Top 10 Thursday: Book Club Recap

Tags

authors, Book Club, book club selections, book reviews, books, discussion, friendship

I’ve written pretty frequently about my book club, aka the Monday Night Page-Turners.

I’ve posted about why I love book club and about most of the books we’ve read, but we’re about to hit our first milestone and I just want to incorporate MNPT into the Triple T feature this week.

When I first put out the invitation to join me for this idea of a monthly book club, I was really surprised at the enormity of the response. We started with 9 committals, and have kept 7 regular members since the beginning. In addition to the 7 of us, my daughter and her bff cousin Emma also meet on book club nights.

So, since the number is ALMOST right, here is a little recap about the books that have been covered this inaugural year of MNPT, and a little bit about the members that chose them.

1. The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry by Gabrielle Zevin (Chosen by Allison)

I got the recommendation for this selection from another book nerd friend who had also been in a book club. She always makes solid recommendations so I thought this easy read would be a great one to kick off the club.

All of my reviews are listed on our Facebook page or here, under the “Page-Turners” or “Book Club” tabs. I’d link to them here if I was not such a lazy blogger and my internet was not being quite so sketchy.

The Storied Life is the quintessential book club book. It’s not too hard, not too easy, and there’s lots of pretty uncontroversial stuff to discuss from its pages. It was a good icebreaker.

That being said, I wondered how shy people would be to share their opinions on certain topics, but after our first meeting, it really felt like these women had all known each other for years. There was some immediate bonding, which, to me, only proves the power of art and books to unify while also making room for discussions about differences.

As far as stuff about me, this whole BLOG is pretty much about me. If you read it at all, you know I’m a reader and a writer and I love all the words. Even the dirty ones. =)

I’ll just say that my book club which has now become our book club, is one of the best ideas I’ve ever implemented.

2. Brave New World by Aldous Huxley (Chosen by LaRue)

In my humble opinion, as far as subject matter, this has been our hardest read so far. We lost our first member at this point and had one other that didn’t finish this selection.

It’s definitely not a “light” read, and the entire dystopian genre can be downright weird, but it is considered to be an important piece of modern literature by a lot of smart people and we were laughing last night about how we use the title to impress people!

With this selection, we went straight from easy read fluff to some hardcore discussion.

LaRue is one of my dearest friends. We became connected through her work as a graphic designer, and the rest is history.

I love the way she picks apart a book in many of the same ways that I do. We read between the lines and think in similar patterns about underlying themes. She’ll be picking our selection again in a couple of months. I’m mentally preparing now, because I think she likes to challenge us all!

3. Orphan Train by Christina Baker Kline (Chosen by Anna)

This selection was a good palate cleanser after Brave New World. It wasn’t a heavy read, though the subject matter itself was based on true (and pretty sobering) events.

It was here that I learned that not all historical fiction is 800 pages long! But, for most of us, Orphan Train focused too much on current events and not enough on the history it was trying to share. There were missed opportunities all over the place with the writing. We critiqued the hell out of this book so I give high kudos to Anna for taking it all in stride.

Anna is my cousin, but I call her my niece. At almost 17, she’s our youngest member. And probably the only reason we keep our discussions as…..acceptable…as they are! Because they do get interesting!

I’ve written about Anna before, and she’s just one of my favorite people. Considering we were only 3 meetings in before she had to pick a selection and then we tore into it like a bunch of hyenas into a wildebeest carcass, I’m sometimes surprised she still likes any of us! But that’s the great thing about these women. Nobody is taking any of this stuff personally about their selection, even if they liked it and someone else didn’t.

I love to hear Anna’s perspective on things. As our youngest member, hers is one of the most unique opinions we get, I think. But she is usually pretty quiet. I know she loves book club, but I wonder sometimes if she isn’t taking notes on how to NOT turn into a crazy 30+ woman!

4. A Man Called Ove by Fredrik Backman (Chosen by Meredith)

Honestly, and I probably shouldn’t do this, but if I had to pick a favorite selection thus far, this would be it.

It’s also the first and only book I didn’t finish before a meeting.

The book itself is a bit depressing and deals with some heavy subject matter. But it’s an excellent read. It combines a lot of heart and humor, and the characters were great, though not as fleshed out as I normally prefer. But it wouldn’t have really served the books purpose for them to be more of a focus because the book is about Ove. The author describes him very well and gives a lot of dimension to the man over the course of the story.

Meredith is just…..lovely. She’s funny. She’s sweet. She’s sassy. And the woman can COOK like nobody’s business. I’ve known her for 18 years but didn’t know she was such an avid reader until she became part of my book club.

See? Book soul mates can be right under your nose and you never know it!

5. Fall of Giants by Ken Follett (Chosen by Kacie)

This is the first book in a historical fiction trilogy. Set during WWI, this 900 page epic novel is one that downright haunted some people over the summer break we took from our MNPT meetings.

We had a couple of people not finish this one.

It’s an undertaking to devote the time to a book like ‘Giants’. I’m personally a fan if Ken Follett so I was geeking out about the selection. But, second to Brave New World, this has been our hardest read simply for its enormity and the incredible number of storylines happening at once.

Kacie and I also met through professional circumstances, but it was really through our mutual friend, LaRue, that we became more than acquaintances.

Kacie is my writer kindred spirit in MNPT and her perspective on the writing itself is one that I always love to hear. Of all the folks in our club, I probably know the least about her. But that changes more and more all the time. Books can gain you friends for life, and Kacie is definitely a keeper.

