A Particularly Inflammatory Response to a Particular Trend on the Internet Known as KONY 2012.

I am not going to lie: trends on Facebook, Twitter, and all sorts of social media really annoy me. Here's why:
They are trends. Which means they are cool one moment, and incredibly lame a few moments (or days) later.
Trends are constantly in flux. They change all the time. Remember the eighties? Okay, neither do I, because I was born in the nineties, but you get my point. There was a point in time when fluffy bangs and dressing like you were about to workout all the time was the biggest trend in fashion. If you dress like that now, I can promise you, we will make fun of you. And if you workout in stirrup leggings, legwarmers, and a sweatshirt that slips off one shoulder, then I just feel bad for you. I digress. Trends are not relegated merely to the fashion world. In the last decade, with the advent of social media, there are now topics that are "trending." On Facebook, it means massive amounts of likes, reposts, and shares. On Twitter, it means hashtagging and retweeting. YouTube trends equal millions of views, with an equal number of "like" or "dislikes." It all gets rather tiresome to be honest. Did I create a "What People Think I Do" photo for my Facebook? No. Do I hashtag my tweets? Rarely. Do I watch a YouTube video simply because it has for some reason gone viral? Maybe.
The current trend of all of social media is this "movement" called KONY2012. You know what I'm talking about. If you don't, then you have no friends on Facebook, or you probably aren't on Facebook, or you definitely aren't reading your newspaper.
I have not watched this thirty minute video. One, because I am fasting from YouTube for Lent. Two, I don't have that long an attention span. But I have read a few articles, and read the newspaper article in today's Metro. And I knew who Joseph Kony is,what the LRA is, and what Invisible Children is probably five years ago, which is more than I can say for the majority of people who are caught up in this veritable whirlwind of trending social justice.
For example, I happened to click on someone's Facebook and looked at their wall. Here is what I saw: ******* changed their profile picture (to a KONY2012 ad), 7 posts all saying "************ posted a link to *********'s wall" then "********* is attending Kony 2012 "Cover the Night", and best of all, "******** likes 'Invisible Children." I mean, I literally LOL'd.... Talk about making yourself look like the ultimate bandwagon-jumper.

And I know I sound totally judgmental, but I have to say this: a lot of people I see getting on this trend are people who have never before shown an interest in anything remotely related to social justice. Ever. These people could have cared less about child soldiers and a Ugandan guerrilla until Facebook made it cool. It looks like a pathetic attempt to validate themselves as human beings by clicking "like," "I'm Attending," and throwing some cash at an organization.

I do not want to negate those who are genuine. I believe Invisible Children, before all of this, had a great mission and was doing a lot for the former child soldiers, providing sponsorship, schooling, etc. But this campaign to make famous the "Worst Known War Criminal" and make "the world know who he is" (sounds contradictory...?) seems a departure from that. True, I haven't seen the video. Yet from what I have seen, it is sensationalized beyond all belief: Joseph Kony is in hiding; the LRA now numbers maybe 200, and the atrocities Kony committed began in the 1980s. I didn't see anyone "liking" Facebook groups and offering to plaster a town with anti-Kony posters, lobbying for the US to bring him down. 

I get it: I'm ranting. I get it: I look insensitive.

And not that it matters to anyone, but I am incredibly passionate about social justice. I am pro-all life, because all life is sacred; which means I am against war, the death penalty, abortion, poverty, etc. That will make conservatives say I'm an idiot liberal (which they have before, and one of them is heading up "Cover the Night" in my college's town. Oh, the irony). Liberals will say that I am too conservative for not being "pro-choice." Whatever. It is all semantics. Point is, I don't care about people and problems in the world because a Facebook post, YouTube video, or even my friend told me to. I care because I'm informed about what it is that I care about. I care because I love people.

I'm not trying to put myself on a pedestal. I'm just trying to say, check your motives. If your motives are pure, then great. If this video has opened up a whole new world of social justice to you, great. Just don't let it be a trend. Let it change your life. Don't let it stop here. Let it continue into the next week, month, year, and decade. Live a life of justice.

