Not Guilty

Which isn't the same as innocent.

This Michael case reminds me so much of OJ. I wonder how it can go fairly or clearly with a superstar. I wonder if it is harder to put away our icons. Perhaps there is no way to convict him based on the evidence the jury saw. But it just doesn't feel right.

What does it take to reach justice?

Concentration Camps for Dogs

How to torture pets for $14.00 per day!

Rocky, our little neurotic rescue dog, is now about two years old and happily a member of our family (despite unnerving pee-in-the-living-room incidents due to the tendency of Ohio to get COLD in the winter). We are about to abandon him in favor of HEAT in Italy.

Our neurotic little dog needs to be "kept" for us. We've now made several unsuccessful attempts to get dog sitters for him so I called the local vet about kenneling.

Today, I got to see the kennel...

::shudder::

Picture Schindler's List for pets. Everything in black and white, dogs barking from cramped crates, shower nozzels overhead...

These poor little dogs padded back and forth in these too tiny crates, yapping at us... "I don't belong here. I'm part cat!" The vet said, "Don't worry, they calm down. They don't bark when we're not in here."

And how would she know that?

We were reassured that the dogs were taken out of their crates for five minutes of hard labor twice a day. And if we could bring our dog's favorite chew toys, that would help. At that moment, I slid a glance dog-ward and noticed nary a chew toy in a single crate. Probably confiscated at the first strip search and collected for sale on the black market.

I will not leave little Rocky in a concentration camp. I am not heartless. But I am getting a mite desperate. Help! He needs a home for only eighteen days. Pwetty please?

Two movies worth seeing

Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants is the perfect chick flick movie, particularly for mothers and teen daughters. My teen daughter took me. I really loved it, in spite of some spotty dialog writing and some of the predictable story lines (leukemia does make an appearance designed to pull on the viewer's heart strings). Still, the acting by the quartet of young adult women surprised me. They brought originality and believability to their roles. Lots of tear-jerking moments. Lots of memories evoked from my history and those of friends.

I found myself wishing to be in a sisterhood (I usually loathe sisterhood movies) and to try on jeans with girlfriends. I wanted to make rules and break them. I wanted, in fact, to be sixteen again. That's its triumph.

I especially enjoyed the scenes set in Greece. Just the view of the white washed adobe homes tucked into the hillsides over the deep blue waters of the sea below made the rest of the movie worth it. Alexis Bledel plays the character of Lena whose only responsibility for the summer is to sketch Greece and fall in love. Works for me! She's got the best wardrobe in the movie too. And she was my favorite character.

Anyway, if you have an abundance of estrogen and a gal pal or teen daughter, go see this movie. Then stop by the thrift store for some vintage shopping.

Crash comes from an entirely different place and it seems odd to review both of these movies in the same post. Having grown up in the Los Angeles basin, I was attracted to the setting of the film even more than the themes, when I first heard of it. "Crash" explores the challenges of inter-racial tension, both the stereotypes and their origins. It also reverses expectations (how we are more complex than the stereotypes might indicate) by the last third of the film which packs a powerful emotional punch.

I found some of the racial slurs surprisingly direct (my experience as a southern Californian is that you don't say these things outloud for fear of being seen as a racist... not an attractive reputation to have in California). The movie explores repeated miscommunications through literal language gaffes as well as mistaken assumptions.

There are some supremely touching moments as well as the deepest kinds of terrors. The film is unrelenting in making you look. Living in Cincinnati where racial tensions between white police and the black community continue unabated year after year, I couldn't help but wish everyone would view this film. It not only showed us the basis for the stereotypes, but also the dangers inherent in imposed corrections to the problems. I came away feeling that no one has a solution, yet hopeful that humans would somehow triumph over hate in spite of the system.

Over it all, the white race continues to reign (unsteadily, uneasily, and even with some guilt). We do so by revising the rules that dole out benefits and blessings in limited ways, but these become twisted or immoral even in their attempts to be moral. Sandra Bullock played a role I could relate to - I grew up with women just like her.

Lots to think about in this movie. Visually, challenging and artistically conceived.

How hard is it supposed to be?

Really.

Sometimes when I wrangle with someone about faith issues, I'm told that I don't really understand the faith, that I've missed it in some key way. Perhaps, they reason, I never really did understand, never really knew God.