6. Ready Player One by Ernest Cline (Chosen by Jennifer)

Even though my daughter reads a lot and I’m pretty well informed about a lot of YA books, I had not heard of this one. By far, it was the most fun out of our selections thus far and had some great points to ponder about virtual reality, technology, and relationships. I won’t say much more because I’ve really got to get this post finished and I’m going to write a full review of this one by the weekend so you can just stay tuned and be watching for that.

Jennifer and I have known each other for about 22 years. But, again, I wasn’t really aware of her love for reading until she signed up for MNPT.

Jennifer is a teacher, and her experiences with children and her quirky sense of humor never cease to entertain and send us all into fits of giggles.

She really has one of the most fun personalities of anyone I know and she’s a wonderful writer herself. Her summer break diaries on Facebook are legendary!

7. Big Little Lies by Liane Moriarty (Chosen by Rebecca)

Two things:

1. We just got the title yesterday so I’m not going to write about it.

2. I’ve already read this one so I’m holding back my spoilers.

I will simply say that this is going to be a great discussion and I really, really enjoyed this book and several others by this author as well.

Other than Jennifer, I have known Rebecca the longest of any of our members. She is our hopeless romantic, as well as our comic relief. Of all the people to sign up for MNPT, she surprised me the most. And I can’t imagine our book club without her.

8. The Help by Katherine Stockett (Chosen by Reagan)

I love Mississippi authors. They’re special. I personally loved this book so when Reagan and Emma read it for their own little book meeting, I was so excited.

Reagan actually did her summer reading project on this selection and her paper was really well written, if I do say so myself. I love that she loves to read. I tried my best to imprint that love into her soul by reading to her a LOT when she was very little, as young as 6 months old. I think it made a profound difference in her development and her ability not just in her education, but in life. New mamas: read to your babies.

9. Divine Secrets of the Ya Ya Sisterhood by Rebecca Wells (Chosen by Emma)

Another great southern story, I read this one MANY years ago, but it’s a powerful story of love, friendship, family strife, and overcoming childhood trauma through the healing of sisterhood.

Emma is like another daughter to me. In fact, my husband and I tend to refer to her as such, mainly to tease Reagan. But Emma is so very special to me and she’s been close to Reagan since they were little bitty girls. As close as I was and still am to many of my cousins, their relationship makes me extraordinarily happy and thankful.

10. Unread

One of the best things about book clubs and the friendships within them is all of the books still to come and all of the good times yet to be shared.

I have always loved to read. And I have always loved to talk about books. And I have always enjoyed hosting people in my home. But this is one of the best parts of my month, and I am so glad I didn’t talk myself out of this idea for fear no one would respond to my invitation or that I’d end up with a lot of members that really….well, just didn’t “mesh” well with me or what I was trying to accomplish.

It turns out my fears were unfounded. And it was one of the best things I’ve ever done for myself.

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Reflection

Tags

arguments, attitude, controversy, debate, discrimination, division, hate, healing, love, politics, responsibility

I cannot bring myself to a place of lighthearted, easy writing. Not today. Not this week.

The hatred I’ve seen, not just as it has been reported by news outlets, but within my own circles of contacts, has been nearly unthinkable.

I say “nearly”, because I have spent the last 24 years in the south. It’s where I was born. Where I was mostly raised. I’ve witnessed the attitudes of white supremacy from an early and impressionable age.

This week, I was reminded that these attitudes not only cause division in our country, but in families. Even my own.

It’s beyond “sad” as the President likes to say. It’s tragic.

And, as usual, I don’t have the answers.

Maybe the removal of confederate monuments would mark the beginning of something positive. Maybe it would cause more violence. But one thing is absolutely certain: hate, in its most raw and organic state, is alive and well.

I’ve read a lot of opinions this week. Many I agreed with. Many I didn’t. But there is no neat and tidy way to deal with the painful issues that divide.

So much of the problem seems to be the inclination of people to stop looking at human beings as human beings, and simply assign them a label. Group them together. And hate them.

Because that’s the easy thing to do. It’s much easier to stand up against a “movement” than to take each conflict as a personal opportunity to listen to individuals and their point of view.

By “grouping”, we don’t have to take any kind of personal responsibility for trying to understand. And by joining a “group” ourselves, we don’t have to necessarily justify our positions on these matters. We can hide behind the group. And let them bear the brunt of the conflict.

But it takes one individual to another, giving and receiving information in a clear, non-hostile way, before common ground can be reached.

At the root of hate, by anyone, there is always the refusal to listen. To open ourselves to the vulnerability of their opinions and criticisms. We fear much. And that, perhaps, is the root of hate itself: fear.

Fear that history will be lost? For some, yes. Fear that our country cannot truly be united unless monuments to the past are removed from public places? For some, yes. Fear that our opinions and ideologies are wrong? Many times. Why else would people be so defensive?

One of the arguments I witnessed personally this week was between brothers. One was trying to show a Christian perspective. One of Love. And humility. And peace. And he was confronted with hatred.

My defense mechanisms went into overdrive. They always do when people behave like bigots.

These are the divisions that the news doesn’t report. The ones that create a divide in families. Between friends.

They go deeper than just ideology. They go to our very roots. And when one person starts examining their roots and pointing to the problems in the soil, there are always those who are so deeply clinging to what they choose to believe, a resolution seems impossible.

I have seen what happens when hate drives people. And I have witnessed discrimination and unequal treatment of people because of who they are, who they cannot help but be.

