The Dominican, The Church, and The World

            

Photo by Bill Patrick

There are some new and exciting opportunities that have come up in my life, but in order to properly explain how they affect me, I must backtrack to this past year and the adventures it contained. (feel free to jump forward as you wish)

CULTURE SHOCK

            If you’re reading this, you may have read my prior blog postings about my trip to Uganda I took a year ago. (I can’t believe it has already been a year since my return!) I tried to be honest in my writings about how heavily I was affected by that trip and about my exposure to a new and very different culture. I tried to be vulnerable about my struggles and the difficulties I had adapting. The trip was easy for me to take because I delight in the idea of adventure and mystery, but the constant discomfort I felt in every circumstance, the heavy realization of my own race and culture, and the homesickness that weighed me down were nearly impossible to endure. It was because of the love and support of the people who I have met along the labyrinth of life that I was able to push through until the end.

            The advancements in travel in the last 200 years have been extraordinary. The first car with an internal combustion engine was created in 1807. The first gas-powered car was in 1886. In 1902, The Wright brothers lifted off the ground in the first fully-controlled aircraft. Many Christians and humanitarians alike have taken advantage of these progressions. Like butter on warm toast, people have slid their way across the globe into new settings and cultures. Anthropology and science have expanded, foreign business has been utilized, media and news has reached a global level, and many cultures have unfortunately suffered in the process.

            Uganda is a country that has had many visitors from around the world. As I stayed in Jinja, I got to experience this tourism first hand. Jinja is a common site for adventurers from all over. There is white-water rafting and kayaking. People enjoy testing their luck and skill when fishing for Nile Perch. It is home to the “Source of the Nile” where some of Mahatma Ghandi’s ashes were supposedly released to flow within the ebbs of the river. There have been many Europeans and North American’s who have made Jinja their home, establishing restaurants for tourists, development workers, and missionaries to dine in comfortably when they eventually tire of beans and posho. Uganda was a British colony up until 1962 and continues to hold onto English as one of its national language. This also makes travel more accessible to foreigners.

            Because of these developments, the publicity around some Christian charity workers, the connection that a certain evangelical church has drawn between “the pearl of Africa” and Jesus’ parable in Matthew 13 (Go watch God Loves Uganda on Netflix), and the rise of the Ugandan adoption “market”; many Christians have decided to make Jinja their destination for short and long term mission trips. There is no wrong in working toward the education of a culture. There is no wrong in attempting to build up a supportive, loving and empowered community; however, when you neglect to learn the behaviors and history of a culture, you are most likely doing them a disservice.  One of my biggest struggles in Jinja was seeing my Christian brothers and sisters strive to make great changes for people they love and pray for, but neglecting to stick around long enough to follow up with the people they encountered and learn if their service was actually developing and advancing the community. Many Ugandans have learned from their Christian visitors that White people know more and have more than Black people do. When we go into a community only to teach and give, if we forget to learn and receive, we are being a proud people. There are obviously going to be times (for example: relief aid) that giving is important. Even then, we must intend to give with care and relationally instead of from obligation or guilt.

REVERSE CULTURE SHOCK

            When I got home from Uganda, I felt as though I had been stripped down. Everything I thought I once knew was wrong. Everything I learned in my time there was impossible to explain. I was afraid to talk to the people who loved and supported me on my trip because I didn’t want to offend anyone. I know many people who have attempted to share Christ’s teachings to the world in a culturally-ignorant way. I have been one of those people. I apologize if you are reading this and I have hardened your heart from spirituality in any way. I apologize if you aren’t reading this and I have done so.

