority is a God-given, beautiful thing, and we can all thrive under it. I believe this.

Perhaps you're threatened by my exegesis. I've done some of the studies (in the Greek, yes) and I am a complementarian. But Biblical complementarianism does not (and should not!) equal chauvinism. I'm not trying to change your stance on Biblical truths, I'm trying to show you other Biblical views of your cultural norms.

Maybe you worry that I'm The Temptress--you think that "being above reproach [equals seeing women...] as sexual predators." Or you want to treat me like The Child because you think I'm "emotionally or intellectually weaker than men."

I wish you'd see me, and then treat me accordingly, as a sister.

I wish you'd see the women in your church. In your home. In your seminary. See the girls in your nursery, in your school, in your neighborhood. See the widows in your SS class, in your grocery store, in your city.

I wish you'd stop trafficking in stereotypes of angry women, who are demanding all sorts of rights. I wish you'd stop letting these Ghosts chair your committees and preach your sermons and type on your Facebook pages. I wish you'd really see, and listen to, the individual women around you who are indeed angry, but also weeping, and serving, and loving, and leading, and being humbled and renewed by the spirit.

I want to be sensitive to those men who truly feel threatened by what they see as the "scourge of liberalism" sneaking into our denomination. Its true--you are within your rights to be worried, to speak out, to voice concerns. But since when has Christianity been ultimately about our rights? Isn't it about what I learned in my Christology class about κενωσις? About following Christ's example as he laid down his rights, not to ignore the truth, but to pursue it? About seeing who else feels threatened, or marginalized, or hurt, and trying to understand their perspective, to support them, to be willing to listen to their stories?

Brothers, can you take a second to imagine what it feels like to be a token voice in a focus group for our new denominational logo, but be unable to vote on it? I'm not even saying that should or shouldn't change. I'm saying can you imagine the frustration or the feeling of being lesser?

Brothers, can you imagine what it was like to sit--for five hours--and listen to a discussion about your gender, without hearing from a single person of your gender (which is about 50% of the population)? Again, I'm not discussing whether we need change or not. I'm saying, just please try to imagine the feeling of helplessness and invisibility. The feeling that you are required--and always will be--to sit behind the curtain in what is essentially the Court of the Women and the Gentiles. It's alienating to say the least.

Brothers, can you picture a scene where people younger, less-trained, and in no actual authority over you consistently call you dismissive names as though you're a child? Can you picture the pain of being ignored merely because of your gender? Can you picture, and really try to sit with the image for a moment, the grief when other human beings--siblings in the gospel--look at you with suspicion and fear the minute you walk in the door, going where an actual authority figure has asked you to go?

Dear brothers, we are your sisters, which means we need and deserve your kindness in daily life, your protection from those who seek to harm us, your guidance as we serve in our homes and churches, your empowerment as we lead in appropriate ways.

We are also your co-heirs in Christ, which means we do not need your saving of our souls, your justifying of our existence, your condemnation as though only Eve ate the fruit, your platitudes in our grief, or your parenting as though we are your children (unless you're literally our dads--and then, it's still pretty specific in Ephesians how you're supposed to do that graciously). We are sinners saved by grace, just like you.

Some of you get it, or are at least listening. In my To My Brothers in Seminary Post, I didn't name names. I guess the same truths hold here. But you know who you are. Thank you for listening. For using your privilege to advocate for the voiceless. Thank you for being willing to admit mistakes and to fight back the Ghosts. Thank you for being strong, gracious, caring, stereotype-defying brothers.

Gratefully,
A Fellow Sibling


Dear Sisters in our Denomination,

I'm writing to say a few things. First, I lament with you. Even if the pain were not also my own, I would weep with you. And, I recognize that not all of our grief comes from the same places. Intersectionality is also an issue--for those of you who are also of certain ethnicities, socio-economic and educational statuses, etc., it can be hard to sort out why exactly you are being treated as lesser. In addition to other areas, for the areas in which you have felt grief for being shamed and not valued because you are a woman, I am sorry.

But a discussion on Facebook brought something to my attention. Some of you may not be feeling this pain, or may not have recognized it as being tied to your gender. Some of you may be already empowered to be faithful wives, mothers, and nursery workers. This is wonderful. But in commending the committee members to us, one of my professors said that "if we can't trust [the committee] on this issue, then we have far more problems than we know." I agree that they are trustworthy, gracious people. I (obviously) agree with the need for a committee. But I question not their trust but their representation. The committee members are heavily skewed to the majority. The majority of our denomination is of a certain age, stage, and educational/social background. But not all of us women who call it home are of that demographic.

There's a Fourth Ghost that haunts us, sisters: The Rebel. She who others think really would be happiest, if she only would submit to all the cultural (not Biblical) expectations for her. If she'd just stop fussing and accept things, she could focus and be at peace. She haunts us women perhaps most of all. We are not all stay-at-home moms. We are not all dainty, small, and graceful. We are not all called to be pastor's wives, or to host tea parties, or to homeschool. Not all of us are married, or have kids, or like crafting. And our callings and families are as beautiful and valuable as are the majority. But The Rebel doesn't want us valuing each other in our differences. She wants us to shame, blame, and accuse each other--on both sides--until we cannot see past the rift we have created. She wants us to be enemies, not siblings.

Sisters, will our voices be heard? Will those of us who are working outside the home be valued and heard? Will those of us who are single, or older or younger, be considered as the committee looks at what the Bible has to say? Or will those among us who are the Other be further marginalized--not because we actually disagree with the findings, but because no one thought to apply those findings to a broad spectrum of women within our denomination?

I hope they will. I do not doubt this committee will undertake its work with all seriousness and dependence on the Holy Spirit. I just hope that a committee on "Women in Ministry" will not limit itself to women ministering within current (read: culturally acceptable) norms. I pray that we will truly listen to the Bible and not let our denominational cultural norms dictate the findings. I know I'm in one accord with the committee when I say:

I want to hear Jesus speak.

And I know, sisters, that you do, as well.

Gratefully,
A Fellow Sister

Free Shipping Fridays: My Main Self Descriptors

Dear Readers,

While on the one hand, I think descriptors about race, gender, vocation, etc. can be stereotyping and limiting, on the other hand, I appreciate identifying myself with certain characteristics. And I think the problem with telling our stories via descriptors is not when we start there, but when we end there. I want the fact that I'm a multi-ethnic Christian woman in graduate school (etc. etc.) to start conversations, not end them.

So in your virtual mailbox today is a Census Bureau pamphlet, expanded. In this particular mailing, "check all that apply" is standard, and filling in little multiple-choice bubbles is just the beginning. I'd love to hear--do you identify with any of this? What descriptors do you claim? We are more than the sum of our parts--more than just data points--yet, those survey questions matter.


