Comparison

Which is which? Newborns - Tennyson and Melissa.

PS: Baby’s full name is Tennyson Margaret Florer-Bixler!

Meet my niece!

My sister and Jacob just brought a new life into the world on the evening of August 26th. Therefore, I am now an aunt! You can see more pictures and read more about the pregnancy and the initial labor stages here. Apparently, the birth process was very arduous, but my sister is very brave and strong and is doing well, as is Nameless (as of today) Child. The Babe is 8.2lbs and has chubby, sweet cheeks. Melissa, Jacob, and Mom all say she has my nose and she has a full head of dark hair (though not apparent in the pictures). I am in awe that there is a new human being on earth that was once not here, but now is. And that’s the story we all share! It’s incredible. An incredible, God-given gift. My excitement and my joy cannot be contained. I can’t imagine how Melissa and Jacob must be feeling!!

My new life

Welp! This is what my last week has looked like:

-moved into my new home in Durham

-survived three days of Duke Divinity School orientation

-attended Church of the Holy Family in Chapel Hill

-won the wiffle ball tournament at the Back to School picnic (or, at least, I was on the winning team)

-made it through my first class - Church History with Dr Warren Smith

-road my bike here, there, and everywhere!

-started the beginning stages of planning for an upcoming party (theme: Corn as in candy corn, corn holing, corn dogs, corn husk dolls, etc.)

-finished an 800 word writing assessment essay on the Rule of St Benedict

-told more than a hundred people where I’m from, where I went to undergrad

-explained to more than a hundred people what l’Arche is

Packing!

As the title may suggest, I’ve been spending the last few days packing, interspersed with various tasks - finishing up my sewing projects (I’m the proud seamstress of two dresses and a skirt!), cooking dinner for the ‘rents (adobe salmon tacos, anyone?), and watching the Olympics (the US womens’ gymnastics team broke my heart).

I’m trying to avoid taking the entirety of my belongings with me to Duke. I did this in undergrad and, believe me, Gordon dorm rooms don’t provide enough space for American teenage materialism. I like to think I am older, wiser, and less materialistic now at the age of 24, but we all know this is crap. Whether we are 14 or 44, the modern industrial capitalist machine will continue to pump us with lies regarding “stuff” that we so desperately “need” and “can’t live without.” And the advertising industry will continue to make us feel ugly and worthless without the help of certain products, however related to our insecurities (Botox) or unrelated (turbo-speed blenders).

I went into Kohls the other day with the expectation of buying only a comforter and came out with an armload of items that, supposedly, I didn’t need before I walked in. I really do believe that places like the New Monastic communities, l’Arche, the Catholic Workermovement, etc, are carving out spaces in the Empire that is the United States where people can support one another in living simply, intentionally, mindful of others’ needs, hopes, and anguish. As solo individuals, we will be crushed by the status quo (”Get rich! Be successful! Consume!”). But it is in communities that we find our power, our stability, and our support to be the Church, so to speak. I like to think that if I were living with and amongst folks who deplore conspicuous consumption, perhaps I wouldn’t have felt as comfortable walking out of Kohl’s with all that stuff. I have high hopes (idealism?) for the Church in this regard - that local parishes would be a haven for those willing to go against the grain of consumption, that my expenditures would be subjected to the church’s judgement. More often than not, churches have anything to say about the way we spend our money or how much we consume. We’ve given into the lie that is private property as the American Church. No surprise. We’ve been synchrastictic in this regard from the advent. But, it doesn’t make me any less hopeful that local parishes can begin to play a larger, more central role in people’s lives, particularly their spending habits. Because, if we really want to embody discipleship of Christ, the way we spend our money is indeed a spiritual discipline, if not an act of worship.

On that note, I’m off to pack! Lord, where is Shane Claiborne when I need him??

The Crisis in Northern Uganda

When I was in Uganda, I heard a lot about the crisis in the North - the Lord’s Resistance Army recking havoc on the region for 21 years, abducting tens of thousands of children for sex slaves and soldiers and slaughtering entire villages of people. Grace, a friend of my from Gordon (whom I initially met in Uganda), was abducted at age 15 and became a child soldier herself. She’s co-authored a book about her experience.