            Right before my stay in Africa, both Michael Brown and Eric Garner were killed at the hands of law enforcement. It didn’t hit me until I returned how much these events effected my time there. I became overwhelmed with my race and constantly aware of my ivory skin. I walked on the city streets repeatedly questioning, “who are the bad guys?” and “who are the good guys?” I built up a wall of defense around myself so that I was ready when commentary from passing Ugandans poked at my features and tried to start conversation with me, assuming they knew what kind of woman I was based on the images they have seen of white women in media. When I would see other white people in public, I would feel compelled to nod an affirmation saying “I understand”. What I didn’t realize is that I would return to Texas with a greater understanding of what my black brothers and sisters endure daily. In 1897, an extremely brilliant man named W.E.B Du Bois coined the term “double-consciousness” to explain the act of dividing one’s identity into different facades. He stated “It is a peculiar sensation, this double-consciousness, this sense of always looking at one’s self though the eyes of others, of measuring one’s soul by the tape of a world that looks on in amused contempt and pity… He simply wishes to make it possible for a man to be both a Negro and an American without being cursed and spit upon by his fellows, without having the doors of opportunity closed roughly in his face.” I experienced this double-consciousness walking the streets of Uganda (albeit not to the extent that many Black Americans do) and upon my return, I related to my friends' struggles to assimilate while still remaining a rich individual. There is a constant struggle to let down the walls you have built without the fear of them tumbling on top of your already anxious soul.

            My writing here is neither political, nor is it unsupportive of any particular people group. It is to say that I learned compassion more than anything else in Uganda. I learned to hurt when the people I love are hurting, regardless of their uniform’s color. Everyday we encounter walls with people struggling behind them. My hope is that we might be strong enough relationally to break those walls down.

NEW ADVENTURES

            From time I returned to this past summer, I have been wrestling with my future. For some time I was applying for various worship leader positions at Houston churches. I have been leading part time with The Element at St. Peters UMC, working at a bookstore to save money, and struggling to feel content with my mind's direction. This past June, a team from St. Lukes United Methodist Church took a week long trip to support GO ministries in the Dominican Republic and I was presented with the opportunity to go with them and lead worship daily for the team.

            Due to my latest trip, the opportunity initially frightened me to the point that I almost didn’t go. However, I decided after much prayer and thought that I should embrace the adventure. The morning that I left for the DR I received a call from a church I had recently interviewed with. It was a job I was really hoping to take part in. They told me that they found someone else for the position largely due to the fact that the candidate had plenty of prior experience in the role. I understood, but I was upset. The whole week I was struggling with the loss of what, in my mind, I had created as my future. I continued to wonder where the path I was following was leading.

            The Dominican Republic was beautiful. The people were friendly and helpful, yet relaxed and laid back. The culture moves slowly and strives for greater things. GO Ministries has built many strong relationships with local leaders on the island in order to help them grow in their service to God and their community. They don’t step in and direct, but instead partner with the locals, using prior experience and education to guide the Dominican community toward a successful future. During the trip, I started to feel unrealistically comfortable in my environment. I was playing music and singing with local Dominicans, I was learning about people and a lifestyle I knew nothing about, and I was no longer afraid of whatever my future held. At the end of the week, multiple people on the trip began to tell me that I looked extremely comfortable in the Dominican culture and that maybe I should think about staying longer. I talked with some of the local leaders about the idea and we have decided that I will return from January to April of this coming year for an internship.

            As you can imagine, I’m quite nervous that my struggles in Uganda will reoccur in the DR. I’m afraid I will spend my whole trip fighting anxiety and culture shock and miss out on the beautiful adventures to be taken hold of.

           

THE IMPENDING FUTURE

            Since my trip to the Dominican Republic, I have been making lists and plans trying to figure out how to make all my big ideas happen. I moved back in with my parents to save money and began an internship with The Element at St. Peters to continue to gain experience in the general direction I feel headed. That direction has slowly shifted though, and I’ve decided to attend seminary and get a Masters of Divinity when I return from the DR.

            The idea of seminary has attracted me since I was in junior high. I know that a handful of you who read my blog posts don’t understand this drive due to the fallen and crooked state of many churches, but for strange reason I love the church however broken it may be. I have seen it build strong and open communities and help people get to and from dreaded doctors appointments. I have seen it embrace and build lasting friendships with the special needs community. The church has led me pursue healing and guidance in my anxiety, it has supported my artistic expression and writing, and it has given me a community of understanding people to go to when God feels dead inside of me. The church is broken, but it has so much potential. My eventual hope is to work to develop short-term and long-term mission trips so that they build up communities and cultures instead of harming them. I desire to work to expand the worship arts (whether it be music, photography, painting, writing) and help prevent the disintegration of local artistry. Simply, I desire that God would continue what he started when he created waterfalls and birds and sunsets and babies and NASCAR drivers and mystics and scientists and all the unknown creatures beneath the sea. Perhaps I’m an idealist, but it has worked for me so far.