What is your ethnic identity? (check all that apply)
http://reformedmargins.com/but-you-were-raised-white/


What is your religious affiliation? (check all that apply)
http://www.russellmoore.com/2015/10/27/why-i-am-a-christian-2/
http://www.christianitytoday.com/edstetzer/2015/october/exploring-evangelicalism-presbyterian-church-in-america.html


What is your gender identity? (check all that apply)
http://www.thegoodbookblog.com/2016/mar/17/neither-complementarian-nor-egalitarian-an-intervi/
http://www.christianitytoday.com/women/2016/march/gender-conversation-we-arent-having.html


What is your current career/educational status? (check all that apply)
http://blog.emergingscholars.org/2016/04/dear-no-longer-new-graduate-student/
http://thewell.intervarsity.org/in-focus/no-happy-harmony


What is your political affiliation? (check all that apply)
http://www.patheos.com/blogs/ellenpainterdollar/2012/10/why-i-am-a-christian-democrat/


What is your marital status? Do you have children in the home? (check all that apply)
http://www.scarymommy.com/teach-son-about-marriage/
https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/parenting/wp/2015/12/30/i-guess-im-raising-a-tomboy/


What is your favorite color? (check all that apply)
http://www.dreamhomedecorating.com/psychological-effects-color-blue.html

To Those Who Are Studying

“Even though we speak in this way, beloved,

in you we feel sure of better things that belong to salvation.

For God is not unjust to forget your work and the love

that you have exhibited for his name, serving,

and continuing to serve, his holy people.”

Hebrews 6:9-10

Dear Law Students,
Our family was having dinner the other night with an MC|Law/CLS alum, and when I asked him what word he thought I should bring to you today, his answer was clear: encouragement.

Encouragement in two seemingly contradictory truths:

There’s more to life than this

but also, What you are doing here matters.

In the passage above, the writer of Hebrews was wrapping up a section of warning them about getting distracted and ignoring the powerful truths of the gospel of Christ Jesus.

After rather harsh words in the earlier part of Hebrews 6, the writer went on to speak encouragement.

Encouragement that those beloved brothers and sisters were stronger than temptations and distractions.

If we are in Christ, then we, too, are stronger than temptations and distractions.

The writer had confidence that those believers knew about the “better things of salvation.”

Confidence that they would remember that there was more to life than what they could see swirling around them.

It’s easy to get distracted here in law school.

Grades, papers, rankings, activities.

Legal Writing, App Ad, Moot Court, Law Review, the Bar exam.

It’s easy to forget that this will “only” last for three years.

It’s easy to become myopic, not seeing much of anything outside these walls. Not seeing much of anyone outside these walls.

So here is an encouraging reminder:

There’s more to life than this.

You will graduate, someday, even if it feels like it will never come.

You have friends, family, and a community out there who care about you.

And it is your care for them—and for those within these walls—that “exhibits your care for the Lord.”

It is your ability to let them care for you—to be part of a community—that shows the evidence of your salvation.

When we trust God’s truths, when we remember to stop sometimes, look up, and see the world around us, when we trust God to care for us, we show that we know the “better things that belong to salvation.”

It is only in that freedom, then, in understanding that God loves us, not because of what we do, but because of what he has done, that we can truly understand the flip side of the coin.

Then can we understand that second truth, and find life and flourishing in this encouragement: What you are doing here matters.

It matters that you are using the brain that God gave you to learn about the law. It matters that you are studying, perhaps harder than you’ve ever studied before.

It matters that you go to organizational meetings, study groups, professors’ office hours.

It matters that you are striving to get a really good externship, and that you are striving to do really good work there.

It matters that you are making friends, leading organizations, sharing meals and life together.

“God is not unjust. He won’t forget the good work” you’re doing. How could he, when he planned those works for you from before there was time?

How could God forget your time in law school when he is the one who has brought you here, brought you this far?

How could he forget the way that you are loving and learning about people, and loving and learning about the law, when this is the work to which he’s called you?

Your perseverance, your patience, your faith in God to carry you through, these all showcase--not really even our hard work, but God's work in us.

Believers see, and are also encouraged. Non-believers see, and are curious. And God sees, and he is pleased with the work he is doing. 

So be encouraged, “beloved.”

If we have faith in Jesus, we have salvation.

If we have faith in Jesus, he will see us through all of life—even through law school.

It may not look like what you had hoped. You may have to let go of some things.

But no matter your ranking, your grades, your successes or failures, be encouraged.

We and all “his holy people” are the “beloved of God,” and that makes all the difference.

Be encouraged,

A fellow worker, student, and servant.



Note: I "cheated" on this post. It wasn't new material; it was a devotional talk I wrote for the Mississippi College School of Law's Christian Legal Society meeting. Also, if you'd like to read it in a broader graduate school context than Law school, visit The Well. 

Free Shipping Fridays: Weeping, Seminary, and Complementarianism

Dear Readers,

What I have for you today does not fit neatly in a box. Because I do not fit neatly in a box.

So no clever metaphors today, friends.

A friend sent me this article, and I suddenly found myself weeping. Because the author gets it; the author gets me. I do have much support and encouragement from family, friends, church members, students/faculty, etc. as I try to navigate being this... rebellious "soft" complementarian--who is doing campus ministry, trying to faithfully co-parent two little girls, and is pursuing a Master of Divinity in seminary. That support system gets me through the tough days. Those folks' opinions are what I truly value and listen to.

But to have a blogger the caliber of Tim Challies recommend this article--
which was written by a board member of Training Leaders International...
an organization in partnership with decidedly complementarian Bethlehem Baptist Church...

... it means a lot. Like maybe-soon-I'll-stop-scowling-at-the-Piper-books-shoved-to-the-back-of-the-shelf-since-The-Debacle a lot. Like fresh healing kind of a lot.

This will probably piss off hard-core complementarians and Those Guys I go to seminary with. Meh.
This may grieve egalitarians and most of the people I work with. That does make me sad.

But I've started to realize that I might as well speak up, because my very existence is bound to piss off and grieve those folks. So I might as well try to enter into conversation about it, and hopefully find some common ground.

Thank you to Darren Carlson for writing it. Thank you to Tim Challies for recommending it. Thank you to dear friend Anna Eubanks for sending me the link.

And thank you to everyone who reads it, and maybe understands me just a little better.

http://trainingleadersinternational.org/jgc/57/encouraging-women-to-do-biblical-studies-at-the-graduate-level

Free Shipping Fridays: the Comic Section

Dear Readers,

Check your doorstep, because rolled and tossed neatly on your doormat is not any old newspaper. It is a paper composed entirely of the funnies. Commentary on the internet and technology (and thus also global politics, social issues, deep thoughts, etc.) is in there, but in pleasing illustrated form. Because somedays you just want to shuffle around the house in your bunny slippers and read the comics.

