Careers, Adventures, and the Single Woman

This is a re-post from November 19, 2007 when I was living and working in Austin, Texas with Americorps, coordinating service for the college students at St. Edward’s University. It is so funny how I recently saw a bright light bulb illuminate about my strong desire for a partner in ministry, male leadership, and family. I thought I was seeing a new understanding and desire emerge. Then, I randomly read this old post and it seems that this desire is not so new at all! Though my location has changed and my contentedness to continue adventuring alone until God guides otherwise, I still feel very much the same.

Enjoy!
Why am I going to write on one of the most written about topics in social, single circles? Well, not only am I now one of the target audiences for said discussions and articles, I am also forming my own take on what it means to be a Christ-following single woman looking for adventure in the midst of career-driven prescribed dreams. I realize that just sounded like a personal ad… and please before all of you well-meaning, Christ-following single men looking for adventure in the midst of ________ (fill in blank) send a response, know that this is not an invitation.

I recently read an article published in the opinion section of Forbes magazine titled, “Don’t Marry Career Women.” Of course, days after it’s publication there was widespread public outcry and Forbes quickly published a counterpoint from one of their female writers. As I read through the first article, the first few paragraphs quickly captured my attention, “Just, whatever you do, don’t marry a woman with a career. Why? Because if many social scientists are to be believed, you run a higher risk of having a rocky marriage.”

Michael Noer goes on to establish his argument on the shoulders of these social scientists who give all sorts of discouraging information about divorce, extra-marital sex, marital satisfaction, and the added complication of children. Being a recently graduated woman myself, who checks the single box on official documents and replies to relationship queries with the most graceful shift in conversation, what Mr. Noer said struck a chord. But, not one that you might think most obvious for my life stage or position.


The Journey
I spent four years in a liberal arts Christian college lusting after adventure and carefully growing the seeds of wanderlust sown early in my childhood on an Iowa farm. Though I trained my mind to filter much of my education through a Christian worldview, I couldn’t help but soak up bits of this overwhelming anthem: dream up anything, find some passion, and set out to realize that dream. It’s true that the American dream shouts this anthem, but the voices I was hearing above the rest were women. My professors, classmates, and celebrated success stories assured me that the only person who could prevent my dreams as a woman… was me.

So, when I graduated and set out on my first adventure to Austin, Texas working as an Americorps VISTA, I had no doubt this time of glorious, “independent woman” freedom would only give birth to other independent ventures. But the excitement is surprisingly wearing off and with it I’m becoming increasingly uncomfortable in these independent shoes.

Adventuring Alone
The single most important factor in my life is my personal relationship with the Living God. The fact that God made us in His image relational, and that He’s placed us in intentional community should be apparent enough. But, my hardheadedness has stretched out this learning process into what is now 23 years. Finally, though, I’ve realized that we weren’t designed to adventure alone. It’s not that I’m an inferior woman who is void of an independent spirit. It is that I am beginning to understand instead my soul’s deep longing comes from the very opposite of independence. Darwin Anderson, from International Messengers, once said in a training session that “independence is just plain not helpful in the mission field. There is no room for it and no need of it.”

Even though I strongly agreed when I heard this almost two years ago, I am realizing now that independence is useful in few places. What is all of life, but a mission field? After about four months here in Austin, I realize that I don’t want to be independent. I don’t want to plan the next exciting adventure where I will uproot from community once again only to go to a new place and start over. The family of believers I have providentially fallen into here is of the most amazing kind. My spirit is conflicted when I imagine my adventures would start in new community only to be pulled from it.

Career woman
But, let’s get to the real meat of it. There’s community and then there’s a spouse. There’s a definite difference between being a part of a Christ-following community and being a part of a “till death do us part” union. Michael Noer wasn’t writing about the downfall of career women in the life of the church; he wrote about the negative effects of “career women” in the home. For some reason, my dreams of being a wife and mother have found themselves separate from my dreams of travel, missions, and career. Though I tried for four+ years, I can no more separate these desires in my heart than one could separate the red from white swirls in a candy cane. Yet, somehow I’ve found myself here. Like it or not, I am this career woman that Michael Noer writes about. I have a degree and I am looking for a well-paying position that would make a dent in the loans from my wonderful, high-priced education.