It's unthinkable to me that I could not have understood the faith "properly" enough to sustain it. I spent twenty plus years in it, teaching others about it, leading dozens and dozens of people to Christ, literally staking my life on my faith by moving to hostile places to share it, for example, with Muslims...

I prayed for healings, had words of knowledge, saw miracles (as we defined them), was slain in the spirit, led bible studies, spent hours upon hours praying (that deep meditative kind as well as the prayer journal kind as well as the breathing prayer kind), spoke in tongues, also railed against tongues (depending on what year you caught up with me as a Christian), attended weekly home groups, attended Bible studies for years, went to both John MacArthur's church and John Wimber's church (bastions of the two sides of evangelicalism), studied the Bible daily for years, read theology and the Christian classics (Lewis, Packer, Stott, Schaeffer, Yancy, and on and on), went to L'Abri, worked for a mission agency, lived as a missionary, listened to Christian radio, spoke at conferences, married a Christian, attended church every week, believed the orthodox tenets of the faith with all my heart, shared them and explained them to others, ghostwrote for John Wimber, wrote worship songs, worshipped, denied myself access to pop culture for ten years so that I would focus only on God...

I'm not sure what I didn't understand.

Some of my old friends are so slippery. They will read a list like the one above and find the crack - "Oh, she denied the culture. That's the problem. She didn't see God at work in the world." But if I had said that I had been in the world (which I was for ten of those years sharing my faith), then I would be told "Oh you were slimed by the world. You needed to remove yourself to get closer to God."

Is there no way to accept that someone went that far and deep into faith as outlined in most non-denom churches and then decided it didn't stand up to scrutiny, to testing, to reason? That it doesn't even hold together theologically?

I know one thing I never understood in all that time - that not everyone who calls herself a Christian sees Christianity through the expression of faith I outlined above. Christianity is much bigger than conservatives are willing to admit. They think they can just amputate whole groups and call them "non-Christians." It's galling.

Once you come to accept that other versions of faith may legitimately exist - wham. You are told: You never understood. You never really believed. You never really "got it."

Well, damn!

Why isn't it possible to understand and reject? What fear lurks behind that statement?

Is it possible that "understanding" is so shrouded that even those all the way in can't see it truly? Is that the kind of God we should worship - a God who plays mind games with his own children?

I don't mind if others continue to worship according to the creeds, according to the tenets of conservative Christianity. I'm on no mission to de-convert anyone. Rather, I'd simply like to be believed when I report my personal experience.

I was found and then I was lost.

I don't want my experience discounted just so the other person can protect herself from facing the fact that sometimes the three strand cord doesn't hold.

Shakespeare pix!

Noah is the dashing long haired youth sitting in the front. He played Orlando.



Here he is posing with congratulatory flowers.



His grandparents flew in from California just for the occasion.

We took more photos tonight, but alas we weren't allowed to take them during the show. Tonight's performance was just as special as last night's. The director is a gem. He got emotional about it coming to an end. He told me that this group of students has become an ensemble. They went from being kids who act to becoming their own troupe. They got to know each other as actors, not just as friends. Their mutual admiration was evident in the generous way they act together. Such a supportive, non-competitive group of teens.

The Bard continues to bring bonding through the centuries.

Congratulations Noah.

Overheard: Inuyasha

From my kids' favorite anime cartoon...

"But why did the demons eat my parents? Why? Why?"

"Maybe the demons have reasons of their own. We cannot know all the answers."

Sounds vaguely familiar...

Noah Rocks!

I'll post photos after Jacob downloads them tomorrow.

What a great night! I can't express how much I love the Shakespeare company in this town. They have been our church, really. This group of actors and theater people are our niche that lets us know we fit into Cincinnati somehow.

Noah opened the play (first line) and took command of the stage. His character is love sick throughout which was fun to watch. He even got to "kiss the girl" (main character) at the end of the show and we had fun teasing him about it (she's a gem). Noah got to be in a couple of fight scenes but particularly a wrestling match at the beginning of the show. He and the partner in the match have been in lots of Shakespeare scenes over the years, even ones which included fighting (Tybalt and Mercutio being the most recent). We got such a kick out of seeing them go at it again.