The ridiculous, angry guy from the internet:
http://dilbert.com/strip/2015-06-07

The rise of technology:
http://www.usnews.com/cmsmedia/a9/120bde9adfd5f51967a486fe702b63/42747EC_130607_ramsey.jpg

Ever-helpful smartphones:
http://www.gocomics.com/baldo/2016/02/16

The reason we all love Facebook:
http://www.phdcomics.com/comics/archive.php?comicid=877

From the mouths of babes:
http://www.gocomics.com/boondocks/2014/08/25

Classic Calvin & Hobbes:
http://www.gocomics.com/calvinandhobbes/1995/08/17

And getting to the heart of it all:
http://theawkwardyeti.com/comic/philosopher-heart/

To Those Who Have an Opinion

Dear Outspoken Friends with Whom I Agree Heartily,

I am so grateful for your passion and your well thought-out words. I am truly blessed to know you and to stand alongside you as we try to speak gracious truth and respect the imago dei in each of us. It's wearying being front and center, and it is a sweet reminder that even if I step back from the conflict every once in awhile, God is at work, and others will continue to speak up. Sometimes it feels like we're in a losing battle, and I have to wonder (especially on social media) exactly how much badgering and bullying it's wise to take. But I guess we seek the wisdom of the Holy Spirit and try to push on in wisdom and in faith. It is an honor to stand with you, dear ones.

With Much Love,
Chandra


Dear Outspoken Friends with Whom I Mostly Disagree,

I am so grateful for your passion and well thought-out words. I am truly blessed to know you and to have respectful dialog with you as we try to speak gracious truth and respect the imago dei in each of us. It's wearying being front and center, and I respect your willingness to stand up for what you believe. I need your diverse opinions. I need to be challenged and shaped by you, to have other voices in my life who think so much differently than I do. I am not always right, and I am (mostly) willing to admit it. I am so glad that although we may be on opposite sides of an issue, we stand together against badgering and bullying. In our friendship, I will continue to seek the wisdom of the Holy Spirit and push on in wisdom and in faith. It is an honor to know you, dear ones.

With a Grateful Heart,
Chandra


Dear Trolls,

I am so grateful for the ministry of the Holy Spirit that helps me keep my temper and pray for you--I will try to respect the imago dei in each of us. You do have an opinion, all right, and it is a mighty high opinion of yourselves. Sometimes I wonder why I keep you in my social media circles or even try to engage you when I see you in person. I would respect your willingness to stand up for what you believe, but I think what you mostly believe in is your own intelligence, witticisms, and sense of rightness. It's a poor platform upon which to build your house. I am not always right, and I am willing to admit it. I do not think that you are willing to admit your failings, and that makes for poor discussions, but even worse relationships. I will continue to seek the wisdom of the Holy Spirit and push on in wisdom and in faith when it comes to engaging you.

With the Patience Born Only of the Spirit,
Chandra Crane


Dear Silent Friends of all Convictions and Persuasions,

I suspect that most of you are either being passionate and articulate in other arenas, or wiser than am I when it comes to matters of throwing pearls before swine. Yet, I call you to stand up, speak out, and be willing to show support for myself and others when we incur the disdain of the trolls. Because every voice matters. If I can feel that you stand alongside me--in respecting the imago dei in each of us, if not in the actual issue--I can better be humble and open to necessary correction and respectful disagreements. Sometimes I, too, need to be reminded of the sin and folly of badgering and bullying. Sometimes it feels like I'm in a losing battle, and I don't ask you so much to join me in futility, as to see if your voice added might turn the tide. I am glad to know you, and glad for your affirmation of me in so many areas. But to affirm me is not to speak against them, and if no one but those being bullied speaks out, it will surely continue. And I know you well enough to know that is not your desire. It is an honor to know you, dear ones.

With Great Affection,
Chandra

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 My Daughters

Dear Sweet Girls,

There's so much I want (and need) to tell you about life. There are so many lessons, so many ways I want you to know Jesus and grow up happy, healthy and stable. I won't get into a discussion on helicopter parenting right now, and I'll narrow my focus to one thing that the three of us share in common: being girls. That is, females, women, ladies, etc. Your chromosomes, your inner female parts--as well as the outward signs of them--are significant parts of who you are as people. And they will continue to be so. Your femaleness will affect you for your entire lives because it is the context from which you will encounter the world. The physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual ramifications of your two X chromosomes are so many. Your womanhood will matter, and it will shape the way you relate to the world in general and to your loved ones in particular.

Physically, you are more vulnerable than men. I hate to even type these words, and it makes me see red (which quickly fades to black) to think that according to statistics, you have around a 20% chance of being sexually assaulted (and apparently it's higher because you are multi-ethnic) in your lifetime. At best, you will be ogled, fantasized about, and demeaned by some of the men around you. At worst, your bodies will be physically violated in a way that makes me feel rage and helplessness and nausea all swirled together. I wish I could protect you from the world. But I can't. I can (hopefully) help you discover a sense of self and joy in your physical selves.  To help you appreciate your bodies, to care for them, and to learn about how your physicalness and femininity are imaging God in all his glory and creativity.  My wish for you is that you will find your own way in understanding the line between modesty and prudishness, between fear and the wielding of your bodies as a weapon. And added to the journey is this complexity of being "multi-ethnic," of having a difference to your appearance that can be alternately intriguing and alienating.

Emotionally, things get a little more complicated. Depending on who you talk to, being a woman has either no ramifications on your emotional state, all the way along the spectrum to having disastrous consequences for your feelings. I stand (as I do in most things) somewhere in the middle in this. I do feel (ha!) that women tend to think and feel differently, and that this is a beautiful and valuable thing. Some will tell you this is merely a matter of biology and chemistry. Some will claim that the idea of women's emotions is a mere societal construct. I can see the points made in both camps. It seems to me that rather than the challenge of having uniquely female emotions, the issue is really the challenge of having human emotions. Yes, PMS is a thing. A not-much-fun thing. And you have both seen how pre-pregnancy, pregnancy, and post-pregnancy hormones can be powerful, frightening, and consuming. But the reality is that both men and women have emotions, and those emotions can either be used to hurt or to heal, to encourage mercy or to promote selfishness. I hope you both will figure out, early on in life, where God calls you as individuals to serve and love and rejoice and grieve with others. I hope your emotions won't control you, but that you also won't try to wholly control them. I hope that your brain chemistry will be balanced. I pray that your community will encourage openness and honesty. And I trust that you'll remember (as more than just a youth group party trick) the shortest of the Bible verses: "Jesus wept."