That being said, for all of this to happen, for me not to back out too soon before I sense a coming comfort, for lives to be loved and churches to be changed, I’m going to need the support of anyone who has read to this point. I’m in need of prayer. I will try to sit down this week and make a list of specific anxieties that I feel I need to overcome. I will post them here and I ask that if you feel led to pray or encourage me in any of those ways, that you would not only pray but let me know you’re praying. I’d love to return the favor. If you feel specifically led to help by supporting me financially please get in touch with me personally through facebook (I’d really rather not come back from the DR completely broke but I am ready to do so). Please don’t give financially unless you are truly feeling led in that direction. Lastly, If you would like to support me and those options don’t suit your fancy, please don’t refrain from commenting/sharing. Ask questions about the journey I’m on and start conversations with me. Keep me thinking and working toward something important. I hope the “somethings” you’re working toward are important too.

I can’t begin to put into words how much I value each of you for taking the time to read this and for being interested.

You are my church.

You are a crucial member in making change.

Your own adventure awaits, whatever it may be.

MY THREE GIANT ISSUES WITH FACEBOOK CULTURE

A picture of me, sick and without makeup, sitting alone, at a computer, for an hour, writing this for you.

My Three Giant Issues With Facebook Culture

I thought about deleting Facebook.

I thought about blocking people.

I decided to post this instead.

1)It’s All an Illusion.

This is the issue everyone constantly recognizes but still lets it affect them. If you are under the age of 25 and complaining that you will never get married or have children, you have let this effect you. If you think that everyone is doing fun adventurous things while you sit bored on your couch, you have let this affect you. Everyone posts the most glamorous and fun parts of their life on social media. You, as a user, only receive the good parts of others lives while still going through your own not-so-ideal circumstances. This means you are giving yourself the constant burden of other peoples’ high points. They may be miserable, but they aren’t telling you.

Facebook has become a power struggle. You want to feel “right” or “cool” so you post something in order to receive affirmation about your opinions. Then you sit and stare at your phone as you let the likes roll in. If you receive enough likes, you feel affirmed. If you don’t, you don’t think anyone cares about this part of your life that you enjoyed or found humorous or interesting.  So then you start lying to yourself. You decide that you should post things that look cool or interesting to other people, things that may not have been good at all, but in order to get affirmation you give it a silly caption and wait.

Last week I posted a picture after I decorated my room. I got a bunch of response on social media, but really I just wanted someone to come over and talk to me in the space that I created. I didn’t feel the satisfaction of sharing coffee on my bed. I didn’t get to talk about why the things I put up on my wall were important to me. After people liked it, it was forgotten and I now know I should have just invited people over. I recognize that.

American culture has lost a lot of spirituality. It used to be that things would happen and people would see them as signs from God. Fate/karma/blessings would fall into our hands and we would recognize them. Even if people were wrong about what the events meant, they were allowed to backtrack and say “I was wrong” because they didn’t document it with hundreds of people on social media. I think we have replaced a bit of this spiritual thinking with the way we interact online. I put something out there not knowing who will see it. I trust that people will log on to their computers and look and understand. When I have a lot of people respond, I applaud myself for cleverness. When no one responds, I have been unsuccessful.

This isn’t real life. This really isn’t spiritual. Sometimes silence is exactly what I need in order to find clarity. Sometimes I need to feel lost or alone in order to allow myself to be free. Maybe I should be posting that I had horrible lice two months ago, lice that left me crying alone in my apartment. Lice that got me to call my Mom and drive home at midnight just so that I could have someone help me dump chemicals on my head and comb through my thick hair. Or maybe I should post that I threw up on stage at church last Sunday while singing the first song. I was and continue to be sick and congested and overwhelmed by my lack of movement and adventure. I feel unsuccessful because I sit and look at others successful moments all day. Maybe I should post these heavier things… not in a way that makes people laugh and applaud, but to say sometimes I feel broken as well. Where all my broken people at? That’s the kind of affirmation I could truly appreciate. And if I hear no response, I can simply be content with my confession and transparency.

