You know that movie about the penguin who lives in a colony of musical penguins, but he likes to dance? Happy Feet? It was probably one of the dumbest movies I’ve ever seen – not counting the Strawberry Shortcake movie or the Wiggles – but the title completely describes how my new insoles make me feel.
I never thought I could feel so affectionate towards something other than a shoe itself. (and people, the normal object of affection. ) These insoles are so supportive of whatever activity I choose to do, they’re cute and lime green, and they fit perfectly in my shoes.
And that wraps up the ode to my insoles.
I’v e been a little behind the rest of the literary world since I JUST started reading The Help two days ago.
And I’m hooked.
Not only does Kathryn Stockett have the dialect and the perspectives of both the two maids and the white writer down, but she’s practically writing what I want my life story to be. No, I don’t want to be a maid. That wouldn’t really be a good fit since my room is in a crazy disarray most of the time. No, she’s writing about a writer who is concerned about the way things are. She’s going against a social norm and risking everything to tell a story that needs to be told.
There are so many stories in this world that need to be told. they need to be told. And they need to be told in a way that shows that it’s not fiction, that it really happened.
I’ll be real here: Whenever people talk about the persecuted church or about people in third-world countries not having water or about mothers in China who are forced to abort their children because of their gender, I feel the injustice. I see the gravity, but I fail to grasp the reality. I can’t even imagine (and I am pretty imaginative) living a life like the ones I hear about.
And so I file it away as fiction. Not consciously, of course, but if I had two filing systems in my head: reality and things that don’t seem to concern me, all of that far-away, horrendous injustice would be kept in the latter. Maybe this is my fault, that I don’t expose myself. Maybe I have fostered in myself a person who can’t accept oppression and need as something that actually occurs.
That bothers me.
For a long time now, I’ve wanted to be a journalist: to travel all over the world (fill up my passport with stamps), hearing people’s stories, and making them known to people in the privileged land of America. Because it needs to be real. The way Matthew West put it describes how my life has been:
In my own little world, it hardly ever rains. I’ve never gone hungry, always felt safe. I’ve got some money in my pocket, shoes on my feet. In my own little world, it’s population: me.
What kind of world is that? Sure, it’s one that is happy for the most part, has its ups and downs, but is completely unaware that there is hurt out there. And the answer to someone else’s hurt just might be me. My $10 could help someone go to school, keep them out of prostitution. My time spent helping someone make their house a livable home could change the entire course of their life. To me, they are small things. To me, it’s just an hour of my time or a portion of my paycheck.
Or two weeks in India.
There are no words for the draw and the calling that I feel. I’m not always this sure about what God wants me to do, but I know this time. I just do. When I met with one of our contacts at the EFCA ministry, she confirmed it as well, telling me that it WILL happen, that she can tell that I want to go, that she knows that God will make a way.
And it will make a change in the way things are.
Just like Skeeter is trying to do. (I don’t know yet if she’s succeeded, because I’m only halfway through… so NO SPOILERS!)
If you follow me on twitter, you know that I set up a printer today. Not too hard, but I must say, I’m proud of myself for not having to google anything. Independent. That’s me. At least for today.
And I joined Skype:
And when I got home from volleyball, I made myself a sandwich using the World’s Smallest Spatula – affectionately dubbed by me.
Sometimes I just have to do things when I feel like it, because later I’ll think that I should and not feel like doing it. Not that cookies are a need here, but, hey, who doesn’t like cookies?
Please don’t answer that if you are among those who don’t like cookies.