I realize the cited social scientists had several good points with which I sadly agree. But, Mr. Noer, where does that put me? I am the one you warn against, but also one who quite unwillingly finds herself in this situation. Thankfully I am well aware that my marital fate does not rest in the hands of any crafty columnist, but instead in the scarred palms of a Sovereign Savior. The desire of my heart is that my next adventure would be with someone whose heart is equally captivated by Christ’s redemptive story. I have full faith God is growing me for an eternal purpose; career or no career, husband or no husband, new city or old farm. I have full faith, but I sure am tired of adventuring alone.


—-
So, dear cyber friends, what say you?


let LOVE FLY like cRaZY

after all, the rain

There is a very sad song by William Fitzsimmons called, “Afterall.” It’s a song that pleads for love to remain, after all. With the memories of wedding vows in repetition, the song is so painful because by the end he is pleading without hope of securing the love, afterall.

Tonight, for some reason I feel the sadness of the “afterall,” but my heart pleas from a different place entirely. Fitzsimmons sings, “Please don’t leave me…” and though I feel at home in this phrase it’s not because I want someone to return to me, but I feel the song drifting from the lips of my glorious Savior. The sadness does not come from my hope in a relationship that will only disappoint. No, my sadness comes from disappointing the One who offers the only hope.
Yesterday, Good/Black Friday passed without a solemn reflection or study, though I saw a bit of the processional in the city, noted the elaborate alfombras in the streets (beautiful, colored sawdust carpets), and searched for several inspiring articles and meditations (relevant, chris tomlinson’s poem). I spent most of the day with a student and her family, reading, hammocking (my newest favorite thing to do), swimming, playing volleyball, eating, and passing Spanish conversation.
So, after I got home and checked my twitter/email/facebook (in that order), I was just ready to be done. I didn’t have any ambition to open my Bible or journal or pray. I was just tired. So, I slept like a rock and this morning came without announcing its arrival too loudly (or too early). And, about the day I went.
Something I forgot to mention … an extremely important *something* happened last night and again now as I am writing this.
RAIN.
If you haven’t been following Central America’s news lately, the current drought is a pretty big deal. Some people in certain areas are only receiving water once a week and others less than that.
Last night, when I was outside the city with my student’s family, the drips started to softly pound the tiled roof. It had been so long since the steady sound and smell of rain had visited this place. When the electricity went off, I really started to breathe in the smell I love so much: wet ground.
How strange, I thought, that on the night when Jesus was so cruelly crucified all those years ago… on this night the rain falls to water the earth. Only with this sorrow from heaven could there be any chance of life here on earth. In “Reason for God” Keller writes that Christ’s forgiveness for us was costly suffering. This forgiveness of a world of sins stands very intentionally in front of the most costly suffering the same world of sins could muster and says, “I will take it all.”
The meditating I refused last night is now hitting me like the lines of Fitzsimmons’ sad song of broken wedding vows. I am most humbled and hurt by my willingness to be so cavalier with my Savior, who has suffered at great cost to forgive me and pull me closer to His side. Though my Groom has laid out great, mysteriously beautiful instructions to know and love Him, I leave for other lovers.
Like almost every other day this week, this morning I grabbed my stack of books and set off for morning coffee and a place to flip some pages. I met up with my friend Jess and we compared stories about Semana Santa and laughed about the silly things and frustrated ourselves over how our lives aren’t exactly how we pictured them and how there are so many things we could change and how (especially) we would love it if God could very obviously point out the next steps in our journey.
At one point in our conversation, Jess said, “Sometimes, after we talk I feel so… discontent.”
I think I said, “I KNOW!” before she even finished.
And it rains.
It’s still raining outside and I am so unbelievably glad.
In Catholic tradition, the most ceremonious part of Easter is Friday when Jesus was crucified. They march through the streets, build beautiful shrines, act out portions of the event, and mourn the loss of the Messiah. And then it’s over.
It’s still raining outside and I am so unbelievably glad, because the rain is LIFE and not death. Because though my Savior suffered at great cost for my penchant for other lovers, it is only through His suffering that I can live.
Just as the death of drought finds life only by rain, so our heavy, other-lover souls find LIFE by Christ’s costly tears of suffering.
let LOVE FLY like cRaZY

because today CHRIST LIVES!