The Wrong Way to Fast

"Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels." These words danced around in my head as I tried to work on homework yesterday afternoon. I could feel the skin of my tummy rolling together in uncomfortable creases. Why am I so damn FAT? "Nothing...tastes...as good...as...skinny....feels." I got up, and got some food.
That was the end of my fast for Monday. What had begun as a day to focus on growing spiritually in self-denial turned into a battle of the mind to fight thoughts of physical inadequacy and self-starvation. I never meant for it to turn into that, it just happened. I suppose that is what happens when you struggle not against flesh and blood, but against the spiritual forces of this present darkness.
Confession: I have a bad body image. I don't think my body is beautiful. In fact, I think it is quite unattractive. I fear becoming fat. I fear not being able to fit into my clothing.
This is what makes fasting so difficult for me.
There is a small sub-culture, propagated mainly over the Internet, called "Pro-Ana." 'Ana' is the personification of anorexia. I don't need to tell you what 'pro' means. One of these websites, usually blogs, is where I first read the phrase "Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels." It has stuck in my mind ever since, presenting itself when I am particularly struggling with my self-image.
This week has been difficult for that. I chose to fast yesterday, and *BAM* it turns into forcing myself to avoid food to avoid the calories. I chose, rightly, to end my fast pretty unceremoniously with some cheese, bell pepper, hummus, and a plum. I don't think God would have wanted me to continue my fast under such false pretenses as losing weight. I did, though, feel incredibly weak that I allowed my mind to be influenced by such a false statement.
But that is how it goes: best intentions so oft go awry.
So, how am I, a girl with eating disorder tendencies, supposed to follow the commandment of God to fast? The fasting isn't hard, it is keeping the right motive and mindset that presents such difficulty. It is always about the motives, the mind. I may never be able to fast on my own, I may have to have a friend fast with me to keep me accountable and intercede for me in prayer. Thank God for the fellowship of believers.
Let me say this: do not be deceived. The devil, Prince of this world, knows you. He knows your weaknesses. He plans around your strengths to prey upon you when you are weak. Whether you are strong in your faith or weak, young or old, a baby believer or not, he wants nothing more than to bring you down to ruins. He is quite good at it, too. But not as good as our God is at protecting us!
On that note, I am reminded of the story of Job. God allowed the satan to bring all the furies of hell upon Job, and did nothing to stop it, with this one exception: the satan could not take Job's life. I can't imagine how Job must have felt: alone, abandoned, definitely not protected. Yet never once did he deny the goodness of God. Incredible.
When the attacks of the devil come, will my God be allowing them, or protecting me from them? I can't say. But I do believe that, no matter my physical circumstances, the devil cannot control my mind. He may send demons and thoughts to attack it, but in the end it is I that can control my mind, through the power of the Holy Spirit.
So why did I go from fasting and anorexic thoughts to spiritual warfare? Because it is all interconnected. As I said earlier, our battle is not against flesh and blood (Ephesians 6:12). Spiritual warfare is a part of the daily life of a believer in Christ. We are a threat to the devil. How's that for a calling?
I have always struggled with my thoughts, controlling them, taking them captive to the obedience of Christ, etc. It is a daily battle for me.
That is just a little view into my world. Pray for me, pray for each other. And don't isolate yourselves.

In the depths of London she searches for a song.