And many times, I have said nothing. Because nothing I could say would change anything. Not because I couldn’t say something with relevance or truth to it. The simple fact is this: people who choose to believe something, whether it’s true or not, are usually resistant to anything that implies there’s another way to look at something, or someone. And some are resistant to the point of hatred for anyone or anything that dares to challenge them.

Violence should not be tolerated. And you cannot reason with the unreasonable. You can’t fix stupid. But you can educate the ignorant.

I cannot solve the world’s problems. So for many of us who are privileged enough, the answer is often to do nothing. Say nothing. Don’t rock the boat. Don’t stir the pot. Don’t invite that controversy to your doorstep.

I know many activists. While I am passionate, and I think collective efforts can reap benefits, I am also a huge proponent of personal responsibility.

I believe in taking ownership of one’s own thoughts and actions and trying to propel them towards good.

Because I think, if there IS an answer to some of the madness, it’s to be found there. In each individual. One at a time.

But that takes work.

I am, and most people are, impatient. We want immediate results. We want immediate satisfaction. And long standing problems do not have those kinds of answers.

In order to make our voices heard, we first have to make sure we know our facts. Not just b.s. we’ve been spoon fed by the media, or by politicians, or by bloggers, or by preachers, or by our parents, our friends. We have to be able to discern. Understand. See the problem as a whole. See it from someone else’s perspective besides the one we’ve held all of our lives.

Secondly, we have to continue in that quest for truth, and never be certain that we’ve figured it all out. It requires constant examination of our own belief systems, consciences, and motivations. It’s exhausting.

I, for one, am usually so tired from doing this that I don’t have time to point many fingers.

But most of all, I think, our personal responsibility means that we live our truth, and not just speak it.

We all fall short and fail and miss the mark. Nobody is perfect. But are you the kind of person, do you live your life in such a way, does your attitude reflect the light of a person who speaks from the heart? Who can think for themselves? Who has studied and observed and really looked at the WHOLE issue, and not just the part that pisses you off?

This is so hard. I struggle with it daily. I want to scream about the injustices I see. I want to call out people for hate all while displaying my own version of it, because MINE is justified. Right?

While the temptation is often to look outside and point at someone else, blame another, the only way to really begin a healing process in a family, in a church, in a country, is to stop looking outside. And turn our gaze inward. Stop calling out, and reaching in. Deal with what’s inside ourselves.

And maybe if more people did that, we’d truly begin to eradicate the monster. Starting with the one inside us all.

The Enemy Within

Tags

Christianity, debate, enemies, hate, love, politics, religion, self-awareness

Definition of enemy

plural enemies

1: one that is antagonistic to another; especially : one seeking to injure, overthrow, or confound an opponent

2: something harmful or deadly ‘alcohol was his greatest enemy’

3a : a military adversary

b : a hostile unit or force

Jesus was once asked, “Who is my neighbor?”

I wonder what he would say if he was asked, today, “Who is my enemy?”

Would it be those who wish to do harm to others?

If that is true, am I the enemy?

Would it be those who disagree, hatefully and carelessly with others, politically and religiously?

If that is true, am I the enemy?

Would it be those who spread messages of hate, division, segregation, discrimination?

If that is true, am I the enemy?

Much has been said in the last few years about landing on the wrong side of history.

Whether it’s concerning the rights of the LGBTQ community. The rights of women. The rights of immigrants. The rights of races.

We all make conscious and unconscious decisions, every day, about where our loyalties begin and end.

More and more, I see where apathy and indifference, silence……these are simply not options anymore. Maybe once upon a time, but if you have children, if you have a conscience, if you have a heart, for God’s sake, these are not options.

Yes, it is exhausting. Mentally and emotionally, to take stands for what is right and good.

Yes, it can be disconcerting. Because you might have to make those stands alone.

And that, that is the point.

Because first, one has to come to terms with the enemy within. And most people, myself included, don’t take the time to do that. To examine our own hearts.

That “hostile unit or force” can often be our very selves. That “something harmful or deadly” can be the very attitudes of our minds, hearts, and actions (or lack thereof).

I try to refrain from too much political subject matter here on this blog. And it’s not because I lack passion, but because I lack the emotional and mental fortitude to withstand a constant discussion about such things with people who have no interest in examining what I have actually said, but only want to argue.

I have to be careful. Not because of them. But because of myself.

Because argue? Well, I’m a seasoned pro. I come from a long line of people who are right, opinionated, verbose, and unwilling to NOT have the last word.

And there is no victory in that kind of engagement. I’ve seen it. Because people are so unwilling to see themselves as the potential bad guy.

This is where my politics and religion settle: in which scenario am I the enemy? In which scenario are my behavior, actions, and attitudes unbecoming to one who claims to be a follower of Love Personified?

And more often than not, I fail. I am sensitive and passionate, which makes for a very difficult inner dialogue, especially when confronted with dissent. By those I care about. By those I know to be hateful people. By even strangers.

So the only thing I know to do for now, and regularly, is examine my own heart. Look for the enemy within. And engage it first. Because that enemy is the deadliest one of all.

Beware of no man more than of yourself; we carry our worst enemies within us.

Charles Spurgeon

Filtered Beauty

Tags

appearance, beauty, body image, discipline, insecurity, Makeup, selfies, worth

This is me. At 35 years old. Filtered.

When I was a kid, I was a complete nerd. Frizzy hair. Glasses. Braces. So skinny people thought I had an eating disorder though I ate like a teenage boy on steroids.

But other than my Dad and my Mom and my grandfather (who told me every time I saw him), I don’t remember people ever telling me, as a child, that I was “pretty”.