sensical straights, a poem

so I thought I wanted to control every piece,

to put in order and stuff into sensical straights
all the ways my life colors outside the lines
I thought I could force my body to stretch so far
and hold so fast that nothing is left behind,
not even the smallest hope or dream outside my reach
I thought that this holding together would be, well, the life of me
I thought if I held everything together I would stay in tact too.
…because a great, monstrous fear is to unravel
until only a heaping mess of life-yarn remains
now, if I could put a lasso around what most confuses me
and all the ways my randomness leaves disasters
of colors and shapes and people stranded
if I could somehow capture this crazy, inner, picasso-sized mess
and train it, conform it, teach it, mold and shape it…
until finally it becomes standard and organized and disciplined
then my guilt might not have such a strong voice
to guide and scream and gnaw and attack and whisper
at all the things I haven’t done or all the ways I’ve failed
but, now I see my thoughts are incomplete
can I hope for perfection by imperfect means?
does another failure and more guilt await
after this hopeful process of control?
————
inspired by chapters 10/11 of Reason for God by Timothy Keller
thoughts welcome!
write your own poem this month in the spirit of April=poetry month!
as always,
let LOVE FLY like cRaZY

two poems

Here are two poems I wrote during the course of our 8 hour ACSI conference today, after a half-day of school.

from the ground
we are just dust, just particles
chemicals and dirt and ground
one day surely we will return
one day we will be found
so, then what makes this moving flesh
a vessel for something more?
what is this skin covering-
what more than dirt and bones?
O God, pierce the very land
that makes my heart its home
till and break and make submit
this wild heart to You alone
the dirt again will overtake
my breath and my lifeblood
captive to the cycle of death
and left with death-mixed mud
O God, O God, pierce this land
so stubborn in this season
that refuses to bear the fruit you ask
the dirt defiant without reason
how does the dirt dare to ask-
how does it find a voice,
when everything about its nature
is dependent on a greater force?
with what complaint can the ground reply
to the Maker’s questions
when anything good in dirt
comes at the Maker’s suggestion
O God, O God please pierce this land
that makes my heart its home
till and break and make submit
this wild heart to You alone
orphan child
orphan child, wrapped in bare skin
the night stole her innocence
darkness crept where light should be
and took wholeness from her side
and yet in the deepest dark dwells
a light that burns deeper still
someday the orphan child will no longer wander
but will be captured in redemption’s glorious tide

thoughts on Truth

Thanks, Christina for writing yesterday about business vs. personal. I think the blurred line only gets more blurry when you are working in a Christian context. Because your business is also mission, and also community, and also the Body of Christ, and also family. All those things together make for a pretty crazy mix of business/personal. I have to echo the thoughts of our mom on this one… personal goes with you wherever you are. You bring ‘personal’ to every meeting, every encounter with a student, every board decision, and every pink slip. You bring personal because that is how we are made: personal, relational, human. I think God intended it this way. But, it sure is difficult.

Entirely unrelated (and mostly because I already have it written and it’s an easy copy/paste job), I wanted to share something from awhile back. I spoke to two different sets of high school students a couple weeks ago on Nehemiah 8 (per my mother’s brilliant suggestion) in an attempt to discuss joy and suffering. I did some writing before/after and here some excerpts:

When I stand up against Truth …

first all confident and dignified,
(sin secret and hidden) spouting
nonsense words and misplaced

pleasantries                                      …

when I stand up, beside Truth

SHAME fills me and

my knees buckle,                                     …
too weak to stand

EVERY thought of comfort is
destroyed and scattered like
chaff, swept up by the hungry wind

pride is a monster
and I fall faster

fear, though I know its true place
surrounds the pieces
of what was once complete

the feeling that i have failed
again
that the world has failed
again

is only overcome by the

Presence

it is overcome by the

Presence
—————

So, you may be trying to connect the dots and having trouble. 
“Joy, suffering, Nehemiah 8, and now this strange writing about Truth and destruction? You totally confused those kids, Caroline!”
Is that what you are thinking?
Well, I didn’t share my personal writing in my message, but what I DID share was the beautiful realization that God offers His very presence to the people of Israel who had listened to Truth for seven hours and felt the meaning and their sin rip open their souls. They were destroyed by the gap Truth exposed between them and a precious, perfect God. At that moment, God reached out to their broken, bruised, battered hearts and said, “Do not grieve.” He saw that they realized the depth of their brokenness and at that moment He invited them into JOY. He invited them into His presence to sit beside redemption and drink in life. 
I love that.

with the Sun, delight

I guess I’m on a bit of a poetry kick these days and I don’t mind at all. I hope you don’t either. I finished reading “The Singer” by Calvin Miller at the same time that the song, “Come and Sing” by Brooks Ritter (see yesterday) was repeating on my ipod. To put it shortly: after (what could have been merely) a frustrating day, I realized something… If all I accomplished today was getting myself to that beautiful throne to join in the angels’ song, then that would be just fine. If I made it there and just really belted out my heart full of gratitude, then this day was alive. This song just kind of bubbled out of that joy.

—————-
with the Sun, delight
straightaway I run 
to chase the kite
whipping, whirling forward 
in silent skyward flight

I run without care
abandoned and free
I race through golden rays
and dance the Sun with me
like a child to a mystery
I’ll follow you on
like a melody to a symphony
I’ll listen close the song
like a dawn to a day 
like a weekend to get away
like my heart to love
I’ll follow you on
over flower meadows 
my chest heaves with defeat
the flimsy fantasy
seems to escape in repeat
I run heavy on
one sweet thought on my mind
I race the golden rays 
and with the Sun I’ll dine
oh I’ll race the golden waves
and with the Sun I’ll dine
I run, careening careless 
with face stretched toward the bright
I race the golden waves
and with the Sun delight
I race the golden waves
and with the Sun delight

God is living in me.

I just want to post a few reflections I had on the Holy Spirit while reading through Forgotten God and studying Scripture. I am overwhelmed at this idea that God is inside of me. The power of the most High, the beauty and perfection and love and GOD. Inside of me, really?

I can’t make sense of it. Inside me is so close. I can’t escape this body and that’s how close He is. The Holy Spirit is in me. whoa.
————–

So close

The Living Lord inside of me

-who sees and hears, convicts and leads,

this Holy God in possession of my very innermost spaces, even now claiming my soul-

this Living One is grieved by what He finds
littering the corners and walls and storage bins of my heart.

You are grieved, O Lord, at what you find and see and hear

You are closer than the words on my lips.

You are right here … burning up like heartburn my inside.
My chest feels to explode,
for I did not realize how close you were.

You are so close.

—————————
YOU LIVE HERE
this washed up piece of garbage,
cast-off and misused by its owner
this junk clumsily folded into

moving parts

neglected and scorned by the one entrusted

this hollowed-out shadow, dark with anger,
fierce with bitter rage and pain
this monster so neatly covered,

a mess of mixed-up rusty joints

INSIDE

this dreadful piece of epic failure

YOU LIVE

INSIDE

the depraved mind and within
the lusting heart

YOU LIVE

INSIDE

the jealous soul and
unwilling spirit

INSIDE

the ignorant and forgotten
the angry and spiteful
the abused and burdened
the twisted and desperate
the confused and grieved

the lonely
the shallow

the human

YOU live here

no such thing as a future version of myself

This is a tweaked version of a little article to appear in the next Journey, the HS newsletter I write for the guidance office.

When I was in high school, a regular day would find me dreaming about a future version of myself… a very good looking version.

