Feeling Nostalgic for Harwood

Today I went to show our rent house to a potential new tenant. Since we've started renting it out, I never get to step inside; but today, I took full advantage. Walking through the empty house was like a walk down memory lane for me. Andy lived in this house when we first met and all throughout our dating years. I can still remember where all the furniture was set up, I remember his dishes and hysterically boyish pantry items. When we married, he moved. But it was only after many hours spent together laboring in love to make this charming little house what it is today.

When Andy bought the house years ago, it was already a project waiting to happen. As a single fella he took his time working on one bit at a time. He redid the kitchen, added a laundry room, ripped up the floors, among other things before he met me.

My favorite story is of Andy opening up the giant box in his front yard one day to find his latest ebay purchase: a claw-foot tub to match the 1940s vibe of the house. It was well after dark and he was just getting home after a late night at work followed by some music at S. Congress clubs. Knowing he wouldn't be able to move it alone (and no one would help at 2am), he decided to at least climb in (fully clothed) to see how comfy it was. The answer must have been "pretty comfy" because he fell asleep and didn't wake up till his neighbors were all headed out to work the next day, pointing fingers at their crazy new neighbor who sleeps in bathtubs in the front lawn.
Once I became his girlfriend, I was looped into the project too. Thus sweet and funny memories were created. As I stood in the "red" room today, I remember the first time I realized what a perfectionist Andy was when--as I helped him paint the room red--my lines along the trim were not quite straight enough. Standing on the back deck, I remembered his absolute need to paint the ceiling white-- at 11pm one night. So there we stood, illuminated by a single flourescent bulb from a floor lamp, cricking our necks back and roller painting the ceiling--with drips falling all over our faces.
As I tried to explain the color of the exterior to the renter in question, I found myself laughing at the debacle that was our paint choice. We had hoped for a nice soft green for the siding and a complementary grass green trim. But after hundreds of dollars of already purchased paint and several hours of hard labor, we took a step back only to realize the house was now a lovely tennis ball/highlighter yellow-green with pea soup trim. But we were already committed at that point and so it stands today (luckily it has faded with time). Then I remembered the day before we left for Australia, furiously trying to finish the last minute painting, when Andy droped a bucket of paint on my head from the ladder above my designated painting spot. I had flourescent green paint in my hair almost the entire month we travelled abroad.
I certainly love where we moved after getting married. But I do love the memories of that old house.

Ayaan Hirsi Ali Makes Me Think

One week down and “The Caged Virgin” is finished. I told yall it was a page turner. After dinner with Angela this week, when she made fun of me for calling Ayaan Hirsi Ali “one of my favorite authors” (since she’s only written 1 other book that I read), I realized I should probably clarify. I guess I would say that Hirsi Ali is one of my favorite thinkers. Many in the international arena find her extreme, provocative, and troublesome. She has definitely ruffled a LOT of feathers. One of the most horrific stories of how people in the international community oppose her exercise of free speech includes the murder of a man who produced her documentary exposing the harsh realities of extreme abuse of Muslim women… the man was stabbed to death in the streets of Amsterdam in broad daylight. And a letter addressed to Hirsi Ali was pierced through his chest with a knife (see photo of crime scene below). I would say that qualifies her as a very hated woman.

But to me, she is an inspiration. Do I agree with all her viewpoints—no. But her passion and determination to use her mind and her voice to speak out against human rights violations of women on the global stage is powerful to witness. She was born a Muslim, but is now an atheist. She lives in exile under 24 hr armed guard because of the threats on her life. Yet she speaks. And continues to speak. Because she believes that fighting for women who cannot yet fight for themselves is a moral imperative.

“The Caged Virgin” is a collection of essays she has written on the topic she refers to as “The Emancipation Proclamation for Women and Islam”. The writings run the gamut from an indictment on female circumcision to the punishment of a woman for her own rape… from democratic countries turning a blind eye to the “cultural traditions” of their Islamic immigrants (even when they break the laws of their new home country) to a healthy discussion on why Islam resists critical evaluation of its own beliefs and culture. Each chapter is smart, thought-provoking, and, at times, painful to read—because to hear stories of women who do experience suffering simply breaks my heart (and she tells the stories of countless women she’s met).

Although the battles Hirsi Ali fights are inherently good, to lump the whole group into one is a generous, yet limited description. One thing that I have learned in my personal encounters with Muslim women is that there are no two alike. They do not ALL suffer from domestic abuse, they do not ALL have husbands with multiple wives, they don’t ALL bear the scars of childhood incest, etc. But what I love about Hirsi Ali’s fight is that she awakens me to have compassion for, think of, and to fight for women who are suffering these injustices. She says, “I invite the advocates of the multicultural society to acquaint themselves with the suffering of women who, in the name of religion, are enslaved in the home. Do you have to be mistreated, raped, locked up, and repressed yourself in order to put yourself in someone else’s position? Is it not hypocritical to trivialize or tolerate those practices, when you yourself are free and benefit from mankind’s progress?” (p.7, “The Caged Virgin”).

Reading her book doesn’t make me want to accuse every Muslim woman I meet of being a miserable, unhappy victim and blame every Muslim man for her plight. Instead, it generates in me a longing to reach out to those who are oppressed, who do suffer, and who bear the burdens of pain and loneliness. I want to love them and care for them as Christ would. The problem I see in that plan of action is that those who do suffer in this way are encouraged by society or culture to keep it a secret. Typically, you don’t advertise the painful things you are going through. Especially as an immigrant in America, where are the places these women can even turn to? So, how will I ever know who they are ? How can I ever help them?