I remember them saying it about my sister. Because she was. She is. Blue eyes, dimples. A smile that lights up a room.

I just don’t remember people telling me anything other than I looked “puny” or commenting on whether or not I ever ate.

I don’t really remember my first husband telling me I was pretty, either. But after I went through some intense medical issues shortly after we married, I remember him asking me when I was going to go on a diet. Or reminding me that I was supposed to be on one.

I went from having a thin, flat body type to one full of curves and rolls and dimensions I was not used to in a matter of a couple of months. And then I got pregnant. So, of course, my body has now never been the same.

I never had to watch what I ate. I never had to exercise. I never had to be disciplined about my body. For 20 years. And I’m just now learning how to take better care of it.

It’s a roller coaster. But I’m doing better. Again. For now. I know better than to say I’ve got this area of my life under control because I’m weak. And I love food. And it’s the south and we plan entire days around meals.

Still, I see progress.

And not just progress in my daily discipline of making better dietary choices or getting my ass to the walking track or on the treadmill.

I’m finally seeing myself as beautiful. Just as I am. Not because of what anyone else sees or says. But because I like what I see.

Maybe it’s just my problem, this insecurity about my looks. But in a world of selfies and fashion and fitness advice, I think the large majority of the population DOES care and has their own hang-ups about their self-image.

I don’t think I’d feel much differently about my looks than I do today if I’d been showered with compliments on my appearance all my life. In fact, most of the most beautiful people I know struggle with insecurity. I could blame that on a lot of things, but at the end of the day, I think the simple truth is: we’re just human. And we all have a need to be told our worth. And somehow, in this crazy, messed up society, a lot of us have equated that worth with appearance.

I’ve developed a lot of unhealthy habits over the last 25 years, but none so unhealthy as that one.

I think several things have helped shift my thinking. But mostly, maturity and the love of a partner in life who accepts me so unconditionally and has seen me with “filtered eyes” long before our smartphones came along.

This is also me. Unfiltered. Makeup sweated off. Mascara blurred from tears cried. I love makeup. I love it because I like the way wearing it makes me feel. It’s a kind of protective mask between me and the world. But I also love the freedom of not wearing it if I don’t want to. And finally being okay with how that feels too.

I love a good selfie. Filtered or not. I love to see women embrace their individual beauty with confidence and be proud of the face in that picture.

I’m sure there will be those who judge my photos. And yours. But that’s okay too. Those people will never know, nor take the time to understand, what it often takes in terms of personal growth to reach a point where some of us have any semblance of physical confidence.

So post that selfie, girlfriend. Filtered or unfiltered, the people that really know you always thought you were beautiful. It just takes some time, sometimes, to see it yourself. And it’s okay to feel pretty. As long as you remember, you’re so much more than that.

Top 10 Tuesday: Favorite Old Movies

Tags

classic movies, movies, old films, top 10

My daughter and I are watching The Wonder Years. It makes me nostalgic. I didn’t grow up in the 70s, I’m an 80’s baby. But I grew up watching some great film classics that I would watch again and again. 

These are in no particular order, and this is by no means a comprehensive list because I’m sure I’ll think of at least 20 more when I finish this post.

10. Cat on a Hot Tin Roof

Paul Newman and Elizabeth Taylor. Need I say more? Except maybe that it’s based on a Tennessee Williams play. 

The family drama is palpable throughout this movie. It resonates with me in many ways. People trying desperately to come to terms with their relationships. With themselves. 

Did I mention Paul Newman? I love that man. 

9. The Rainmaker

Humor and a flawless performance by Katherine Hepburn. Burt Lancaster, larger than life. These two steal every scene they’re in and Hepburn’s monologue about the kind of man she wants brings me to tears every time.

I want him to be able to tell me who he is, and tell me who I am, too. I want to do things for him. All kinds of things and we never have to say “thank you” because “thank you” is our whole life together. 

I’ve always wanted to see it performed on stage. 

8. The Heiress

Olivia De Havilland and Montgomery Clift. I didn’t discover Clift until I was older, but God, what an actor. This movie has one of the best “in your face” endings of all time. I get chills every time I watch it.

7. To Kill a Mockingbird

It’s my favorite book of all time, and one of those rare instances where the film did the book poetic justice. 

I’m perpetually in love with Gregory Peck and his performance as Atticus Finch. 

This movie was so beyond its time in terms of subject matter. Socially conscious with some of the best juvinelle performances by young actors that I’ve ever seen.

6. John Wayne

Some actors are so much a part of my nostalgia, I can’t pick just one of their movies to share. I grew up on a lot of John Wayne. Between my Dad, my Pawpaw, and my male cousins, I was destined to love him or hate him.

I love him. 

My favorites include:

True Grit

The Cowboys

Rooster Cogburn

North to Alaska

Cahill, U.S. Marshall

His one liners are part of my vocabulary forever. His heroic persona one that I hold with great affection.

5. Yankee Doodle Dandy

Most years, without fail, my family watched this movie every Independence Day. 

I know nearly every line, every song, by heart. 

4. Harvey

I could probably do an entire post on Jimmy Stewart, another of my all time favorite actors. This is a quirky little film that is chock full of humor and mystery. A grown man with an imaginary friend that happens to be a 6 foot white rabbit?

I don’t have a copy of this one. I need to get it. I haven’t seen it in years.

3. Musicals

Oh man do I love musicals. Since I couldn’t pick just one here either, here’s another list of some of my favorites:

Seven Brides for Seven Brothers

Oklahoma

Calamity Jane

The Unsinkable Molly Brown

They don’t make musicals like they used to. La La Land came as close as anything I’ve seen since my childhood as being something that I would include as part of a list of true musical, artistic masterpieces.