I wasn’t messy or disorganized. I was never late to work and always dressed exactly right. I was never over-stressed or panicked about what the next days and weeks might bring. I was responsible (but care-free), busy (but not overworked), tidy (but not obnoxiously so), and punctual (but flexible).

Basically, I created a dreamy, perfect version of myself and decided that would be my future.
I was comfortable thinking I would “grow” into this person and eventually have all the good habits and character traits I was missing.

Then, I went to college. I got a job. Then, I got another job. Now, I am here.

I am still waiting for the perfect version of myself to appear and introduce all the habits I thought would just grow into my life. Six years later.

What went wrong?

Let me share a little secret the great, big, nasty world has been keeping from me: I will never get “there.”

No matter how many people tell me it gets easier and no matter how many times I convince myself this crazy phase of life will pass, it won’t. There are some things about who I am that will never change. I can’t change my personality or the way I was wired to try a thousand things at one time.

There are other things (like being punctual and responsible) that I can change with a little bit of good, old-fashioned discipline. Apparently, what I should have been thinking about (during my daydreams in Mrs. Tietz’s classes) was making habits out of that future picture of myself.

I am setting out to change the habits I form with my everyday decisions. I’ll try to stop daydreaming about a future, perfect version of myself and instead try to make habits today worth keeping.

Lights Out, a short story

Awhile back (maybe a couple years) I started writing something just for fun. It was called, “Adventures of the Life I Wish I Led.” It was meant to be a novel in the voice of a memoir… about all the adventures I take in my head. Maybe I was just overwhelmed at the idea of capturing those mind adventures in words or maybe I was intimidated at the really good idea I thought it was and so got a bit discouraged in the outworking of it all. Well, I have a new idea.

It’s called: true stories. We’ll see how it goes. This idea started out as a Christmas present to my parents, well, my mom really. She loves (or at least I tell myself she does) to read my writing and so I thought I could write some real-life tales in the form of children’s short stories. I only got as far as three stories, with promises of more. Here is the first.

LIGHTS OUT

Winter had settled in to the tired country home, steeped on all corners with fluffy white. Five child-size flurries ran circles inside while their parents struggled to keep up with the winter games. The frigid cold snuck in under doorways and through weak windows to whisper on the necks of the great family in the season of Christmas.

The great family watched one day as the snow and ice piled high outside the windows. The child-size flurries had spent the day building igloos and angels and ramps for sleds, but were finally content to sit around the great family’s wooden table and sip fresh hot cocoa from the stirred pot on the stove. Long before dinner was a thought in Mother’s mind, darkness fell like a blanket on the country home in the valley.

Five pairs of rosy cheeks and tired eyes began to plead for promises of “dinner soon.” But, before Mom could respond, winter’s darkness burst through the front door and consumed the country home. With masterful grace, Mother swooped all the child-size flurries under her tender Mother wings while lighting candles to push the cold darkness back out to winter.

The great family – Mother and Father and all the child-size flurries – excitedly spread the living room with candles and cards and popcorn on top of a bedsheet. And the dark night filled with the sounds of laughter and love until the last flurry was packed into the pullout couch and tucked in tightly to ward of winter’s chill.
———-

I will never, ever, ever forget my mom’s red, bursting face as she read the line, “with masterful grace…” She could not keep the giggles behind a straight, storyteller’s face (of which she had to this point, done a very fine job). It probably took a good minute for her to recover and sputter something about, “masterful grace? more like, desperate panic!”

Oh, mom.

overflow of crumpled hearts

art from funkartqueen again:)
This is a work in progress…
———-
minutes brimming empty
where wandering thoughts
arrest a scattered spirit
and deposit a soul ill at ease

the overflow speaks, sputters
out from crumpled hearts
to fall misshapen on top
the ground, mud-covered

a lone wilted, weary traveler
dumps heavy burdens of cold stone
alongside hearts mistaken
for quiet love and mercy tender

an inclined ear to pity’s plea
awake and tend the battle
a wise one must in wartime make
a firm stand for what most matters