Almost two million people have been reloacted to Internally Displaced People (IDP) camps. There, nearly 1,000 people a week die of AIDS, malnutrition, malaria, and diarrhea. It’s a truly horrific humanitarian crisis and it’s been going on for more than two decades. The Washington Post has an eight minute documentary entitled “Seeds of Peace,” on the hardships people are facing in these IDP camps. Invisible Children is another documentary (and organization) attempting to raise awareness of these forgotten people.

Uganda and Duke Divinity School

I just found out something wonderfully exciting. Apparently, at Duke Divinity School, it is possible to do at least one of your two required field education placements abroad. This summer, there are 5 international placements, including L’Arche Daybreak in Canada, Peru, Guatemala, South Africa, and Uganda. You can read about their experiences this summer on their group blog.

I studied abroad twice in college, to Uganda and Romania, and I would say that the vast majority of my undergraduate formation and learning occurred in those two semesters away from the US. There is something about being plucked from the comfort of your own culture and language and dropped into (what feels like) another world that really accelerates the learning process, at least for me. For some, such displacement can be overwhelming. But, for folks like myself, it is in those times of cultural dislocation that make me feel most alive. I really see this as a gift I have been blessed with - the ability to adjust quickly to new situations, to have an open mind, to experience new ways of doing things without balking. When this gift isn’t being used, I feel….anxious, sluggish, depressed. And, if you know anything about ENFPs, you can understand how things like monotony, bureaucracy, sameness will drive them out of their own skin. According to one Myers-Briggs profile, “ENFPs like travel and reading because these activities open experiences of other times and places. Their reading often brings quiet and reflection time, as well as new material for their dreams. Their travels afford them opportunities to experience different people and cultures.” Right on the nose.  

I’ve been traveling abroad since I was 14 - missions trips to Bolivia (twice), Wales, Tanzania, and Guatemala; travel around Italy, Great Britain, Spain, Costa Rica, and Hungary; working and studying in Uganda and Romania. Each of those trips, no matter how short, required a certain amount of adjustment and adaptability which wasn’t easy at first (I remember distinctly the culture shock I experienced getting off that plane in the La Paz airport) but became, like any skill or habit, easier and more natural over time. And each of those trips unveiled a corner of the world otherwise unknown to me. The various shapes and shades on a map became alive to me, real places with real people living out their normal lives. Considering I come from one of the most ethnocentric countries in the world, I learned at a young age that the Planet Earth does not revolve around the axis of the USA. A valuable lesson, indeed.

As  a Christian, encountering other members of Christ’s Body scattered all over the world has unraveled the myth that my allegiance is to a nation-state. When I vote for a US president (a person whose executive power has a profound and terrifying effect on the rest of the world), I remember my friend Diana, who lives in Romania, or my friend Gayo, a Tanzanian living in Kenya, or my friend Stephen, who is from the DRC, or the coffee farmer I met in Costa Rica, or the rural church pastor I met in Guatemala - I remember my friends and reflect on how this president’s policies will ultimately affect them, whether through trade tariffs and embargoes, immigration laws, or an international affairs policy that supports preemptive attacks on “hostile” nations.

I remember the first time I landed in Uganda, backing January of 2004, with almost picture-perfect memory. I remember the tall palm trees surrounding the airport, the humid air, the multi-lingual greetings in the customs line. I remember the long bus ride through downtown Kampala, taking in all the sites and sounds and smells of this new place that was to be our home, for at least a short time. I remember women in colorful dress carrying jerrycans on their heads, men in three piece suits walking along the road in 90 degree heat, motorbikes zooming in and out of lanes, children selling roasted chicken and chapatis on the street corner. The idea that I could once again step off a plane at Entebbe airport fills me with so much delight. It has been my dream since June of 2004, when I arrive home in the US, to go back to that place that stole my heart. The idea that that dream could become a reality within the next few years at Duke is astonishing to me.

