Ever the Student

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I am slightly addicted to reading the news. I like to know what’s going on in my country. I like to know what’s going on in politics. I like to know what’s going on around the world. I like to know about new inventions and the state of our economy. I like to know about people who are shaping policy, leading armies, creating cures for cancer, developing the newest high tech gadgets, and of course, who's winning Grammy’s. I like to know what sports teams are winning what tournaments, and even though I can hardly listen to him without feeling compelled to sin on a severe level, I like to keep tabs on what Glenn Beck is preaching.

The best teachers? The articles in Vanity Fair. The Week Magazine. Foreign Affairs. The articles written by Richard Holbrooke and the incredible wealth of knowledge from the life of Henry Kissinger.  Men whose knowledge of foreign policy, love for diplomacy, and wisdom when the two collide comes as naturally to them as milk to a baby.  Richard Holbrooke passed away suddenly in December and I spent half the afternoon crying. Henry Kissinger recently offered commentary on the movement in Egypt, via Fox News, and I shushed Ryan as if I were listening to the first man landing on the moon. Like the Pope was about to announce the arrival of the end of times. Like Luciano Pavarotti was belting out his final note to the world.

Ryan, the great Henry Kissinger is speaking. Reverence please. Reverence.

So when I get a break from Annie, even though I know I should be writing, I often find myself scouring the news, catching up with the latest Foreign Affairs journal and texting my dad questions like:

"Emergency! What do you think are the drawbacks to START? Why isn't it being passed in its entirety? Confused. Write back asap!"

Or  "Why don't we implement sanctions on North Korea more heavily? Doesn't make sense to me. Head hurts. Write back asap."

Or  "DAAAAAAAD we are all going to die if the nuclear weapons in Pakistan get into the hands of a terrorist!!!!!!!! You HAVE TO STOP THEM. Write back ASAP."

I might have a little more faith in my dad's military career and super powers than I should. Still, he's my dad. And he's the guy that was smart enough to tell me to read Richard Holbrooke's articles in the first place, and he's the man who once did the Heimlich on me when I was choking on a banana and a bag of ruffles,  and he's the man who once used pliers to remove the retainer from my upper lip after I got it stuck jumping on the trampoline (trust me, it's possible), so I assume he can stop nuclear weapons too.  Or at least properly answer all my questions regarding the issues in the news that I don't quite understand.

I guess you get the point. I love studying the world. I am ever the student.

And not without cause.

This little girl was on the front row of our show last night in St. Louis. She was one of hundreds of little girls. Though there were also college students, young adults, and even dads who were there claiming to be 'our biggest fans' something about a room full of girls struck me. Struck me with glimpses of beauty and hope.

And, struck me with glimpses of fear.

Fear that they were listening to every word I said. Fear that they were singing my lyrics at the tops of their lungs. Fear that they looked at me as if I were important. Fear that when the song was over and my voice started speaking they might actually remember the words I say when they go back home, go to bed, and wake up the next morning to go back into the world.

It was not the kind of fear where I am actually afraid or stressed. Fear that steals peace or dominates your mind. Instead, it was the fear that the Bible talks about possessing when we go into God's presence.  A fear that is actually a form of humility and reverence. C.S. Lewis says it's the kind of fear that makes you "feel wonder and a certain shrinking" - not the kind of fear that makes you afraid of "ghosts and tigers." "It is a fear that comes forth out of your love for the Lord." (Problem of Pain). It is the kind of fear that our song, What Do I know of Holy, implies. A  state where you remember how small you are; how limited your scope; how big your Creator.

As the writer of this blog, a girl who has a platform to speak in front of thousands of people each year, a devoted citizen of humanity, and a follower of Christ, I find that besides time spent with Jesus, time spent reading the news is one of the most important things I can do each day. It gives me the education, information, and world view that is necessary to formulate educated thoughts and opinions on current events, policy, wars, and governments around the world. It helps me to stay relevant and connected with society at large. And it allows me to explore how my faith can, and should, intersect with the truths and realities of every day life for people living in California or Uganda. In France or India.  In Mississippi or Texas. In North Korea or Venezuela.