My Own Personal Stalker

I have my own personal stalker. His name is Lucky. Everday I sit at my desk to work on my computer, the blinds open so I can look outside. And everyday, he is there.
He sits perfectly at attention and just stares. He can actually see me and if I move, his eyes follow me. I put words to his thoughts sometimes: "Open the door, open the door, open, open, open! Plllleeeeeaaaassseeee let me in... I just want to beeeee with you, mommy!"
He cannot stand to be away from me. Andy and I joke about his "separation anxiety," due to his "abandonment issues" (he has a history of these issues: see below, it started YOUNG!).
Joking aside, when I sit at my desk and just see him out there pleading, I must give in. I let him in, while the other dogs gleefully remain outside playing all day. He just wants to be where ever I am. I run to the store, he's dying to go with me. I move from my office to the living room, he follows. I literaly step 2 feet from my kitchen sink to the stove and he gets up to move closer. It is sad. It is precious. He is my stalker. My little Lucky.

Luke 2:34-35

I've been chewing my way through Luke chapter 2 for the last two days and am finding myself drawn over and over to verses 34-35 (NLT): "This child (speaking about Jesus) will be rejected by many in Israel, and it will be their undoing. But He will be the greatest joy to many others. Thus the deepest thoughts of many hearts will be revealed."

This is a good reminder for me as I continue to love on and build friendships with people who don't know Jesus. Many people will reject Him. That makes me so sad. Those who reject Him have either witnessed Him for themselves or heard the stories about what He's done, yet they turn away from their one, true hope. Somehow, this Scripture encourages me to press on in reaching out to those who do not know Jesus as their Savior... because regardless of where they fall after the experience of encountering God (in this case, through me), their hearts will be revealed through the encounter.

My hope is that Jesus will be their greatest joy, and not their undoing. This keeps me going.

Quitter

I hate to say it, but I am putting a book down... unfinished. For the record, I am a "rule-follower" and, for whatever reason, that also translates into my reading habits. If I start a book-- no matter how much I hate it, am bored by it, or don't understand it-- it MUST be completed. If I give up and stop reading, I feel like a quitter. I try to press on at times because I just keep holding out hope that somewhere in the pages ahead it somehow turns a corner and gets good... and if I've stopped reading it, I will never know if it turned out to be great in the back-end.

But yesterday, I gave myself permission to to put down a book I've been squirming through for a month now. (That should have been my first clue because it rarely takes me that long to read anything). The book: "Three Cups of Tea" by Greg Mortenson. Cue the tomato throwing-- cuz I have heard it is a great book. I heard it was slow in the beginning and was assured it DOES turn that corner I was talking about. But it's just not doin' it for me. Even the fact that it's trying to do it for me, isn't doin' it for me (name that movie quote). So, done with "Three Cups of Tea" (name that movie quote). I'm moving on.


I started "The Caged Virgin" last night (by one of my favorite authors, Ayaan Hirsi Ali) and just two pages in was HOOKED! Now, that's what I'm talking about!

A Turkish Henna Night

Tonight, Michelle and I went to the Turkish American Women's Association Coffee Night here in Austin. These are Turkish women living here in Austin, but they miss their beloved Turkey. So once a month, they invite their Austin neighbors/friends/coworkers to come for a night of learning about Turkish culture (plus eating Turkish food and drinking Turkish coffee).

Tonight's theme was "Henna Night", which is traditionally the night before the wedding when all the women celebrate with the bride. She dresses in a red dress, they since songs and dance, they try to make the bride sad and cry (because she is supposed to be sad to leave behind her family to move in with her new husband), and they henna her hands. Henna is a natural pigment that, when applied to the skin, leaves a stain (plus it smells great). Michelle and a few other familiar faces all volunteered to play the role of the "bride" and have their hands henna-d. (So did a lot of the already married Turkish women there--- because it's just plain fun!). Enjoy the photos...
Michelle, Anneke, and Laura with Gulsah (the TAWA president, center) and two other ladies from the coffee night.

Michelle (who was forced to wear the bride's crown) shows off her henna hand-- she was the first to try it... because IIIII volunteered her!

Anneke being painted by a super talented woman while Summer looks on.

Laura, posing with her henna artist... her henna was green colored and really beautiful!

Psalm 19

"The heavens tell of the glory of God.
The skies display His marvelous craftsmanship.
Day after day they continue to speak; night after night they make Him known.
They speak without a sound or a word; their voice is silent in the skies; yet their message has gone out to all the earth, and their words to all the world.
The sun lives in the heavens where God placed it.
It bursts forth like a radiant bridegroom after his wedding.
It rejoices like a great athlete eager to run the race.
The sun rises at one end of the heavens and follows its course to the other end.
Nothing can hide from its heat.

The law of the Lord is perfect, reviving the soul.
The decrees of the Lord are trustworthy, making wise the simple.
The commandments of the Lord are right, bringing joy to the heart.
The commands of the Lord are clear, giving insight to life.
Reverence for the Lord is pure, lasting forever.
The laws of the Lord are true; each one is fair.
They are more desirable than gold, even the finest gold.
They are sweeter than honey, even honey dripping from the comb.
They are a warning to those who hear them; there is great reward for those who obey them.
How can I know all the sins lurking in my heart?
Cleanse me from these hidden faults.
Keep me from deliberate sins!
Don't let them control me.
Then I will be free of guilt and innocent of great sin.

May the words of my mouth and the thoughts of my heart be pleasing to You, O Lord, my rock and my redeemer!"

Psalm 19 (New Living Translation)