2. You Can’t Take it With You

I’ve always loved Jean Arthur. She was in several movies that I enjoyed. This one is my favorite of hers and it also stars, you guessed it, Jimmy Stewart.

This is a hilarious Frank Capra film that, like all of his movies, leaves you with the warm fuzzies. I like watching movies that make me feel like that. Sometimes you just need to see a happy ending. Even if it’s cheesy, or unrealistic. Life is hard enough without everything being so harsh. And speaking of life…..

1. It’s a Wonderful Life

Hey, so I’m in love with Jimmy Stewart. Get over it. 

I relate to George Bailey. I know what it’s like to have dreams and then life just sort of takes over and before you know it you’ve got a family and a mortgage and are put in situations that try to force you to compromise. 

And it’s tempting to give in. Or give up. 

But George is reminded of the impact his life has had on others. That though his dreams may not have come to pass, his life is and has been a gift. To others. To himself. 

So he chooses to live. He chooses thankfulness. 

It’s a beautiful story. 

I love movies and don’t get to watch them as much as I’d like. Not reruns like these, anyway. But I might have to treat myself to a few Amazon purchases. I listed several that I don’t have that I’d love for Reagan to see. Would love to hear about some of your favorite movie classics in the comments!

When Good Men (and women) Fall

Tags

Christianity, Coach Freeze, failure, football, forgiveness, grace, love, Ole Miss, SEC, weakness

Men (and women) fall from grace every day. Every hour. Every minute. The flesh is weak.

Ask anyone I know and they’ll tell you that I don’t give a hoot about college football. SEC or any other conference. There is MSU memorabilia scattered throughout my house, but it’s my husband’s, not mine. 

I claim no allegiance. To a school. To a coach. To a player. I’m just an observer of the entire scene that surrounds college athletics and its superfans. 

And here’s what I observe: 

The coaches and players of the SEC take on an almost rock star status among those that love the conference and their team with passion and fervor. And I might be about to commit southern heresy here, but I’m going to say it anyway:

It’s just a game. They’re just men. All of them. Coaches. Players. They are all fallible human beings with struggles and corruptable hearts. Just like you. Just like me. Just like everyone else on planet Earth.

I’ve seen good men (and women) fall. It’s not pretty. If we’ve built them up in our minds at all, it can be an uncomfortable, painful thing to witness. 

First, we think about how much they’ve disappointed us. Hurt other people. We call them selfish, hypocrites. We cast our stones either publicly or privately, in the recesses of our own hearts and minds.

I hurt for Coach Freeze’s family. Their pain and humiliation is on a public stage that isn’t fair for them to have to navigate. But I’ll tell you someone else that I hurt for: the man himself.

I have experienced my own shame. Disappointed others that I love more than life. Rejected all that I knew and believed about a God that I tried to serve for something that satisfied my own selfish desires. And there is no excuse for it. But the flesh is weak.

I don’t hurt for the legions of Ole Miss fans. Not because I wish them ill, but because the world of football is so ridiculously minute compared to what is happening to this man and his family.

I’ve seen people talk about how much this coach was paid. All of his accomplishments during his time with the University. And it’s true. The man seemingly had everything going for him. He spoke publicly and willingly about his Christian faith. And I’m going to choose to believe that he was sincere about it. Not because of his words, but because from what I know about his actions outside the public eye. He does his best to live his faith. But the flesh is weak.

Truthfully, it’s on those mountaintops of life when we might actually be more susceptible to falling from grace. Because it seems, there, that nothing can touch us. 

I wonder, as I often do, what was going on with the man and his family, behind the scenes. What drove him to his deceit. There is much that we will never know. And rightly so, because it’s none of our business. 

Granted, I’m sure I’d probably have stronger feelings if he was coaching my son. But these are not children. These are young men. Impressionable still? Of course. But better for them to see that even our heroes make mistakes than for them to spend a lifetime pursuing perfection that doesn’t exist. In any of us. For any of us. There might be a better lesson in this whole situation that could teach these players more than anything their coach could have taught them on the field. 

The pain we inflict upon ourselves and others with the choices we make leaves a mark, yes. Scars will be left on Coach Freeze’s heart and the hearts of his wife and children forever. He failed them. He failed himself. And I cannot help but feel deep compassion for them all. 

But if he is willing, if his family is willing, redemption can be found. 

Maybe not in the public eye, but if that’s all they care about, then it will never come anyway. 

Personal redemption is what I speak of. A chance for pain and grieving to be turned into something strong and beautiful. 

Nothing about it will be easy. It will require consistent and steady applications of grace, forgiveness, and the understanding that, yes, no matter who you are, the flesh is weak. 

I have no envy of the road the Freeze family is walking. Its curves and potholes and detours are familiar to me. 

I don’t know the man or his family. But I know pain. One of the great equalizers in this life. And love Ole Miss or hate Ole Miss, college allegiance doesn’t matter. 

What matters in the response. The response of the Coach, owning and accepting his mistakes. The response of his family, letting it mold and perfect their faith in one way or another. And our response, it matters too. Maybe not to this family, but our response to others when they fall matters infinitely, to their hearts and our own. 

If you call yourself a Christian, our first duty is that of love. Whether it’s a public figure you admire and respect or someone in your personal life. The response should be the same. Love. 

People disappoint us every day. Can we extend grace? The flesh, after all, is weak. Isn’t it much easier to cast our stones? 