As a girl who longs to be a part of creating positive change in the world, I am committed to ongoing education. Not because I’m smart or pretentious, not even because I always enjoy it, but simply because I have a responsibility to present truth to these little girls with pig tails who are listening to every word that I say... I am responsible to speak truth because they are listening, because they are our future, because God requires it. Speak truth.

And truth doesn’t just arrive on your door step.

You look for it. You seek it out. You put filters up and sift through the partisan rhetoric, media frenzy, and half-baked stories and you look for the real story. The real problem. The real bottom line. You surround yourself with good teachers, and you sit at their feet and learn. And you ask God to guide you in truth; revealing perhaps the most profound truths in the world by simply watching the leaves blow off of a tree or by reading a passage of scripture in a completely new way; the Holy Spirit teaches an open and willing heart.

Last night reminded, yet again, that to whom much is given, much is expected. For those of us who have a platform, we also have a profound responsibility to lead people with integrity towards truth and away from ignorance. We have a responsibility to be knowledgeable about what we claim to believe and about the world we live in.

We don’t have to be scholars. I certainly am not. But to shirk knowledge, is to shirk the ability to fully know and discover truth.

Last night I was reminded of my own responsibility.

Heavy thoughts for a Friday afternoon, I know. But as I sit here in Kayak coffee shop across the street from Washington University and watch professors and students walking in and out; cracking books to study; getting ready to take on the world; I am reminded again how important knowledge is.

I hope that anyone we choose to put on a pedestal, anyone who has a platform, anyone who uses their voice to persuade...  be it pastor, politician, or president... would seek knowledge.  Not for the sake of pride, but for the sake of competency.

And I hope that if they do not do so, those of us listening to their voices will hold them accountable and demand that the voices we listen to be

faithfully-  academically-  spiritually-

wholeheartedly

Engaged.

With people and the pursuit of knowledge.

Ever the student, my prayer today is to lead, in the limited capacity that I have been given,  with knowledge and integrity. Not for my sake, but for the sake of those little girls...

who look to me

to tell the truth.

Two Versions of the Story

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The Enchanted Version...

I will only disclose a few details.

I drove down this dirt road.

I went through these doors.

I found this sunset on the back deck.

I sat in these chairs, with these blankets,  sipping this wine until the sky turned pink and grew dark.

I sat at this table early in the morning sipping coffee. There was a woodpecker with a little red nose on the tree outside the window. I watched him for an entire hour.

I wrote the outline for my book in this window sill. Themes. Stories. Ideas. They flooded in past midnight.

And then I celebrated with this bowl of heaven.  Half a pound of 43% Venezuelan chocolate with two huge tablespoons of peanut butter.

Melted.

And it was good.

The Real Version...

About half way through the drive from Dallas to this secluded lake house the thought occurred to me, "I wonder if I can make it on my own?" I'm sure this sounds silly to those of you who are single or younger or highly independent. But I've spent almost nine years married to a man who sort of runs the show (behind the scenes, that is). I just show up and exist. It's actually a very spoiled, charmed life he has created for me. Pathetic, I know.

Now drop me off at any airport and I can navigate myself through cabs, bus rides, subway systems, hotels, and any other big city conundrum the world can throw at me- all by myself, like a big girl, I can do it. But a cabin? Where I have to go outside and turn the water on? Cook my own food? Figure out how to flip breakers and get the heat to work and settle down to go to sleep by myself in the pitch black dark, in the middle of the woods? I started to slightly panic as I pulled off onto my third farm road.  This one without asphalt. Just gravel.

When I got to the lake house it was really cold inside. Really. Cold. I thought my lips were turning blue. I thought my fingernails were turning purple. I thought I would have to spend the night in my car (it was warmer outside than in the house by 20 degrees or so). I found a blue Snuggie and officially apologized for all the times I have belittled the Snuggie.  I went outside, found cell phone signal, and texted Ryan: my lips are turning blue.