If you have teenage boys who seem disinterested in Shakespeare, I always suggest teaching them to act out a fight scene. Stage combat quickly makes Shakespeare very cool.

I was especially gratified to see how much Noah has gorwn as an actor. Both Jon and I saw that he had composure, stage presence, a well-developed characterization and was both loud and clear throughout. He's taller than lots of actors and with his long hair, he really does have that Shakespearean look about him. He loves the language. He made the audience laugh as well as engaged them in the story. I was very proud.

I, too, was a theater kid in high school and was in every show we did all four years. My mom was a theater major in college. It was really special to be there together (my mom and me) watching the next generation perform and fall in love with the power of acting.

Jon and I've watched the Shakespeare camp performances for years. They usually do a scene with another actor that lasts about five minutes with some ensemble work. The camps only last a week. This was different. These kids have worked every week on this particular play since January. They've been together as friends who act for upwards of four and five years. There is a sense of community and culture that pervades their little band.

I loved what I witnessed. And I love that all these teens love Shakespeare. The baton is being passed to the next generation.

Huzzah!

Tonight's the play!

Noah will perform as Orlando in "As You Like It" at the Cincinnati Shakespeare Festival. He's a part of a local high school company that is directed by the resident company in town. Can't wait!

My mom and her husband are here to enjoy it with us.

Groundlings: High School Company

The Fog of Life

In the summer of 1983, I traveled to what was then called Zaire (now Democratic Republic of Congo). I spent six weeks showing the Jesus Film with Campus Crusade.

That first night when we arrived in the hot, chaotic airport, I couldn't really see anything of the countryside. Our luggage and selves were hustled through customs with big African men shouting and smiling and waving and grabbing. Our entry to Africa remains a blur in my memory - bright flourescent lights and wide open doors and heat. It was already so hot.

We stuffed ourselves into old taxis and drove on bad roads for miles and miles, flying by trees (those Belgians thought tree-lined streets the bomb, apparently). When we arrived at our destination, we were ushered into tiny quarters at a Catholic monastery. The odd number of college girls meant I got a dorm to myself.

The little room was bare, with a cot and a nightstand. A dingy mirror hung on the wall with a pedastal sink beneath it. Exhausted after the long flight from Europe that began in New York, I collapsed into bed.

The next morning, unfamiliar bird song roused and reminded me that I was a long way from home. I padded to the door, barefoot, in my nightshirt, nothing beneath it but my bare body. Moist air slipped under the doorway, lifting the shirtails, embracing my skin. I cracked the door open; where was I? Had I walked through the wardrobe?

In an instant, the warm fog transported me to the center of the little garden. I stood under thick, green, rubber tree plant leaves, receiving their blessing. Red hibiscus flowers popped through the mist like lover's lips. Insects and birds sang to me, called to me, prayed for me. Soft grass cushioned my feet.

I opened my eyes wide, but could hardly see. I stood still... watching, waiting.

Every cell in my body vibrated.

I raised my arms over my head and turned my face to the sky (filled with low-hanging clouds). Life, fog, warmth—covered and penetrated me, right through to my insides. My Garden of Eden. Nearly naked, not ashamed, safe in the bosom of Africa. I wanted to hug the earth and leave the ground all at once.

Some time later (I lost all track of time), another door creaked open and two giggling American co-eds bounded out of their quarters, heading to the veranda for our breakfast of crusty bread and nescafe with evaporated milk. I came to and found that I was starving.

On mornings like today, where the mist rolls in and the humidity rises from the topsoil, I am transported back to that African garden. It's good to remember that one of the more honest, transcendent moments of my life happened in a warm, embracing fog.

The IM Pick-up Line

So my 15 year old daughter is on IM the other day and this new guy she met at a show is on too. Here's how it went down:

Him: Hey, I saw you last night at the show.

Her: Yeah, that was me.

Him: You're pretty.

Her: Uh, okay.

Him: Wanna hang out?

Her: Maybe.

Him: Can you come over to my house this afternoon? We can make-out on the couch.

Her: No way! I'm not a slut. I don't even know you!

Him: Okay... then you wanna come over and play Uno?

Quick on his keypad, eh?