Uganda Christian University

Lake Bunyoni

Mbale, Uganda

Equator

On Safari

Rafting the Nile

Sesse Islands

Easter in Kabale

Bananas

Biding my time…

My summer has been, for lack of a better word, lazy. I left my full-time role at l’Arche on June 1st. Since then, I’ve been working some sporadic routines here and there, usually long stretches at a time. Yesterday and the day before, I worked about ten hours straight each. But most days, I have all the time in the world to do those activities I would normally have no time to do. I’ve been scrap-booking my family’s California vacation. I’ve been learning how to sew via my mother’s old-school sewing machine (yesterday, I finished my first dress from scratch!). I’ve been cooking lots (see previous post). I’ve been, at least in the last few days, running and doing yoga. I’ve been reading a lot of books and watching a fair amount of movies. Considering this is a hiatus between working life and school life, I’m not sure when I’m ever going to have time like this again.

In less than a month, I head down to Durham where I will start the new chapter in my life as an MDiv student at Duke Divinity School. I’ve been anticipating the move for a while - in fact, I’ve been anticipating it for more than a year! I will be living with my friend, Jill, near East Campus and about a mile from Dave. I’ve just joined FreeCycle in an attempt to find a bed and a bike (for free, of course). I have every intention of just loving life down there.

I am really excited to be back in school, though I don’t doubt it will take some adjustment. I must say, not having homework perpetually looming over my head for the last few years has been nice. When work is done, work is done (though, in l’Arche, it really did feel like there was always something else that could be done). And, though it took some adjustment to transition from school to l’Arche, I don’t doubt it will take some adjustment on my part to do the reverse. Life as a student can feel, often times, disconnected from the real world of real problems, irrelevant, etc. Or, worse yet, it can inflate your ego, encourage self-indulgence, and drain you of your very own life savings while saddling you with debt. Nice. I think Duke Divinity tries hard to contend with these things as an institution dedicated to training up the next generation of ministers. But some things are inescapable. The Academy is the Academy wherever you go, whatever you study. It favors a certain class of people, a certain disposable income.

Yesterday at l’Arche, Fritz, Eric, and I were playing soccer in the backyard. It was all pretty boring. Fritz wasn’t really paying much attention and the ball would always sail past him and he would have to wander off to find it. He really just wanted to talk about his mother and his sister, and his friend Kevin who has seizures. And Eric always had to stop the ball with his foot and position it just so before kicking it. But as we played, Eric would periodically exclaim, “What fun! I’m having so much fun!” Eric takes delight in pretty much everything. He is a dear soul. And Fritz is always so caring, so kind and easy-going. For the past 22 months, these core members have been my teachers. As cliche as it is, they have taught me things that quite literally can’t be taught in the classroom. I worry a little that I’ll forget these things when I’m away from l’Arche, that I’ll forget how to “be good” as Fritz puts it.

Here are some pictures from Fritz and Hazel’s joint birthday party about a month ago.

Blowing out the candles

Fritz and Elaine

John and Waltico

Dancing!

Hazel and sisters

Good Samaritan? Not in a Crowd.

As I do most days, this morning I bypassed the soul-deadening front page headlines of the Post for the light-and-fluffy Style section, hoping to catch up on celeb gossip (Madonna’s getting a divorce everyone. I know. This isn’t news.) and the advice columns. Instead, I was confronted with this highly disturbing article entitled, “The Impassive Bystander: Someone Is Hurt, in Need of Compassion. Is It Human Instinct to do nothing?” The title in and of itself should intrigue, if not bristle and disturb. There are 6 pictures accompanying the article taken from a security camera in a psychiatric ward waiting room. A woman slumps over in her chair, then falls to the floor on her face, convulsing. She lays like this for a little more than an hour as bystanders look on…two patients sitting across from her, a hospital staff person who nudges her with her foot (and leaves), a police officer who, after 15 minutes of “assessing” the situation fetches some nurses. The woman is finally rolled away on a gurney and declared dead.

You can watch the video on YouTube and I encourage you to do so. It’s morbid, yes, and you should squirm in your seat. You have become, in a sense, a passive bystander, watching a life slipping away right before your eyes. But in this case, there is nothing you can do. Now, what is most nauseating is watching the passive bystanders in the video, those within arms reach of this woman as she lies helpless and dying on the floor. You must ask yourself, “What if?” - What if the other patients had summoned the nurses right from the start? What if the hospital staff woman who nudged her with her foot had actually knelt down and checked her vitals, as is protocol? More importantly, perhaps - What if you were in that waiting room? Would you have put your magazine away, risked looking foolish or intrusive, and checked on her?

