I'm looking for work. Obviously. And in that search, I found a site looking for writers to write about faith. I applied, was accepted and told to pitch some ideas. I pitched 10. That is how excited I was. One pitch was accepted, an article that examined women, abuse and faith. I interviewed, researched and wrote and sent it back to the editor. "Good," he said. "But what authority do the women have to make these claims?"
I was confused. I wrote him back explaining their experience and their credentials. Fine, he said. "But why do you state that Christianity perpetuated their abuse?" I pointed out the grammar, it wasn't a statement, just a question. I pointed to my sources who ask the same question, to the testimony of the women who too had asked that same question. I offered to tweak the wording. But it wasn't good enough. After a 15 minute phone call, he blurted, "This is irresponsible of you and it's irresponsible writing!"
To which I calmly replied. "You are part of the problem. I never want to write for your publication." And hung up.
A week later, the story was accepted for publication at another magazine.
I sent the link to the editor who questioned the article's responsibility. I didn't comment, just sent the link, to which he replied: "It's ashame [sic] that this didn't work out with [name removed]. I wish you luck Lyz, though I must say that your comment during our last conversation that "people like [me] are part of the problem in the church" was entirely uncalled for and shows an incredible ignorance of who I am and the editing/writing I've been doing for over 10 years. I certainly hope that in any future editorial relationships you might have that you're able to display more maturity and professionalism than you've shown here."
I think I am going to print that out and frame it. Because, never in my life have I done anything more professional than hanging up on that editor. And that means a lot coming from me, the eschewer of the pants suit. I am not airing all of this to display how horrible that editor was or to suggest we attack his house with pitchforks. Rather, to say that I think this is an unexamined issue in a lot of our lives and we all think we are good people. Even the pastors in the story I wrote, thought that their behavior was exemplary as they sent the women back to their abusive husbands. And isn't that the problem? The harm we perpetuate in the name of "good."
I think anything I say about this topic is going to sound preachy or shallow. But I want you to know how real this is for me. How closely the pain experience by these women is wrapped into how I have seen the world. I taped each interview. And I had to listen to them over an over, transcribing them. The woman Suzanne, who still fears for her life, was the hardest to transcribe because of her voice, cracked and ruined by chemo treatments. One woman I couldn't even name, because she is so close, and so dear and still hiding. But more important than me is the stories of each of these women.
Please read it, please pass it along.
Here are the first two paragraphs:
I can't tell you her name or how I know her. This is because she is still living with her husband despite years of emotional and physical abuse. He's cheated on her and cleaned out their bank account to spend on drugs, pornography and online gambling. She left him briefly after a young girl accused her husband of molestation, but she went back to him after a week. Why? I asked her.
She told me that a woman spoke at their church a couple weeks before. The speaker explained how her husband used to be violent, but she didn't leave him because she knew that God's plan for a marriage was that it should last forever. Once, the husband's violence put their baby in the hospital. When he saw what he'd done, he repented and was never violent again.
"That's why I went back," the woman told me. "What if it doesn't end?" I asked. But the woman didn't answer. The conversation was over.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Still hiding
Monday, March 23, 2009
Friday, March 20, 2009
Bemused acceptance
The many faces of Dave. This is Dave watching as his beloved Fighting Sioux hockey team get their frozen butts handed to them by the UMD Bulldogs. Look closely, he is at once amused by the failure and deeply perplexed. I recieve this same look when he discovers that while we do have 5 containers of sour cream, we are completely out of milk and have been for two weeks. Why? I cannot say. I go to the store for milk and somehow only come back with Coke, sour cream and three new books from the library. Bemused acceptance. And all I can do is give him Fonz-thumbs(aaaayyy). It's been working so far.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Recession? What recession?
I got an email from a friend who asked me if I had been affected by the recession. This is what I told him...
beyond getting recessioned from my job; currently working part-time at a salary that's not even a quarter of what I used to earn; loosing quite a bit of my investments; my dad (former corporate lawyer for an insurance company...oh did I tell you about the FBI, my dad, and the ponzi scheme he ratted out to the
Kansas attorney general? which is all completely recession related...and there is murder in that story*) and my brother (a structural engineer) both losing their jobs because of the recession...this financial crisis has not hit home at all. Bad
economy? What bad economy?
But today, as I did homework (i.e. read novels), I realized that with all of this sunshine and reading makes me want to be unemployed forever. I have been getting a lot of career advice from people. Here are some of my favorites:
"Make a lot of money so I can save it." (Yep, from the Dave himself)
"Just do what you like." (I do, but so far no one has handed me wads of cash for sitting in my underpants and reading novels.)
Remember back when I said, I'd do what it takes? Well, several job applications later, even the local coffee shop has eschewed the Lyz in favor of more pubescent employees. So, I am keeping on keeping on, or whatever mindless circular logic you'd like to use: it is what it is. I hate that one. I am not writing to whine though. I am writing to say that lately I feel like some whistling hobo who appears in some 40s movie to say, "as long as I got a book in my hand and the sun on my face, I'm happy."
I've had these moments in my life before. Of intense calm and stillness. And while I can be frustrated by them, I find them soothing. I told Dave last night, that I wondered what would come next. So far in our 3.5 years we've navigated, death, loss, near death, crazy Korean grandmasters, floods, interactions and situations that probed painful tapestries of secrets, and mini-dachshunds that are out for blood. "How do you know something will happen next?" Dave said, "can't we just sit on the couch and watch House forever?" "Nice thought, but it's life," I said. I just hope whatever comes next brings chicken nuggets, because right now, I can't afford to buy them."
*Remind me to tell you that one.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
My husband can best be described through this clip from Family Guy
Sometimes when Dave lectures me about putting my feet up on the coffee table or running around in my underwear, I am reminded that I did marry Mr. Establishment himself.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
The ring effect
The other day before kickboxing, I pre-partied in the gym's co-ed sauna (don't worry we wear clothes). I have to get to kickboxing early because apparently there are a lot of people in town who just love getting the crap kicked out of them by the ever popular, always skinny instructor. Leading me to assert this fact about Americans: we're masochists. Nine times out of ten, when I leave class I want to leave a flaming bag of poo on her front step. The other one time, I want to car bomb her. And all of these masochist take my parking spots. So I go, pre-party in the sauna and then get my butt kicked. Go home. Sounds fun. I wonder why more people don't work out more often. Anyway. Usually the sauna is SUPER busy. And I have to squeeze in next to other smelly sweaty, usually hairy people. And no one talks to me. Sometimes I get a "hi" and then, nothing. They talk to one another, and sometimes I try to join in, but I get the "I'm sorry, did you hear something?" vibe. I am sensitive to it because you know, I went to high school and I wasn't cool.
Last week, something weird happened. I had sauna friends. Everyone was talking to me, we were all chatty and happy and we talked about the economy and every gross hairy sweaty white person in the sauna all agreed we want to lick Obama, because we love him. And I thought, maybe, they just needed to warm up to me.
Then the next week. Nothing. All my new sweaty friends, pretended like they didn't see me. And that's when I recalled, last week, I didn't wear my wedding ring. And I think we had a little bit of this going on...
Why does Scrubs apply to most of my life situations?