Yes, Jesus wept, and he was sometimes angry, and sometimes happy, sometimes sad, and sometimes content, and sometimes fearful, and a multitude of other human emotions. Dear daughters, rebuke the lies of Satan that will tell you that the emotional aspects of you are merely manipulative and untrustworthy. Instead, see the ways that you can thoughtfully and carefully cultivate relationships for good. Rejoice in the gift you've been given for loving others, and trust your instincts as they are guided by the Holy Spirit. Some people--women even--are just naturally less openly emotional than others. That's okay, too. Lean into your personality and your God-given emotions, offer them up as gifts to the Lord, and rejoice in all the ways he will use them for your good and his glory.

Mentally, there are both truths and stereotypes that you will encounter. I long for a day when different learning styles are equally valued, when "street smarts" count for as much value as "book learnin'" in the dominant culture, and when IQ is truly a spectrum upon which all of humanity falls (and not a hierarchy of value assessed). I know that something like that will exist someday, in the new heavens and the new earth. I know that someday brothers and sisters who have IQs which are several standard deviations below normal (i.e. "mentally handicapped") will be perhaps, far beyond even being seen as equals, actually be the most honored among us. Until then, intelligence is defined in Western culture by mostly white males.

This intelligence--scholarship, academic leaning, leadership potential (call it what you will)--is something I simultaneously long for and hate. I'd like to think that I used to be able to hang with the scholars, and that the reason I'm not getting all As in graduate school is less a product of my innate ability and more a perfect storm of exhaustion, over-commitments, and relational entanglements (i.e. ministry and family). The sad thing is that I acknowledge that what intelligence I have is innate, meaning: God-given. I have done nothing to earn it, nor can I claim any credit for it. Yet I revel in it, and use it to place myself above others, both men and women. And the heartbreaking truth is that when I feel less than smart, I try to say that my "EQ" (Emotional Intelligence) or "CQ" (Cultural Intelligence), or any other number of "xQ"s, more than makes up for what I may be lacking in IQ. The point that I so often miss is that it's not about competition or ranking to begin with.

Dear daughters of mine, it's already clear that you are both quite smart, and in more ways than one. You are both bright, cheerful, people-persons who think and feel deeply. My prayer for you is that you will rejoice in the intelligence you've been given and not let it rule you. My hope is that you will defy stereotypes--and that if you perhaps become engineers, lawyers, or doctors it will be because that is your calling, and not merely to prove something to someone. My wish for you is that you will find jobs that fully utilize your gifts, calling, and intelligence, but that you won't become arrogant or prideful. I pray that you will never see yourself as above things like cooking, cleaning, or other domestic/service jobs, even if you are oh-so-important career women who hire those jobs out. Let the praise of your intelligence wash over you, boast in Christ alone for it, and cling to what really matters--praising God for your ability to think at all.

Annabel, you once told us that you wanted to be a garbage truck driver when you got older. I love that phase of toddlerhood. I hope you'll always remember what we told you: that it's a valuable, much needed, important job. If that is where God wants you, may you thrive in it. But we had to also tell you the truth that it is very hard work, pays poorly, and engenders little of the respect due to it. I have to be honest that I want more for you. But I don't want you to simply have an easy life as an academic or other white-collar worker. I want you to use your brain to fight for others, to extend your privilege and opportunities where there are none, to stand up and say, very eloquently, "Garbage truck drivers deserve our respect and kindness because in addition to their hard work, they are made in the image of God."

Spiritually, this aspect of being a woman may be the most complicated one of all.  Annabel, you also said once, "Mama, I want to do what you do when I grow up.  What is it you do again?"  Ah, yes.  What is it I do.  Why have I chosen to pursue my MDiv at a very conservative seminary?  Why do I work for a more progressive campus ministry?  Why does our family worship at a multiethnic church in Jackson, MS?  What does it mean, and what does it do to my physical, emotional, and mental state to not really fit in spiritually no matter where I go?  Is this discomfort, this otherness, this loneliness what I am hoping you can avoid?  Or am I hoping you will be able to survive in such a sense of disjointedness?  Dare I even hope and pray that you might thrive in it in a way that most days, I don't really see myself doing?

Far beyond the complementarian/egalitarian debate, quite past the practical questions of what roles women should and can have, is the question of why do women matter to God, and how do we know that? It broke my heart to hear a friend say that her little daughter asked why there weren't any women in the Bible. Have mercy, O Lord. Such women as there are in the Bible! Lost women, found women, sinners and saints, leaders, followers, mourners, and joyful evangelists. Women who worshiped, who were the first to know of the impending arrival of the Christ, as well as the first to know of his resurrection. Without getting into a deep exegesis of the scriptures, suffice it to say (for now) that the ways in which the covenant God YHWH treated women (along with children and other minorities/outcasts) is telling of his care for his children. He loves you, dearest girls. Because when you trust in Christ, you are both his daughters, but also his sons who inherit, co-heirs with Jesus, even. That is a beautiful thing, and a holy mystery.

I don't really have answers for you in all this. I very rarely do, if I'm honest with myself (and with the two of you). I can train you in the catechism, read the Bible and pray with you before bed every night, and let you see me trying to work all this theory out into practice as your dad and I walk this road together. I can try to see the people that you really are becoming, and not traffic in stereotypes or broker in prejudices, but try to frame reality as I see it, and trust that God is big enough to hold you. My biggest fear certainly isn't that you become a woman preacher or a missionary in some hostile country or even that you come to me one day as a teenager and tell me that you're pregnant, or gay, or any of the other things that complicate an otherwise simple existence. (Please hear my sense of irony, there.) My worst nightmare is that you won't have anyone you can really to talk to, that you'll spend your years alone, locked in your own thoughts, drowning in questions and doubts, and thinking that you're all alone in having them.

I can tell you that especially when it comes to seminary, I certainly wasn't planning on being this ground-breaking radical, racking up firsts and pushing boundaries and making people (at best) very uncomfortable and (at worst) pretty angry. I just wanted to learn how to care for graduate students and faculty better. Seminary (like most things) seemed like a good idea at the time.

I can tell you that there are times when it is very very lonely both there and in my work. There are times when the only thing I'm more aware of than the discomfort and pain I cause others is my own discomfort and pain. Times when I wonder if it's worth it to try to co-exist in two very different spheres.

I can tell you that your dad and I don't have it all figured out, that many of our arguments or intense conversations are all about what it means to see each other as equally valuable, but intrinsically different. I can tell you that it would be so much easier to just pick a side and stick with it. I can tell you that especially right now, I'm weary from asking these questions and hearing no answers.