2) Instant Gratification.

There is a man in Houston that I have come to know. Each week, he carves out some time to write letters to people all around the world. Somehow, he began writing me letters and I have been greatly moved by the exchange.  Today I sat down to write to him. I let him know about my big and frightening plans for this next year. I talked about my dreams and the things that make me feel like I can fly. I told him my favorite color for the first time and I thanked him for his commitment to reach out to others. Then, I spent way too long addressing the envelope, writing his name in multiple pens, and putting a stamp on it. I put a leash on my dog and walked barefoot out to the mailbox. I dipped the corner of the letter in some rainwater that had just fallen to the ground moments before. I went from tiptoeing on the side of the street to pausing for a moment so that Holly could relieve herself on my neighbor’s lawn. I carefully placed the card in the mailbox and pushed it in so that it had settled. Then I waited uncomfortably for a moment. The fact that I was not hearing back right away really bothered me then. I wanted an instant response. Don’t get me wrong, I love sending letters, but it is a definite exercise of my patience and will. It means that I have to think fondly of someone who is not present with me at the moment, whose name doesn’t pop up on my computer screen through some algorithm. I have to be intentional about sitting down with paper and pen (or typewriter in some cases). I must carefully address and package the letter, make a trip to the mailbox, and put it in. Most importantly, I must wait for a response. This is a lost art. Email, text, Facebook is great. Calling on the phone is fantastic; but sitting down and meditating on your friendship with another person for 30 minutes can change your relationship. I hope to become much better at this.

3)The Wall of Social Anxiety is Broken Down

This one is the hardest for me seeing as I am an introvert who struggles with anxiety. For those of you who know me, you know that I tend to be quite unvocal about political matters. I rarely pick a side. Being born into a mostly liberal Canadian atmosphere and moving to the suburbs of Houston where conservatism reigns strong taught me to be quiet and listen. I honestly understand both sides. Both ways are right in different contexts. Facebook has been full of political standpoints for me lately. People spouting off what they think is most important. They think that they will change the world by letting people know what they think. People like me sift through the posts from biased sites to fall upon actual information. Because people aren’t afraid to post anything, my anxiety is heightened. You might say “Alison, just unfriend the people who are posting such outlandish statements”, but I care about people too much. It’s not that I don’t want to hear people’s opinions. It’s that I want to talk about them in person over a beer. I want to have dinner with you and hear how you are and what you think; but instead of that, next time I see you I will be afraid to talk to you because I was an immigrant once.

This is all just to say be careful out there. Although it is new and important and good, like all good things, it can be dangerous and harmful. Don’t post things you wouldn’t share over coffee in public. Don’t believe everything you see and hear. Call people to meet in your bedroom that you carefully decorated. Write letters to people you miss. Don’t forget that in order for people to post things on the internet, that means they had to sit by themselves at a computer or a phone and take time in solitude to do so.

I thought about deleting Facebook.

I thought about blocking people.

I decided to post this instead.

Be careful, be loved, and know that if you are ever feeling burdened (whether I know you well or not) that I am here to listen, pray, and understand the frustrations of the world alongside you.

Thanks for reading

Trying to dig up the gifts that I've buried.

Not to be boastful, but I was raised to be quite modest.
I rarely talk about myself in a promotional manner and I have trouble sharing big things that are going on in my life... even with the people closest to me. I soon forget about them after they happen because I don't talk about them, and quickly I forget what initially stirred me emotionally. 
That being said, I've kind-of done the same thing with this blog. I should be better about talking about myself, but I start to tell myself that I'm being whiney or obnoxious and I put the computer away.