He didn’t believe me.

I came back in and settled down on the couch. And that's when I heard a critter. A real live critter.

There was a critter upstairs. I am sure of it. I heard it eating and licking its paws and scampering around. I froze. I thought it was walking down the stairs. I looked for a weapon but I couldn't find anything in arm's length. I was about to be attacked by an animal who had been pent up in a meat locker. I made a run for it.

I ran outside, arm in the air, waving my phone around looking for a signal. I texted Ryan: there is a critter in the house.

He said to go back in scream and run around the house with a broom to scare it.

So I did. I ran in circles with a broom screaming at the top of my lungs.

Come er’ racooney cooney cooney. Here varmint varmint varmint. Here critter critter critter.

I screamed out loud. And ran around scared out of my mind swatting the broom in the air and hitting the staircase with it. for a solid five minutes.

Nothing.

The critter went into hiding. And I lived with the knowledge that I would be eaten in my sleep.

I talked out loud to myself all weekend. It was too quiet. So I simply made an agreement with myself early on: If I think it, I will speak it loud. “Are we ready to eat? YES!!! Let’s eat!!!” “Should we nap? YES WE CAN!” I found myself chanting Obama campaign slogans out loud and then doing the Arsenio Hall hoo-hoo-hoo around the house. Ok, confession, I also sang "I'm Proud to be An American" at least two... maybe... three times through at the top of my lungs while running around the house, doing a patriotic dance. You might think I'm making this up- but sadly- this is an entirely true story. I might be clinically insane (though delightfully happy).

I decided it was time for wine and book reading by the water while the sun was setting.

I couldn’t open the wine bottle. It never occurred to me that I had never opened a wine  bottle by myself. It reminded me of the fact that it never occurred to me to learn how to light a match until my senior year of high school. Once I realized I couldn’t do it, my mom laughed at me and said she thought it was common knowledge- as if you just wake up one day and learn to light a match??? Yeah right mom. Then it was too late. I earnestly tried to learn, but I feared for my finger. I didn’t want to lose a finger. I hadn't even made it to college yet. If you’re going to lose a finger it’s got to happen way after college. I would strike the match on a matchbook and then drop it or throw it.

My dad thought I was going to burn the house down. He suggested I stick with those little stick thingies that light with the click of a finger.

Anyways, I learned to light a match later in life. And after fifteen minutes and two blisters on my hand, I learned to open a wine bottle too.

After an evening on the lake I went back to the meat locker. “I hate that no one ever believes me. I might die of hypothermia,” I said out loud.

I go to the bathroom for the first time. I open the lid to the toilet. There is a solid sheet of ice. I try to flush. In retrospect, trying to flush might not have been the best idea. I really needed to pee but I didn’t want it to bounce back up on me, or worse, re-freeze and make yellow ice. So I tried flushing and it didn't budge.

I went to the kitchen and got a fork. I went back to the toilet and started to pick at the ice. It was deeper than I thought it was. A fork alone would not do the trick. I went back to the kitchen and filled up glasses of hot water. I poured it in and took my ice pick out. Pretty soon, I got three flushes of slushy toilet water down. I finally had an open bowl. A landing strip. I could relieve myself.

At 2:00 a.m. I had had enough. I got the biggest flashlight I could find and I went on a hunt for the critter who was licking his paws and eating. It was all very Blair Witch Project. And then I found him. Whoever he was. He was running around inside the ceiling... and I went to bed peacefully dreaming of a little squirrel family, The Nelsons, who sang songs and worked their days away in the ceiling of a lovely lake house.

And that's it people. There's no proper way to end this story. I've thought about it. And there really is no ending. After getting over my fears and spastic tendencies, I spent the rest of the weekend eating fruit, cheese, and bread and writing my little heart out. And besides a big black poisonous spider that hung out in the shower and made it impossible for me to bathe... it was the perfect getaway from the world.

And I did it all by myself.