This dissonance is not something I want for you. And yet, I don't know if trying to spare you from it is such a good idea, either.

So what am I hoping for each of you? There is definitely a part of me that wants you to have a comfortable, stable life. To have a husband that loves and respects and nurtures and sacrifices for you as your dad does for me. To have a job--either out in the world or secure in your work at home--that is gratifying to you. Daily work that challenges and strengthens and grows you in patience. A job that you can mirror God in, being creative and bringing order from chaos and finding a little bit of eternity in the day-to-day tasks of life. I want you to have family. Whether that looks traditional and picket fence-y is not the point. I just want you to have people that really know you, and get you, and walk with you and make you more of who you really are, of who God has made you to be. That might be a husband. It might be children. I hope it will, at least in part, be each other, sweet sisters. Your family may be your church family, or your neighbors, or coworkers. People who love you unconditionally and yet don't just leave you to stagnate. People who God uses to show you a physical manifestation of his transformative love for you.

But I recognize that whether or not you have those things, there will still be lonely times. Times where you don't fit in, where miscommunication swallows up friendship until it seems like there is no way out. Whether you are down the street or across the world, I am trying to sit with the knowledge that comfort and stability are good places from which to grow, but that the real growth happens in the griefs and disappointments and violations that the world throws at us. Those are the times when we learn the most about God and his mercy for us.

So what does it mean to be women? I think it means vulnerability mixed with strength. I think it means the ability to both laugh and cry. I think it means asking questions, and learning to trust what few answers we get in life. I think it means loving others, not just because you're women, and that's what women are supposed to do. It means loving others because you're human, and that's what Christ has freed us to do. I think it does mean loving others in your own unique ways, because you're women, and part Asian, and being raised in the South, and all the other special things that make up the beautiful, hilarious, precious, precocious, and wonderful women that you're growing up to be. I love God with all my heart, soul, mind, and strength, and so I'm able to love you.

With Much, Much Love,
Mama

To a New Graduate Student's Family

I had the honor of guest posting on the Emerging Scholars Network blog.  So today's full post can be read by clicking on the link below:

Dear New Graduate Student's Family,

Love,
Chandra

To My Brothers in Seminary

NOTE: a letter to my sisters in seminary will be forthcoming. :) But for now,  I speak to the brothers.

Dear Brothers-in-Arms,

I've gone back-and-forth on whether to mention names or not. On the one hand, I want to give a shoutout to my classmates who have been true brothers, and praise God for them. On the other hand, most of you would be terribly embarrassed by such praise, and I'd no doubt (unintentionally) leave someone out, which I'd hate do to do. So I've decided to leave it fairly anonymous... but y'all know who you are. And I'm grateful.

Thank you for being true brethren to me. We've laughed, studied, cried (okay, that one's mostly me), prayed, parsed verbs, debated fine points of theology, broken bread, and lived life, all together. You've encouraged and exhorted me, offered (and received!) loving chastisement, cheered for me, and stood up for me. You've seen me as a classmate first, and a female second. You've understood that I'm not trying to be "one of the guys" here, but that I am one of the student body, and should be, as such, treated with respect. You've modeled good study habits, how to love family in the midst of grad school, and how to keep faith and a sense of humor through it all. One of you even coined the term "M.Diva," and that is priceless.

Some of you are also good friends of, and brothers to, my husband, and a blessing to our entire family. Rather than being threatened by me, you've chosen to live life with me and my family. You've understood that I understand healthy boundaries and that I respect your spouses. You've taken the time to get to know me for who I am and you've affirmed me in my calling along the way.

Many of you have used your relational capital and places of privilege to advocate for me, and for other Others (especially the faculty and staff--thank you). You've stood alongside me when it wasn't popular or beneficial. You've even chosen to bless and support me though we have many differences of opinion in matters of politics, education, practice, and theology. You have chosen to celebrate our areas of likeness, and provide safe space for exploring our differences. What a gift.

Many of you know what it's like to be the Other, whether by race, ethnicity, socio-economic status, or educational experience. You have graciously extended welcome and belonging to me where all-too-often, you have also known what it's like to be on the outside. Rather than nursing your own wounds, you have chosen to care for mine. That is true Gospel.

I am so blessed to know you, labor alongside you and your families, and to count you as brothers.
Gratefully,
Your Sister in the trenches


Dear Brothers-at-Arms'-Length,

I won't mince words here, but I hope I can speak both candidly and gracefully. You've hurt me (more than you know), mocked me (which I can handle), looked down on me (which is infuriating), and dismissed me (which hurts worst of all). For many of you, it's unintentional. For a few of you, you didn't realize just how hurtful your actions and words could be. And for a very rare few, well... we all need Jesus, is all I'll say.

You've asked me if my diploma will come with an asterisk (it won't), assumed I'm a raging feminist (I'm not), questioned not just my calling but my very faith (so that's helpful). I have been screamed at for daring to disagree with a professor, told that my type of "diversity" is not needed on campus, and condescendingly called "honey." I've been asked, several times by the same person, "Now what is your degree program, again?" as though he was hoping he'd misremembered, or heard incorrectly the first eight times.

I think some of you really do think I snuck on campus when no one was looking. For the record, I was recruited, welcomed, and affirmed by the staff and faculty. I'm not even asking you to accept me on my own merits, but rather to accept the leadership of our institution. If they endorse a certain student in the program, who are any of us to disrespect that? I also sought the advice and blessing of my pastor back in Atlanta, my pastor here in Jackson, and most of all, my husband. And I received confirmation and affirmation from all of them. A few truly rough days, my husband has comforted me as I wept. I guess I should thank you for further strengthening our marriage and my resolve, but I'm afraid it would be mostly sarcasm if I did.

But I am trying to forgive you. I'm trying to learn to pray for you, your ministries, and your families. I'm trying to see things objectively, not assume offense where there is none, pardon unintended offense, and extend grace where there is certain and calculated offense. You and I need the gospel, gentlemen. It is perhaps the one thing we can agree on, so I'll cling to that.

In Christ Alone,
A Sister


Dear Acquaintances, and Brothers by virtue of the Gospel,

Please forgive me for where I've judged you. When I've sensed judgement from you (deserved or not), when I've assumed I know your stories and your intentions. Thank you for your work on campus. Thank you to some of you who have worked hard to not judge me, to not alienate me, and who are also just trying to survive grad school. I hope we can be friends. I hope our families will get to know each other, and that I will rejoice as each one of you graduates, not because I'm glad to see you go, but because I'm happy for your successes. (Because let's be honest, it's going to be awhile until I graduate. As many of you have come and gone before, many more will do so before this part-time student/part-time ministry staff/wife/mama/church member earns enough credits to graduate.)