Good men (and women) fall from grace every day. It’s our job, our responsibility as Christians, to help them back up. Remind them of the endless grace that is free and abundant to all. 

True, it’s easier said than done. I know this. But our own integrity as Christians who claim to believe in Love, grace, forgiveness, and the power of redemption demands it of us. Even when, especially when, it’s hard.

After all, you never know when you might need these things too. And my guess is, you, as I, need them every day.

Top 10 Thursday: Reasons Summertime in the South is Crappy

Tags

heat, humidity, humor, south, summer

You thought I forgot about this week’s top 10, didn’t you?

Well, honestly, I did. Completely. My world has been a sea of bank-related madness for about the last 2-3 weeks. And I never forget about top 10 Tuesday, but I really did. When Reagan mentioned it, my first thought was, “When was Tuesday?” Because it’s been Monday. All week.

Because I forgot, because it bums me out that I forgot, and because I’m in foul humor anyway, I’m going to channel it into a post about what I absolutely LOATHE about living in the deep south during the summer months: you know, April – October.

In all actuality, we scathed by with scarcely a bit of real heat until this past week. It’s been downright pleasant in the evenings and mornings, but when the summer decided to show up, she arrived with an attitude. 

10. The Humidity 

I can tolerate heat. But when the humidity starts rising and then stays at 100%, all the time, for weeks…..I become a bit like Bruce Banner. 

There is rarely a breeze, and were it not for the occasional cotton shower or the abundance of trees, I’m pretty sure the entire state of Mississippi would implode. Just merge into one hot mess of a water bubble and then burst! 

9. The Bugs

Yeah, yeah. I know. The mosquitos are bigger in Texas. Whoopty doo. We have skeeters, gnats, flies, and horseflies for added fun. Bug zappers are the best invention since pockets on pants. I’m getting one this year. (I say that every year.)

8. The Crazies 

Say what you want, but heat drives weird and obnoxious people from their homes in droves into public places to buy beer, or just find a store with air conditioning. 

The heat exacerbates the already ignorant, and crime actually increases in the summer months. It actually drives people to insanity.

7. The Appearance

Try as I may to contain all my flesh into a respectable looking ensemble before going to work, there is no way to win the battle of dressing for the summertime if you’re…ahem…curvy. There is a need for spanx, but it’s too damn hot to wear them. 

I want to wear shorts, but used to be overly self-conscious about how I looked in them. I refuse to wear sleeveless clothing without some type of cover over my arm flab. Yeah, I could work out and tone that shit up, but I’ve been working some 10 hour days and I’m doing good to not be one of the crazies on the 5 o’clock news. 

I give it my best effort to look presentable at least half the day, before I’ve sweated off every bit of my Merle Norman, and call it a victory if I don’t emit an unpleasant odor by the end of the day. 

And my hair? Hahahahahahaha….oh don’t even get me started.

6. The Power Bill

It’s highway robbery. Especially when cold air is a necessity for a good night’s sleep. But whatever. I’ll work a 2nd job if it means coming home to a cool house. 

5. The Vacations

Everyone is taking one. Except me. Because I went to college when I was 30 so I have no money. We don’t borrow money to travel. So we staycation and thank God we have jobs that afford us at least SOME time off. Even if we’re too busy to take it.

4. Cooking

Fresh vegetables aside, I have no desire whatsoever to cook in the summertime. It’s just too hot to turn on the stove. We eat a lot of tomato sandwiches. I’m not complaining about that in the least, but it is a pain not to feel like you’ve got other options that won’t make your kitchen feel like the bowels of hell.

3. Death

The flowers that make it to this point of the year are looking like most humans feel. Verklempt. We all want to die. And pray that heaven is a pleasant 68 degrees.

2. Bugs 

I hate them so much, I felt they were worth a second mention

1. The Attitudes

Heat just seems to put everyone in more of a bad humor. I’ve had more people than usual come by my office, upset, complaining about the unfair hand life has dealt them. And, due to the heat, I’m not in the best mood myself. I display a much thicker skin and lack of sympathy simply because the sun has evaporated all of my giveadamn.

So there. That’s pretty much it. I jest….to a point. But truthfully y’all, it’s hot down here. And yes, “it’s hot enough for me.” Don’t ask me that unless you want to get punched in the throat. My crazy is starting to show, and it’s too hot to cover it up right now.

Hillbilly Elegy: A review

Tags

book review, books, Hillbilly Elegy, inspiration, memoirs, overcoming, stories

I love a good memoir. When I was a kid, our library had a fantastic children’s section. In fact, it occupied a whole floor of the building. 

When I was about 7 or 8 years old, I got on this kicker of reading biographies. They were written for kids, mostly about historical people, but I devoured them. 

I have loved to read since my mother taught me to do so when I was 4 years old. But I think it was there, in that little library in Oklahoma, that I fell in love with stories. The ones about real people who lived real lives. 

And, I think it was also there that my world was forever changed by books. 

When a child reads, even if they are stuck in one place for the entirety of their childhood, they understand that the world is so much bigger than whatever piece of earth they occupy.

In Hillbilly Elegy, J.D. Vance recalls his life experiences of growing up in the Rust Belt of America: his mother’s battle with drug addiction, the revolving door of men that came in and out of his life, the poverty, the ignorance of both his own culture and those who claim they can fix it with public policy. 

There are heartbreaking aspects to this memoir across the majority of its pages. But, ultimately, it’s a story of triumph. 

J.D. made it out of Ohio, and out of the cycle of his culture. He served in the Marines, graduated from Yale Law, and is happily married. 

