Greeting to all our faithful readers! I am today's guest blogger for the NNPCW Leadership Event here in Chicago, IL. If you are curious about who I am, here is a brief biography: My name is Stella Oh and this is my third leadership event with the network. I live in Asheboro, NC where I attend Randolph Community College and study photography. I was born and raised Catholic but began attending a Korean Presbyterian church several years ago upon moving to North Carolina from Southern California.

Yes, I am of Korean decent, and in all practicality pretty much the only Asian woman at this conference, excluding our speaker Laura Cheifetz (who is half-Japanese) and Irene Pak who came to publicize McCormick Theological Seminary. And yes, I am used to being the only Asian presence at this event for quite some time now.

This year's theme happens to be on prejudice and social action. Therefore I feel a slight pressure to represent my culture more than ever at this event. However, as Asian women's stereotypes go, I am in fact quiet and shy and somewhat reserved. It has always been hard for me to voice my opinions and experiences in a large crowd. The amazing thing is that I feel most comfortable sharing my ideas in written form, so I am very excited that Kelsey asked me to be her guest blogger for the day.

I have participated in amazing worship, plenary, workshops, and panel discussion since Wednesday. Honestly, I feel recharged to be at this event. What made my ears perk up, however, was a scripture passage that the General Assembly Moderator Rick Ufford-Chase read to us on Thursday night, which comes from 1John 4:7-12: "Beloved, let us love one another, because love is of God; everyone who loves is begotten by God and knows God. Whoever is without love does not know God, for God is love. In this way the love of God was revealed to us: God sent his only Son into the world so that we might have life through him. In this is love: not that we have loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as expiation for our sins. Beloved, if God so loved us, we also must love one another. No one has ever seen God. Yet, if we love one another, God remains in us, and his love is brought to perfection is us."

How can we not love one another, people of different nations and different languages, of different colors and shapes and sizes, and still claim to love God who we cannot see? That is hypocrisy. After all, even with our many differences, we are bonded together as children of God. And it is not enough that we merely love each other: We must show our love by supporting each other through action, to causes we are called to be a part of and be active in.

I for one am a person who loves to talk and write and reflect all day long about everything that is important to me, but not someone who acts. Everything that I do is over-thought and over-analyzed and over-justified and over-qualified. To that I say: let's stop discussing and start acting. Let's not "talk the talk" but "walk the walk." And that is the reason why I am here: So I know what I can do to take action. What can I do to overcome prejudice? I think it is this: Stop practicing it myself and therefore stop the cycle of hate. Then, talk about it. Educate. Spread the word.

That is what I am going to leave with from this conference. Lord willing, I will fulfill my responsibility as a Christian to walk the life of a believer. It is not going to be easy, but I welcome the challenges ahead of me.

Hey there, blogging champions! This is Abby, a participant from lovely Rockford, IL. Yesterday I traveled 2 hours by car to get to the NNPCW conference, and let me tell you, the drive was worth it!

This morning I woke up and headed down to breakfast… something about pancakes always puts me in a stellar mood for the rest of the day. I drank some coffee and chatted with Omayra from Puerto Rico, my sister Hillary and her roommate Corina. Then we moseyed upstairs to Plenary. Mona led us in songs and we danced and clapped… what a way to begin the day: singing worship songs with a group of women!

Lisa and Laura shared with us their personal stories of prejudice. For me, it was interesting to realize that my ignorance and curiosity about someone else’s disability is really prejudice! After they shared, we wrote about our experiences with prejudice. For me those experiences went from writing about being a woman and a twin, to being called to the ministry and a vegetarian. We shared these thoughts in small groups; I’m continually impressed by the compassion in the hearts of the women here!

After a short break, Lisa and Laura passed out paper boxes, markers, glitter glue (!), and scissors. As we decorated our boxes with images of pain and hope regarding prejudice, our presenters continued a fishbowl conversation about their lives. Laura comes from a Japanese American family and Lisa has been blind her entire life—such a different background from little all white, completely able-bodied me.

We broke for lunch (eggplant parmesan! woot!) and a brief break period before afternoon workshops. My first workshop was called Motherly Earth. The group went outside and we chatted about how God has entrusted the earth to us as His stewards. We talked about how the environment is connected to us as women and how the environment affects us. Then we created sculptures from recycled goods to symbolize our continued commitment to protect God’s creation. This first workshop brought together two of my passions: arts and crafts and being outside! It was great!