Friday afternoon she reclines upon the mattress composed of springs and minimal padding. She reaches over, grabs a strawberry, and bites into it, caressing it with her lips as if it were her lover. Nothing has touched her lips besides the edge of a teacup or the steel of a utensil for a long while. She rubs her lips together, feeling the bits of chapped skin. The skin on your lips is thinner than other parts of your body, which accounts for it's speedy dehydration. She considers drinking some water. Water is so important for your skin, she reminds herself, and reaches past the strawberries for her water bottle. It tastes old, like barely chlorinated pool water. She shifts her weight, simultaneously smacking her gums, willing enough saliva to form and wash away the taste of decayed water.
Her sheets are a mess, wrinkled in snowy rivulets and mounds. The tiny rips show the tan-and-cream striped mattress beneath, How many people have slept on this same mattress, she thinks to herself. How many men, women, children, homeless, rich? The window, pushed open for ventilation, allows the sounds of the city to waft over her. The consistent drone of construction machinery, revving of a car's engine, scraping of shovels on concrete, indistinguishable chatter of pedestrians, these are the sounds of London. She thinks to the sounds that she loves so well: the wind fingering its way through fragile spring leaves; birds voicing their refrains in the cool of the morning or evening; the soft breathing of nature, rustling and stretching, surrounding itself around her; his voice in the morning whispering "I love you" as he heads off to another day of work. None of these are here in the city. They are thousands of miles away, an ocean and a continent between, it seems. It always seems.
Pollution and clouds filter the sunlight that comes through the open window. No streams of yellow light here, just a one-dimensional glow, nearer to a fluorescent bulb than sunlight. I think that is why kids have so much trouble staying awake in school, she decides: fluorescent lighting. The teachers always keep the blinds closed to prevent distraction, locking the students into an artificially lit box while they lecture. This city light, with its density of smog, is almost the same as those lights: dim and dampening of the senses. Though not always: there was five minutes of unadulterated incandescence in the West End this afternoon; and yesterday, she reminds herself, yesterday I ran in the park with the sun in my face. It is not always so dark.
She yawns. I wonder how silly I look when I open my mouth like a lion, she vaguely wonders. Not important. Moving on.
I want to run, she decides. But not today. Her muscles are too sore today. Tomorrow in the park, she tells herself, smiling. A real park in the middle of a city: trails, animals that are not wearing jackets, booties, or leashes, and grass. She misses the feel of the cool of shaded grass upon her bare toes: the thin soft grass of the north, Kentucky Bluegrass, rather than the stiff carpet of St. Augustine in the south. She doesn't even know what kind of grass grows in London. Most of the green spaces are dirt and pigeons. Oh, how she longs for the solitude of nature. Not solitude as in being alone, but solitude as in remoteness. Away from the city, the noise... The noise, she realizes, is gone for a few seconds. Silence on this city street? She closes her eyes, imbibing the few moments of the song she has missed so much. Then a motorcycle guns its way down the pavement, its rider hurrying to God knows where.
Those few moments were enough, at least for today.

A Season for Growth

Lent: This will mark the second year I have observed Lent. Last year, however, was rather a disappointment. I chose to fast from Facebook, and I didn't make it longer than three weeks. Lent is 40 days, from Ash Wednesday to Easter Sunday. This year, I have chosen to fast from processed sweets, alcohol, and YouTube.
These three things are minor "strongholds" in my life. Processed sweets because I like food too much, alcohol because it is expensive, and YouTube because I spend much too much time watching silly videos.
In addition to fasting, I have added some disciplines to work on: Running daily (though allowing for a rest day here and there), redeeming my time, and working on not complaining/gossiping. Also, I am going to read through the New Testament in this Lenten season. That makes about 5-6 pages daily.
Not too difficult, right?
The reason I am observing the religious practice of Lent is simple: because I desire to cultivate growth in my relationship with God and I love Him. Religion without a love of God is worthless.
Today is the second day of Lent. I am already benefiting from this season of self-denial and self-discipline in preparation for the joy of Easter. I believe this season's importance to be equal with Easter, for the reason that practicing denying the self and taking up the cross intentionally reminds us that it is our purpose to draw close to the Creator and to become like Christ. He says "Be holy, because I am holy." Be set apart. In this culture where God has gone out of style, practicing religious self-denial sets one apart even more.
I read an opinion piece in The Sunday Times titled "Rise up, quiet unbelievers, and drive faith from public life." Beyond being slightly shocked, I was saddened to read that the author relegates faith and religion to a mere "tribal ritual." A commentator within the article admitted to attending Anglican services when he in fact retains no beliefs in a higher power. He only attends church because it is his "tribal" duty. (I can't post the link, because you have to be a paying subscriber to access online content).
With that mindset, no wonder faith finds itself relegated to the rubbish bin for most people of the twenty-first century. But there is a remnant. There remains those who desire to follow and worship God, not only in their actions, but how we are called: with all our heart, mind, soul, and strength.
And that is why I am observing Lent: to love the Lord my God, with all of my strength, with all of my mind, with all of my soul, and with all of my heart.
Running: Moving on to another of my favorite topics: running. My sister ran in a half-marathon last weekend, and that has renewed my desire to become a competitive runner. I am going to register for a half-marathon in the States, and a shorter race, probably a 10k, while I am here in London! Once my name is on a roster, there shall be no turning back! So, yesterday I ran (in the rain!) for three miles. My left calf muscle bugged me for the last mile and a half, but I kept plugging away, stopping twice to stretch it a little bit. This afternoon I went for time instead of distance, jogging for thirty minutes with a distance of about 2.6 miles. Not awful, but definitely NOT good. I'd like to be running at the least a ten-minute mile by the time I come back home. Tomorrow will be a rest day, and then Saturday I am going to head out to the end of the tube line to Richmond Park and do a trail run. There are TRAILS in London!! So excited! The trail is over 7 miles long, so that will be the long run for the week. I don't have a specific training schedule locked on yet, I am just kind of running and seeing how I'm feeling.