But he is an anomaly. His book explores why he was able to rise above his circumstances and others are not so fortunate.

I gleaned from the book 3 or 4 reasons for this.

First, J.D. had grandparents that were a stable, supportive fixture in his life and a sister that stood by him as well. He mentions this albeit shaky stability throughout the narrative, and the book itself is dedicated to his Mamaw and Papaw. Having at least one constant, stable adult in a child’s life can do so much to combat the damage inflicted upon it by others. 

Secondly, education was emphasized and encouraged to J.D. by everyone closest to him. 

Thirdly, dumb luck, or Divine intervention, whichever you prefer. He even mentions himself that had any single, positive thing he mentions in his story been absent, it might have ended altogether differently. 

But, ultimately, it was his own choices that saved him; J.D.’s ability to decide he wanted a better life. 

It started with the decision to join the military.

The military gave J.D. the order that had been missing in his life and, more or less, taught him about how to actually be an adult. 

J.D. didn’t know the first thing about really being responsible with money, or the everyday things that one needs to do to have a disciplined, ambitious, and successful life. 

Every time the drill instructor screamed at me and I stood proudly; every time I thought I’d fall behind during a run and kept up; every time I learned to do something I thought impossible, like climb the rope, I came a little closer to believing in myself. Psychologists call it “learned helplessness” when a person believes, as I did during my youth, that the choices I made had no effect on the outcomes in my life. From Middletown’s world of small expectations to the constant chaos of our home, life had taught me that I had no control. Mamaw and Papaw had saved me from succumbing entirely to that notion, and the Marine Corps broke new ground. If I had learned helplessness at home, the Marines were teaching me learned willfullness.

The willfullness J.D. learned in the Marine Corps seemed to be the launching pad for his future successes and his ability to mentally rise above where he came from in Hillbilly culture. 

What’s interesting about J.D.’s story is not only that he rose above his childhood circumstances, but that he didn’t abandon his home in the process. Granted, he did put some distance between him and his family at times, but the majority of it was physical distance only. He maintained a close relationship with many of his relatives while actively breaking the cycle of that learned helplessness that surrounded him during his formative years. 

He speaks of having to put more than physical distance between him and his mom at times. Not because of anger, but out of self-preservation. J.D.’s desperation for his mother to finally kick her addictions is all over the pages of his story. From his very early childhood to present day, he has tried, again and again, to help her and love her through it. And he talks about how much he loves her. But he also talks about learning where to draw lines for his own mental health. And that, I’m sure, was a very hard lesson to learn. 

I get the feeling that J.D. has many strong opinions about what will and will not help the culture that he grew up in become a better environment. But he doesn’t speak to those opinions very specifically. In fact, many times he says he isn’t sure what the answers are, only what they are not. 

Public policy can help, but there is no government that can fix these problems for us.

But what about those kids, those “at-risk” kids that come from the same situations, same cycle of poverty as J.D. who don’t have a stable grandparent? Who don’t learn to value education? Whose choices hinge upon just what they’ve seen and experienced, and not what they are encouraged to believe is possible, and not just possible, but possible for them? 

The challenge I got from Hillbilly Elegy is understanding the role that any stable, successful adult can play in shaping the life of someone caught in the perpetual rotation that seems to go along with poverty and some degree of ignorance.

J.D. would tell you, I’m sure, that this is not an easy task. 

Working class whites, especially in places like the Rust Belt, and in the south, have a lot of pride. Many individuals in these areas begin to see a divide in the culture of “haves” and “have nots” from an early age, and it is regurgitated from one generation to the next that the world can’t be trusted and is out to get them, deceive them, and warp them. 

It can be next to impossible to help someone rise above their circumstances, when (1) they don’t see anything wrong with their circumstances and/or (2) they believe you are being condescending.

If I took any issue with this book, it was that J.D. did, in fact, come across with, what translated to me, as some thinly veiled condescension. I don’t believe it was necessarily intentional. I think it comes from exasperation and years of climbing out of the place that could have very well been his undoing as a human being. 

Hillbilly Elegy is a really interesting story. One that provokes a lot of thought, as memoirs will do, about how our own lives are shaped. 

I think back to those days in that library of my youth; reading my stack of books, and how, because of that, I’m writing this post now about a book that I just finished that captivated my attention. A story about a real person who overcame real problems.

Some things never change. Hillbilly Elegy proved that to me in many ways. 

The questions are, what can change, what should change, and how can we be a society that encourages people to be the best versions of themselves that they can be?

The Superpower of Love

Tags

compassion, feminism, film, love, movie review, movies, strength, Wonder Woman

I didn’t roll in until almost 2 a.m. Sunday morning. After fighting a really horrific headache most of the day on Saturday, I finally made good on a promise I made to my girl child: we went to see Wonder Woman.  The 10 p.m. showing. 

I knew this would be a good movie. I wasn’t disappointed. In fact, I was quite unprepared for how inspiring it turned out to be. 

I wrote, some time ago, about how my husband had imparted his love for comic books onto both me and my daughter. The lessons of these stories are profound. I’ve been surprised so many times at just how deep they can be. Wonder Woman, I think, now tops my list as the best comic book story I’ve ever seen brought to life on the big screen. And I’ve seen a lot of them.

The movie stars a female lead, and was directed by a woman. Of course these facts alone appealed to my and my daughter’s feminist leanings. 

But can a movie about a woman, directed by a woman, come across without looking like it’s trying to make a statement and yet send a message to not just girls and older women, but the whole world, loud and clear?

The answer is a resounding YESSSS.