Between sessions, I wandered a bit around Techny Towers. I caught some conversation with Brianne Jurs and some of the other passionate and brilliant women here. For my second session, I attended Whose Body? Whose Self? which focused on the reproductive health of women. It was a very honest and open workshop, where a lot of my questions were answered and my naïveté was diminished.

And here I am! Dinner time! I’m so ready… I’m looking forward to the rest of the night.

Rock on. Peace.

Abby

Hey Bloggers! This is Elizabeth Campbell, Kelsey’s guest for today’s blog and, also important to mention, a member of the Leadership Event planning team. I am writing from magnificent Chicago, Illinois or Chi-town, as I’ve often heard it referred to as……… For all of you who hold that unfortunate stereotype of Chicago as a cold haven of snow and sleet, be forewarned: It was 80 degrees and climbing when my plane touched down this morning. But, don’t worry… These words will not solely focus on the weather; I’ve promised to throw out a few words about the day and my excitement for Leadership Event…. And, just to jump to the chase, I’ll admit: I’m pumped!

So, my day:
I woke up this morning at 4:15am, EST. (As a side note: if this is not proof of my utmost devotion for NNPCW and the event, I don’t know what is…)… It was a good trip to the airport, though… Watching the sun come up, making it through security (this is another story), and enjoying some coffee along the way was also a plus. The flights were smooth, and I slept through most of them. Nothing about the actual traveling itself stands out, except that I definitely sensed a movement from small-town Owego, NY, where I spent the last three weeks of the summer, to the hustling-bustling, lots of people around metropolis of Chicago. In my nature rhythm of oscillation between introverism and extroverism, I found the trip fulfilling for its combination of people-watching, reflection—this morning over a Henri Nouwen passage, and conversation with intriguing strangers.


Kelsey picked me up at the airport around 10:10am Chicago time, and we walked the perimeter of the airport until we caught up with Carrie and made our way over to Techny Towers. When she picked us up, Kelsey described Techny as gothic, and Carrie and I both agreed once we saw it. It seems to me like an old castle or perhaps even more appropriate, an ancient cathedral, simply locked in time… Maybe there’s something about this seemingly timeless space that will help us as women unlock our histories and, dipping into the chronicles of time, pluck out portions of wisdom to guide us as we go about this sojourn and confront prejudice, in all its nuance and subtlety.

Now, Carrie and I have spent the afternoon prepping for the event while Kelsey goes to intercept Angie at the airport… We’ve got signs up and couches arranged. We also managed to discover a bit more about the secret of this place. Techny is an ecumenical conference center related to a religious community of Catholic brothers/missionaries--- called Divine World International. Some of the brothers live behind us in an infirmary-now. Pretty intriguing locale for the event, huh???

Oh, okay. Angie and Kelsey just arrived! So, I’m gonna head off and get to work!

Keep checking the blog, friends!

Elizabeth

My friends, it is time for the big show. The 13th Annual NNPCW Leadership Event, Many Hands, One Spirit: Confronting Prejudice Through Education and Social Action, begins Wednesday. But the action really starts today, with my five-hour journey to Chicago accompanied only by a plethora of boxes. As staff, we spend almost an entire year planning and preparing for this week. So Brianne and I are both extremely excited for the days to come. Be thinking of both of us as we travel today from different places.

With the blog this year, I’m going to try something new. Starting tomorrow, a series of guest bloggers will post to Network Notes. They will share with you their perspectives and experiences at Many Hands, One Spirit, from the food we eat in the cafeteria to the workshop activities we do on Friday. I will try my best to ensure that a new person posts every day, so that you can experience the Leadership Event through the eyes of its participants. So come back often!

One final note—I picked up my rental car this morning, and Avis gave me a white Chevy Impala. Yeah, baby, I’m drivin’ a cop car. I’m hoping that people will slow down when they see me drive by. Do you ever do that, and then feel stupid when you realize it is just an average person in an Impala? My Grandpa Rice has one of those cars, and he always said that it could beat out my ‘Stang in any drag race. Well, Grandpa, now that I’ve driven an Impala, I can say this—it may or may not be a faster car, but my baby is sure a whole lot more fun to drive!