Especially to those classmates from when I first started seminary, thank you. Thank you for putting up with my outbursts in class, my then-terrible study habits, my newness to graduate school and formal seminary education. Y'all were very patient with me, and I'm truly grateful. I hope putting up with me prepared you well for those difficult congregants and counseling clients, etc...

Gratefully,
A Fellow Pilgrim


Dear Jesus,

You've called me, claimed me, and made me a co-heir in your Kingdom. You are with me everywhere I go, including school. So thank you for being my perfect brother in seminary. Thank you for humbling me, teaching me, leading me, growing me, and loving me through it all. And thank you for doing so in community. May my studies be glorifying to you, O Lord. May I learn from your perfect example and rely on the grace of the Holy Spirit to see me through grad school and all my endeavors. And may I labor not for my own glory, but for yours, and to see new brethren added to the Kingdom.  ... And may I please graduate before I retire?

Joyfully,
A Child of the King

To A Fellow Mama

Dear Lady in the parking lot,

You stopped me, holed up in a parking lot in my air conditioned car and white middle-class world, looking at my cell phone because I am trying to do better about not looking at text messages while driving. And you tapped on my window and I rolled down the glass and in that moment I felt so many things. Frustration, because I was already running late. Worry, because I don’t know who you are and what you want or why you’re breaking the majority culture norm of leaving people alone in their cars. And shame, because I’m in here, living my privileged life, and you’re out there, begging strangers for money, and food, and dish detergent.

So I got out of my car. I made it clear that I didn’t have any cash (and wouldn’t just hand it over if I did), but would be willing to buy you and your “hungry babies” lunch. And we walked across the street to Little Caesar’s Pizza and I felt so many things. Embarrassment, because here I was a white lady buying some underprivileged black woman a meal. Frustration, because did I mention I was running late to a meeting? Wariness, because I lived in the heart of Atlanta long enough to know that people’s stories are usually made up. And sadness, because the real stories behind “my babies are hungry, I’m homeless, I lost my job,” are usually much more complicated and more heartbreaking than the panhandling spiel given. I wondered what might be the underlying brokenness behind your story. What abuse, mental illness, unwise choices, or mis-education led you to where you are today? Do you have any community, opportunities, hope? Do your children have access to healthcare, good education, safe places to sleep at night? Do you have somewhere where you can sleep, shower, and go to the bathroom without fear and with dignity? Is there a way to ask these questions without being presumptuous? Without being arrogant?

And you asked if I was a good person, and I replied that I try to be. And you told me you weren’t “no bad person, just trying to get by.” And I asked about your babies, how old are they? And you told me, with embarrassment, or defiance, or surprise, that they’re 4, 8, and 13. And I forgot to ask your name, or their names, or introduce myself. And I forgot to mention Jesus, not in a preachy way, but in a way that says, “I am actually not a good person without Jesus. And he’s the reason I’m buying you and your babies lunch. And I want you to know peace, and stability, and dignity.” And I thought to myself, I can think of five people I know who would have done so much better if they were here. And I felt so many things, and I forgot to wonder what you feel. I forgot that you are a complex, nuanced human being, and I felt most of all the helplessness, as if seeing us through a stranger's eyes, of us two women being walking stereotypes, me with my business clothes, late for a lunch meeting; and you with your sad story, and just trying to get by.

I wish I could know your name. I wish I could know your story. I wish I could know how you feel about being a mother, and about God, and white people, and your favorite type of pizza, and all the million and one things that make up your story. But I don’t know any of that, and sometimes it's hard to remember that God does. And I pray that there are people in your life that know your story. Because really there’s not so much difference between you and me, fellow mama. Except that I could get in my car and drive away, leaving you and your feelings behind. Leaving you and your problems behind.

I hope the pizza was good, and filling, and that it won't be all you have to eat for awhile. I hope you know Jesus, and know that he knows you. That he created you, and loves you and your babies. You don't need me to tell you that for it to be true, but I wish I had, regardless.

Sincerely,
Another Mama, trying to get by, too.

To My Fellow Humans

Dear Person of Privilege (from one to another),

When I first heard what you did, I laughed. What an audacious, ridiculous thing to walk up to the Black Law Students' Association and ask, "Where is the White Law Students' Association?" But once the initial shock wore off, I grieved. I don't know what's worse--if your actual intention was to be belligerent, or if you really don't understand why there's a Black Law Students' Association.  

Look around you, lady. The White Law Students' Association is everywhere. It's the status quo. It's the institution of law in the United States itself, which has been dominated by the majority culture from its inception until now. White law students as an entity don't need a group to belong to. It's built in.

I'm pretty sure you didn't go up to the Women's Student Bar Association and ask where the Men's Student Bar Association was. Because you probably understand why there's a need for a safe space for women to encourage each other, to share stories, to strategize, and to not feel so other for awhile.  

I hope I misheard, that you were joking, that you didn't really bully those other students like that. Not for them, but for your sake I hope it's not true, because it's heartbreaking if you really feel that way. But it honestly doesn't matter if you did say it, because someone has said something similar at one time or another--and meant it--and someone will again.  

Which is why we have a Black Law Students' Association.

Best wishes on your 1L year.  I hope you find what you're looking for.

Sincerely,

A Fellow Human

Dear Person of Privilege (from one friend to another),

I know you're out there. I pride myself (though maybe that's the problem) on having a diverse group of friends, and of course the interwebs/Facebook is the land of plenty. So I know at least one of my friends will read this and truly not agree or understand. Would you please--for me--try to understand? Really take a second, and examine the possibility that we whose skin is not brown (tanning doesn't count) have an inherent privilege?

I'm not saying that women haven't been marginalized throughout the ages--of course they have. I'm not saying that poverty doesn't affect all ethnicities--of course it does. And I'm not even saying that there aren't folk of color who live better lives than majority culture folk (of course they do).  

What I am saying is, if all other things are equal--socioeconomics or gender or education or behavior any other extenuating circumstance--if all other things are equal, we in the United States (and in other countries, but I can only truly speak from my own experience, and oh, that Slavery Thing) value life more when it's a fair-skinned, majority culture person.  

I don't even know if I can agree to disagree on this one, friend. African-Americans were brought here in chains, and many of their descendants still live in them. 

As far as I can see, there are two logical explanations. Either 1) there is systemic injustice, and the game is just plain rigged, or 2) it is each and every individual's fault, each and every time something bad happens to a person of color, and thus there really is something wrong with black folks. 

Are you willing to say that the reason that although African-Americans make up less than a quarter of the population, more than half of prison inmates are black is because black folks are more criminal? Because I feel like that's where the logic of the second thought takes you.  