I read a book in high school called The Social Animal, a social-psychology book from my dad’s PhD days. The author outlined a number of experiments and real-life situations regarding this bystander “syndrome” with which we are infected. I found them shocking. One of the most famous examples (also cited in the article) is the murder of Kitty Genovese back in 1964. As she was stabbed multiple times and cried out for help over the 30 minute span, not one of the 38 people in her New York City apartment building who had seen or heard portions of the attack came to her aid. The larger the crowd, according to social psychologists, the higher the diffusion of responsibility. We assume a herd mentality in crisis or situations that are unfamiliar to us. We look to others, to the crowd, and mimic their responses. If others aren’t helping him out, then the person lying on the side of the road must be okay. 

As a species, our desire to please others and conform far outweighs the desire to do right. More often than not, doing right involves going against the grain, risking foolishness and sacrificing social ease. To break the fetters of herd mentality/social conformity takes a strong (and perhaps ethical) force of will, indeed. The article states it well: “Most of us do the right thing only when others are doing the right thing. Real heroes are the ones who break out of the group norm.”

I can’t help but think that the Good Samaritan, already a social despised outcast, assisted the bleeding man on the side of the road because he knew he had nothing to lose. He had no reputation to keep like the Levite and the priest. He already didn’t “fit in.” He was, in a sense, not burdened by the norms of social conformity. Aren’t we, as Christians, called to throw off this conformity, this indifference in the face of injustice, this diffusion of responsibility, and become Christ’s hands and feet? Shouldn’t we, as Christians, be the first to respond to those in pain and crisis, without a second thought? We as the Church are called to be peculiar, to embody a different way of being, one that values acting on ethical impulses rather than ceding to passive reservation. It’s time we started being okay with feeling foolish in front of other people, even if that means we lose our friends, our reputation, our livelihood. Even if that means we may get a stranger’s sweat and blood on our hands as we help them off the waiting room floor.

Madame, your meal is served.

So, I’ve become a chef this summer. A cook is a more appropriate designation, perhaps. I’ve always loved to cook and made dinner for my parents when I was in high school. I experimented a lot in Romania, where Bethany and I had our own apartment with our own kitchen and some pretty interesting (if not weird) ingredients on our hands, not to mention a gas oven with no temperature gauge, just “Big flame” and “Little flame.” Hilarious. I became an industrious cook in l’Arche were I was making meals for pretty large crowds an average twice a week - vegetarian here, vegan there, low sodium, no beans in this one, nix the dairy.

I love the creative aspect of cooking, the improvisation (”We’ve got some tortillas and some cheese and have an onion. Quesadillas, anyone?”). In fact, if there is ever a recipe involved, the finished product rarely resembles the original intent. My mother always found this to be disconcerting. But I keep reminding her that she has no reason so complain - she’s never once disliked something I’ve made.

I’m staying with my parents this summer, and considering I pay no rent and spend most of my days lazing about, I figure the least I can do is greet them with some warm meals upon their return from work. I’ve been pretty proud of my creations thus far. Minus the bland-tasting chicken curry I made last week, there’s been mostly success (the blandness was, in part, due to the ancient spices in the kitchen cabinet). Then again, I haven’t tried anything too risky. Here’s a list of some of my favorites from the summer:

Eggplant Parmesan

Honey-walnut corn muffins

Ground beef enchiladas

Butternut Squash and pumpkin soup

Blackberry and raspberry crisp

Taco salad

Mozzarella, basil, and spinach salad

Grilled salmon with peppers and onions

Change is good!

Or so I like to think. Here is the new blog. I’m trying out WordPress for a change. May take a little getting used to but I’m up for the challenge. I deliberated long and hard re: an appropriately inclusive, non-pretentious blog title, and this is what I came up with. Can’t argue with Dorothy Day. Check back for some more missives and musings.