The demigod Diana is powerful, yet naive in the beginning. She knows of the outside world only from what she has read. She wants to fix all the problems she sees. Becomes distracted from her original mission and reason for coming into the world of men. 

She doesn’t know her own strength. Not until she realizes the power, the force that opens up all of her strength, is love.

She doesn’t act superior, but she rises above what convention says a woman should be, do, or say. She doesn’t suppress who she is to make other people comfortable. 

Now, perhaps more than ever, our girls need that type of role model. One of the best parts of the entire movie was that I didn’t see Diana apologize a single time. One of the struggles with being a woman, in any era, is the expectation that our strength must be accompanied by a disclaimer. An apology. So as to not hurt the fragile egos of men. 

If there was an *unrealistic* flaw in this superhero film, that would be it. Not the fact that she didnt apologize, the reaction of the men to her strength. 

In the real world, women are told to “stay back” in so many spoken and unspoken ways. If most of us went forward the way Diana did, we’d be mocked. Scorned. And would gain a reputation as a difficult woman. A nasty woman.

She was mocked a bit, but not much. She was oblivious to it, because of the way she had been raised. With strength. With honor. And that, that is the lesson, I think. 

How we raise up our young women is what will ultimately reveal their strengths and keep them from falling into an apologetic way of living out who they are. 

Diana, like all children, had a degree of skill from her upbringing, but was ignorant of how it would actually apply to the real world beyond the safety of her home. 

But what ultimately mattered, why she was able to tap into her greatest powers, had everything to do with who she was on the inside. 

Another poignant message from the film was the notion of helping others, even when, in our own minds, they don’t deserve it.

It’s not about deserve. It’s about what you believe. And I believe in love. 

Our society is filled with the attitudes of self-centeredness. About letting people get what they “deserve”. The book I’m reading right now, Hillbilly Elegy, made me reflect on those attitudes today. They’re SO enormously prevalent, all around us. 

I’ve been on the receiving end of help many times. Even when, maybe especially when, I didn’t “deserve” it. 

Seeing people’s humanity, relating to that, and using whatever superpowers we have been given is our duty to our fellow man. It’s not about deserve. It’s about what you believe. And that is a strong message for not just girls, but all of us. 

Literary genius

Tags

book review, books, In Cold Blood, Truman Capote, writing

Last week, I picked up a book that I’d never read by an author that died shortly after I was born. Although he was a well-known writer, I had never read any of his books. When I finished my selection, I couldn’t believe that it took me so long to discover him.

It’s very rare for me to be so mesmerized by an author after reading only one of their works, but it does happen. 

The book was “In Cold Blood”. The author: Truman Capote.

This piece of non-fiction reads like a novel, but it is a true story and a chilling one from start to finish.

The murder of an entire family is not pleasant subject matter, but that is what this book is about. Capote, though he wasn’t from Holcomb, KS, and didn’t know the people involved until after the crime occurred, wrote this book and made it seem like he had been an eye witness to every perspective held within it. 

I know that he undertook a tremendous amount of research to complete this story, and it shows. Though the crime itself was horrendous, the focus is not on the gruesome factors of it, which seems to often be the temptation of many writers. Capote, instead, made this book about people. The family that died. Their friends. The law enforcement officers who didn’t give up until the killers were captured. And, of course, the criminals themselves.

While the crime itself was definitely what made this story an unthinkable tragedy, so also did the lives of the criminals. Perry Smith, in particular, had a terrible upbringing. Of course, not everyone who experiences abuse as a child grows up to be a killer. That is a rare occurrence. But there is enough detail given about his life to make one wonder if his earlier days had been different, would he have grown up to be the same way. 

Knowing what I know at the basic levels of nature vs. nurture, I saw that Smith most definitely had mental problems. Paranoid Schizophrenia, as he was believed to have, does not automatically make a person violent. But couple that with the abuse and neglect he endured as a child, and it becomes evident that multiple factors contributed to him becoming capable of murder. His accomplice also had suffered a traumatic brain injury, which, when brought into account along with other abnormalities, could explain a lot about the person he became. 

The takeaway, psychologically, is what continues to fascinate me about human beings. We seem to be born with our own unique set of DNA, and then environmental factors, often those beyond our control, have a tremendous amount of impact on what type of person we become. This doesn’t excuse criminal behavior, but I think it’s worth trying to understand. 

People who seemingly have no conscience are not “typical”. Understanding how and why it occurs is something that will always intrigue me. 

Blood is one of the best books I’ve ever read. I don’t know what that says about my tastes, but subject-matter aside, the writing was nothing short of awe-inspiring. I’ve never read anything like it and came to understand why Capote was such a braggart about his skills: it’s not bragging, though, if you can do it, right?

Only a truly great writer can transport their reader to another time and place and make that reader feel like they were there. 

Only a truly great writer can give the reader goosebumps without completely engulfing them in fear. Give just enough of the details without drowning the reader in unnecessary commentary.

Only a truly great writer can make you feel compassion for every character, even if their personalities and problems and behavior run the gamut from extreme to extreme. 

I only picked up the book after watching the film about Capote a few weeks ago. I really don’t know if I’d have ever read it unless I had seen the movie about his life. 

But I’m glad I did. My feelings about the book, but mostly the writing itself, has sat with me over this last week. 

And that, to me, is the most important defining factor of a great author: if their work and skill with language leave me breathless, if they make me want to read more, if I just want to know more about them, if it inspires me to write more and write better – that is what separates good writers from great ones. 

And Capote was, in this writer’s opinion, a literary genius.