Are you willing to say that the reason that so many blacks are in poverty, drop out of school, and have unplanned pregnancies, is because they're just lazier, stupider, and nastier than white folk? Because I can't work the logic of the second thought to any other conclusion.  

Maybe my statistics are wrong. I mean, statistics, right? But I know too many people of color who truly feel that the reality in our country is that when #BlackLivesMatter, it's the exception, not the rule. I do not know of any persons of color who say the opposite, that their normal experience as a minority in the majority culture has been one where their life is valued as a matter of fact.  

I'm bracing myself here. To hear the responses of people I love who just don't think there's a problem.  I want to hear your objections. I want to honor your thoughts though you say that it's not really a big deal. But I could not say it wasn't a problem to my father who was physically thrown out of a diner for absentmindedly sitting on a bar stool while waiting for his food. I will not say that to the young black men in hoodies that even I have reflexively flinched away from. I know better. But--and this is one of my sources of greatest shame--I've bought into the stereotypes. I've let the majority culture/mass media/my sinful heart convince me of the otherness and threat of black folks I don't know. So I will not say it's not a problem to fellow mothers and fathers who have comforted their children when they have to have The Talk--not about sex, but about what the n-word means. These people aren't statistics. They are people that I love--or should love--just like I love you. And I want you to understand--especially in the church--that their pain is our pain. Or at least it ought to be.

I hope conversations come out of this. I am open to having my own prejudices pointed out, and I'm not saying I don't see the grief and pain of others in a multitude of situations. I'm just saying that until #AllLivesMatter really truly means that, and does not function to undermine the grief of black folk, please don't turn away from the pain and the heartbreaking circumstances of fellow human beings.  

With Much, Much Love,

Your Friend 

Dear Black Lives,

I am so so sorry. I confess that I don't value you like I should. I confess that I have pre-judged you, absolutely on the color of your skin, and not on account of your character. I confess that I've listened to lies. I confess that my implicit biases and associations are sinful, hate-filled, racist ones.  

Yes, I'm multi-ethnic, and a woman, and grew up without much money. But I am trying to realize the reality of my privilege and to repent--not of things I don't control--but of how I've let those things shape me.  I am so sorry that in the midst of my reasonable grief over the awkwardness of being multi-racial, I forget how much privilege I still have.  

To those who are strangers, I won't ask you to forgive me, because I have not earned that right. I don't know you, and you don't know me. All I can do is say that I'm ashamed and I'm clinging to the grace of the Gospel to change my heart and mind and eradicate the ugliness inside.

To those who are friends, who are family, please forgive me. Forgive me and pray for me. Pray for all of us who don't carry our otherness so clearly on our skin. Thank you for the mercy you have already shown me, and please know that I do love you. I do value you, and I want to value you more. Your life matters, and not because I or any other person says so. Your life matters because you were made in the image of God and so you deserve dignity and respect and a chance. But you already knew that. May we all know that better.  

Lamenting with You,

Chandra

Dear Fellow Image Bearers,

I'm weeping. The last two weeks have been full of changes and griefs and struggles and exhaustion, and I'm. just. weeping. Weep with me, frail people of this earth. Weep for the brokenness in the world, and sit with me, as Job's friends originally did, in ashes and in wordless grief, and weep with me. Not because I'm Job in this story, but because we all are--and some of us more than others.

Weep for the children who senselessly die before birth, and for the children who endure living deaths in neglect, in poverty, in slavery, in abuse.  

Weep for the mothers and fathers who have no hope for a better life for their children, who are trapped and stewing in circumstance.

Weep for people of color--black folk and brown folk and all sorts of colors--who are marginalized and abused and so they weep as a regular part of their lives.  

Weep for people who feel guilt, overwhelm, and shame because of who and what they are. Weep for those with no rights, no advocates, no one to protect them from evil. 

Weep with me for those who are seen as bad merely because of their appearance, and weep for those who remain the unseen, the uncared for, the untouchables.  

Weep for those who are caught up in addiction, for those who are lonely, for those who are desperate and hurting. Weep for those who seem to have it all together, who are poor in their wealth, who are caught in their own selfishness.  

Weep because of war, because of poverty, because of injustice and every sort of terrible thing we as humans can do to one another.   

Let us weep together. We must learn to grieve together before we can ever have hope of healing together.  

Sincerely,

A Fellow Human 

To My Ethnicity (and some of those that have shaped it)

NOTE: I wrote most of this several years ago now. Don't know why I never published it.

Dear Thai Part of Me,
     Sawadeeka! We've come a long way since grade school and being asked if we know Kung Fu. (Still don't, for anyone wondering.) How desperately we wanted to blend in, not look different, get eye surgery, not be a freak. And how tragic that just when we finally wanted to look different in High School, our eyes rounded and freckles appeared! For so long I wanted to get rid of you, or at least to tame you. And then I wanted to be Thai, whatever that meant, and I chased my own tail as I struggled with issues of faith, family, and ethnicity. (Still do, if anyone's curious.)

     But what a journey to where we are now, to a new level of peace and understanding about who we are and what that means. On the one hand, I have that "exotic look" (meh) that makes perfect strangers ask, "so what is your ethnicity?" as though they expect me to say some alien species they've never heard of before. On the other hand, my Thai language skills are lousy-to-nonexistent, garnering me the familial nickname of "Mem" (foreign woman). Yet somewhere in the chaos we exist--a person who loves tom kha and green curry and grew up putting nom pla (fish sauce!) in just about everything (even spaghetti). Not a Buddhist, but with a genuine desire to honor my family's roots and beliefs, while honoring the one true God that I serve, who calls those from every tribe, tongue, and nation to himself. Neither the honorific "egg" (white on the outside, yellow on the inside), nor entirely the slur "twinkie" (the exact opposite).

     Instead, some sort of easter egg, with a thin yellow shell... that is more pale in spots... and apparently, somewhat dipped in chocolate...

     Yes, the analogy breaks down rather quickly, doesn't it.

     Anyway, to the little girl whose birth certificate says (brace yourselves!)--

     "Race of mother: white"
                  and
     "Race of father: yellow"

     (ah, small-town New Mexico in the 70's!)

     --I want to say, you aren't "Asian enough," nor are you "White enough." That is not the point. You are you, and that is a beautiful thing--no matter what the kids on the playground say.

Love,
Chan ("me")


Dear Coon Pa,
      Most Honored Birthfather. Sawadee ka! I wish I could have met you, thanked you for the heritage you gave to me, learned more about you. It was amazing meeting my half-sisters, my aunts, uncles, cousins, your mother--my Coon Yah. Seeing so much of me that I never knew is so Thai just because it came from my genetics, from my family! I'm not very good at being calm and I sometimes forget to point with my whole hand or not show my feet, but I think and hope you would have approved of my mai pen rai, my sense of adventure, and my love of all things sanuk. Thank you for my most honorable heritage. I am so proud and grateful.