I have trouble receiving compliments as well. I never thought this to be true until I started sharing my music with people and realized that I didn't believe them when they said I had a good voice or that I had written a great song. I thought they were being nice. It always sort of ended there. I would forget that I had written a song I was proud of and I would wonder why none of my well developed and thought up projects ever took off. I stopped sharing things and became a hoarder of my art. I would write mass amounts of poetry and songs, and the only people I would share it with were two beautiful friends who lived in a different country. I took their compliments, but I kept all of them at an arms length. I thought "maybe if I sing for these friends that I love and respect (and that live really far away), then I will become comfortable singing for everyone". But that wasn't the case and I still have trouble standing up with a guitar and playing my songs for people. I still feel inadequate and undeserving of attention, and I still don't let people see my gifts because I am afraid that their compliments are true.

Art is not easy to make. Whether it is painting, writing, singing, or acting; it is an emotionally exhausting exercise (not to mention expensive to market). I've hit the point in my creative process where I'm worn out. I'm not saying that I have writers block or that I am not creating anything. I'm actually writing more than I ever have before. I've written at least one poem every day for the last month. I've written three songs in the last week. The issue is that no one knows... and that I don't know how to tell them. When I finish a song or a poem, I want to show it to everyone. I want them to smile and dance and say "wow, that moved me". I want them to react because I've exhausted myself making it. On the other hand though, what if I get the attention I seek? What if they are right about what I make and they decide they want more? 

What if their compliments are true?

Then I will have to be vulnerable and make more music. Then I will have to pour myself deeper and deeper into my poetry because they may show more people what I make. This is not intrinsically negative, but it is exhausting. 

What if the compliments are true, and I pour myself out, and then the reactions stop?

Will I be alright with creating if no one cares anymore? Will I feel unheard and unappreciated? Will I create for creations sake like I did at first, just to explore something new and colorful... just to feel newness in the wrinkles of my hands. Just to say "This is good" to myself?

When God created everything, did he want more the way that I am aching for it right now? Didn't he want to share it with someone? He created a variety of people just so that they could join him in chanting "It is good". He took the compliments and when he saw that people didn't recognize his art, when he saw that people didn't recognize what he made for them, he said "I want to understand where you are coming from so that I can make more, just for you". 

I feel the frustration of God. I understand what he must feel when people drive past a field of flowers and instead of opening their windows to smell them, they open their window to flick off their neighboring car. I feel in my core that I was created to mimic The Lord's creating heart. Right now, that heart is aching for someone to listen to it beating. Its music is for the listener. 



I had a good friend of mine give me his memoir to read. I was in a phase of life where my attention span was shot, and I couldn't sit down for half a second to read anything. I read it anyway though, because I respected this friend and I was intrigued to learn more about him through his writing. I flew through the memoir with ease because I was reading about a friend. I was reading someones heart. With every book I have picked up since, I have approached it the same way. I have become dear friends with the writer through the process of reading. I have been moved by every sentence because I understand that it was written to be read by my eyes. It was written to be a vulnerable expression of life. Its words are a connection from one beating heart to another.

I have not thought out this post as well as I normally do. It was more cathartic than anything, but I really feel as though I need to make a declaration:
I am going to honor my gifts better. 
I am going to let myself be seen and heard and read. 
I am going to share my stories and poems and songs without fear of silence, because that is what God does. 
I am sorry if in the future I annoy you with my art. 
I will share with you what He has given me; 
because he has shared with me, and I am overflowing with reverence.



That being said. I am really thinking about self publishing a book of poems for the church. God is calling art back into the church and I want to be a part of answering this call. This will not be an easy feat and I am prepared for the battle, but I need your help. I need support, I need encouragement, and I need a lot more faith in what I have been gifted in. Please let me know if you have any interest in this book. It won't happen unless I am sure that it will sell.

Thanks for reading,
I'd love to hear your thoughts.

-Alison

You have the constitution of the constellations
if they were multiplied four-score.
And we breathe them in as you breathed them out before.

O Maker
O Creator
from dust to dust again.
But though our world is a speck in your eye,
you've made it your delicate plan.

Let us cast ourselves upon the colors
of the coral in your sea of grace,
and endlessly pursue
the ageless rivets in your face.