Anyway, I don't know who reads this (though I do have 3 followers o_o) but I feel that if I post about commitments I have made in these areas, I'll be infinitely more likely to finish. Plus, I kind of just like writing :)
Leave a comment if you have any running advice for me! Or anything to say, really.
Cheers!

Freedom...

Sounds like a personal problem.

I'm not snobby, I'm just antisocial.
I'm not mean, maybe I just don't have your sense of humor, or maybe I have just accepted the joys of honesty over pretense.
I'm not a bitch, I just like being alone.
But yes, I am elitist, if that means I hold my interests and intelligence to a higher standard than yours.
Maybe I don't like you because you have given me no reason to do so.
Maybe I don't like you because you're an idiot. I do have low tolerance for idiots.
I'm not at all what you think I am, I'm sure.
But I don't care if you don't like me, because I don't need your acceptance to make me feel worth something.
Yes, I have feelings under my Ice Queen exterior.
Yes, I actually have friends. I am just picky about who I let get that close.
I know I may come across as distant, rude, or judgmental. Take your pick. Just know this: Appearances aren't always the reality.

The Best Tea Drinker

After an English class, she murmurs to anyone who will listen, I always ponder why the hell I am even alive. Why can I not take a more clinical view of life and have majored in the Sciences. Everything has a prescribed meaning, a prescribed purpose. The Humanities affords no such free pass, as it were. Everything must be discovered, pondered, agonized over. It hurts to feel, she thinks as she smiles vaguely.

She heats a fresh kettle of tap water to boiling. It is always best to pour still-boiling water over a fresh teabag, she remembers reading on the package. Never mind the fact you have to wait ten minutes to even drink the tea, it must be boiling at the time of pouring. So that is what she does. Very clinical, this making of tea: heat freshly drawn water to boiling; pour over tea bag; let steep 3-5 minutes for best flavor; this tea is most often served with milk and a touch of honey. She stirs and gazes, and ponders the meaning of life.

Such a tired subject, this, the “meaning of life.” She has exhausted it a hundred times over in her mind and in discussion in class. It may take a different shape, but the general concept is always the same: how do we discover our purpose and live the best life possible?

Someone killed themselves yesterday on the Piccadilly tube line. She imagines the suicide clenching and unclenching their fists, their heart rate rising and falling as the subterranean wind tugs at their hair like an insistent lover. They look around for someone, anyone, to stop them. No one? They throw themselves forward onto the tracks, arms widespread like a pigeon taking flight. Then it is over in this life. A brief moment of terror and pain, and then…