With love and respect,
Norng Mem


Dear White Part of Me,
     Well, hello there. I'm sorry I haven't treated you well in the past. We've had a rough road, haven't we? It's hard to appreciate the good parts of my WASPy self without getting overwhelmed by the injustices done to those of darker skintone. But I have learned to be respectfully fond of you, oh white bread and mayonnaise. I have even come to terms, grudgingly, with my freckles. I've enjoyed hearing stories about my grandparents and seeing pictures. It's been good to reconnect with my aunt. Most of all, I'm learning to not merely see you, oh European heritage, as a placeholder. Instead, I'm learning to appreciate the unique experiences and privileges I've had as a light-skinned person. I don't still understand it all, but I'm trying. And I thank you for the privilege.

Cheers,
Me

Dear Mom,
     Thanks for raising me to appreciate people of every ethnicity, every socioeconomic status, every walk of life. I am so grateful that I am a pretty open-minded person (although of course I have my prejudices that I'm working on) and that I learned that from you. And thanks for the freckles. I think.

Love,
Your Pookie (ugh :)


Dear Black Part of Me,
     What up, yo? I mean, am I allowed to say that? Where does adaptation and contextualization turn into mockery and presumption? I just naturally pick up a particular way of speaking when I'm around all the South Carolina relatives. It's mostly subconscious--clearly, because I actually get more polite to my mother, using "ma'am" often. Sadly, not something I would probably consciously choose. So what does it mean to be black, anyway? President Obama has certainly challenged the stereotypes on both ends: he is neither "ghetto" nor a sell-out. Praise God for that, because it's a tough trail to blaze. But that leads us back to the question, what exactly is the black part of me? I mean, it's not genetic. If we say that being black means a shared struggle, shared injustices, shared experiences, then no, I haven't ever had to use a separate bathroom or been thrown out of a place because I had dark skin. But--and I say this not to trivialize the experiences of African-Americans under systemic prejudices and out-right racism--I have experienced a small bit of what it means to be the "other." To be the "black guy's kid," to look different, to feel the stares at our family when we would go out. I know that I don't have to carry that around with me everywhere, and that from a distance I look "white" and possibly normal. (Although that's still up for judgement.) But I do have black family, and I do identify with them and am grateful that they so totally accept me (and my awesome lumbering white boy of a husband). So it's a good question to ask, again and again--what does it mean to be a part of this black family, and how can I contribute to racial reconciliation and the downfall of racism? And I think it's okay to ponder this while eating greens and fatback (well, maybe not fatback) and slipping into the vernacular a little. After all, if you can't be relaxed around family, who then can you be yourself around?

Later,
Ch


NOTE: I wrote the note below before Dad passed away. I miss him. I hope he knew that I'm grateful for the heritage he passed on to me.

Dear Dad,
     Thanks for feeding me enough years that people actually say I look like you! I love that. Thanks for being the "black sheep" in the family, for being willing to be the "other" in our small town. Thanks for teaching me about potted chicken and Motown, as well as how to ride a bike and change a tire. Thanks for being so much my dad that I forget we don't share blood and sometimes accidentally list your health history on forms. Thank you for raising me!

Love,
Your Kid


Dear Sundee,
     Thank you so much for your book! For sharing your experiences and helping me to really start my own journey into better understanding--and praising God for--my ethnicity. Thank you for helping me to be grateful, for the first time, of my mixed heritage, and not merely tolerant at best. Thank you for inviting me to walk this path with you.

Checking All That Apply,
Chandra


Dear HR,
     I'm glad we finally sorted out the ethnicity thing. I'm sorry my ethnicity messed with your system. Thanks for adding a "check all that apply" option instead of making me choose. And thanks for all you do to keep me hired and supported!

Gratefully,
That crazy staff that is 50% Asian, 50% White, 50% Black, 50% New Mexican, 50% Atlantan, 50% Mississippian... and 100% InterVarsity (but 0% mathematician!)


Dear IVP,
     Why oh why is Check All That Apply out of print?!? Thank you for printing it in the first place... can we please, please, please get another edition out there? I've bought up most of the copies I can find floating around the internet, and I'm running out of copies to give away to people!

Love and Spell-check,
Chandra


Dear Redeemer Church,
     A place I belong. Finally. Where there are so many families and people who are multi-ethnic, appreciate diversity, and are willing to share privilege/become the "other." While certainly not a perfect place, a place of healing and worship and challenge for me. What a precious gift, here in the Deep South, of all places! What a joy to be part of this local body of Christ.

Joyfully,
Chandra & Co.


Dear Kennan,
     You love me for who I am and are so great about navigating multi-ethnic waters with me. All the families love you--Thai, white and black--for who you are. Thank you for being adventurous, for loving to go new places, try new foods, meet new people. I am so glad Annabel (and now, Emmaline) is half you and half me, which makes her an odd duck but a good one. She has inherited a wonderful history of ethnicities and nationalities and experiences from all sides of the family, and I so enjoy watching that play out as she grows.

Love,
Your Ch


Dear Future Children,
     Well, we're done with "belly babies," so if, God willing, we get to adopt more precious little ones, your ethnicities will be unique and possibly very different from mine. I hope you find joy and acceptance in our family. I pray we'll do a good job of honoring your stories, your ethnicities and birth families. I know your ethnic stories will be extra tricky to navigate as adopted children. All your Dad and I can do is rely on the Lord (as we already must do for your sisters!) and strive to honor all parts of you as we entrust you to him. I hope the racial reconciliation that you will need to find within yourselves will be an act of worship and fueled by grace. Already we love you. Already we praise God for you and dream of cuddling your little selves and marveling in your wee toes and enjoying all the colors that you will be.

Lovingly,
Mama


Dear Chandra Louise Vitwadee Ampawasiri Mem Wood Garrett Crane,
     Never a dull moment, eh? Thanks for being you.

Much love,
Me


Dear King Jesus,
     Sometimes it's hard to believe that you know what you're doing and especially that I (with all my muddled-up ethnicity) was carefully planned, and for a reason. I hope my life is glorifying to you. Thank you for helping me to grow in my ethnic personhood, in my understanding of what diversity is and should be, and for helping me to repent of the ways that I am prejudiced, wounded, and in desperate need of grace. Thank you for being the ultimate person of mixed ethnicity, who took on flesh and dwelt among us, embodying both the saving God and mankind in such desperate need of a savior. Be glorified in the life of your body, Lord. Thank you for calling us from out of every tribe, tongue, and nation.

Relying on your mercy,
Your child