So for those of you looking for me at the airport in the next couple of days, just watch for the cop car with Kentucky plates.

“Hear, O Lord, and be gracious to me! O Lord, be my helper!” --Psalm 30:10

Kelsey

“Ask, and it will be given you; search, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened for you.” --Matthew 7:7

Where do you find God?

Have you ever walked across campus after an early morning snowfall, gazing up at tall pines covered in white, and felt that the whole world is a cavernous hall echoing the whispers of the divine?

Have you ever sat in church before communion, soaking in the minister’s “This is my body, broken for you,” as it oozes over the wounds of your heart and salves your soul?

Have you ever cried in the night, cried until all you could do was chant the 23rd Psalm from childhood over and over in the dark until it lulled you to sleep?

Last weekend in California, one young woman in the workshop I facilitated wanted to know how we all came to be people of faith. How could we know Christianity was the way for us? Where was the proof? How could we be so comfortable in our beliefs when there were so many other things out there?

The other participants gave her many insights as I listened. Critiques of their journeys through other faith traditions, points about their ability to find a personal relationship with Christ. The nourishment they found in the Presbyterian fold. It was a good conversation, one that I felt the working of the Holy Spirit prompted. But I remained silent.

Perhaps I kept my thoughts hidden because my answer isn’t what we like to hear. But when the woman asked her question, only one thought came to my mind—I have been to the bottom, and it is sound. I believe because I found God in the most difficult moments of my life, the moments when my shattered soul stood completely alone. It was in those times that the God incarnate, the God who suffered, the God who rose again in joy and triumph, became real, and continues to be real as I struggle through daily life.

Sometimes we have to seek, and sometimes God just seems to find us along the road. I can’t prove my faith. I can’t give you answers to your questions. I can only be a witness: in my valley of the shadow, God was there.

“For everyone who asks receives, and everyone who searches finds, and for everyone who knocks, the door will be opened.” --Matthew 7:8

Kelsey

People read “Network Notes” for a variety of reasons, many of which are beyond me. Some of you out there are childhood friends who want to keep up with the trouble I’m causing. Some of you are CoCo members who check in to make sure I’m not eating leftover grits (an unpardonable sin in the South, I can assure you). And some of you are just waiting for those gems when I dish some office dirt. I’d like to flatter myself that you all read the blog for the profundity of my keen insight on the world, but I know the truth.

Well, for those of you who fall into the office gossip category, I’ve got some partial news for you. Women’s Ministries has finally hired some folks to do all the work that has piled up in the last few months. Though REYWT’s associate position is still lost somewhere in the labyrinth that we call Human Resources, Women’s Advocacy does have someone to fill the position recently vacated by our own Ann Crews Melton.

Drumroll, please… Molly Casteel will be the new Associate for Women’s Advocacy, just down the hall from me. I don’t know much about Molly, except to say that she graduated from Princeton Theological Seminary and is in the ordination process in the Presbytery of Eastern Oklahoma. I’ve also heard from all who are in the “know” that Molly is an awesome young woman who will bring lots of energy to the office. She starts on September 19.

In Genesis 2:18, God says, “It is not good that the man should be alone….” Well, the same goes for Women’s Ministries interns. Brianne will soon have a partner in crime, as NNPCW alumna Heather Grantham has accepted the Women’s Advocacy internship for the 2005-2006 intern year. I do know Heather (also from Eastern Oklahoma, I believe), and can say that I know few people as passionate and as committed to justice for women worldwide. Heather is finishing up a year of service with the Young Adult Volunteer program in the Philippines, and will also join us on September 19.

When the REYWT Associate position gets out of HR jail, you will hear it here. We don’t know when that will be, but suffice it to say that you should know soon.

And now you’re wondering, “What about NNPCW?” Because if you are in the know, then you know that my contract as Program Assistant ends on August 26. Never fear, my friends—we have also filled the NNPCW Associate position. I just keep forgetting to tell you about it. I have accepted Women’s Ministries’ offer to continue working in a regular, full-time capacity for NNPCW, beginning August 15. So yes, you will continue to read my musings on “Network Notes” and receive obnoxious e-mails from me into the foreseeable future.

Seriously, though, this work has fulfilled and challenged me in ways I never would have imagined two years ago when I loaded up the ‘Stang and headed east on this personal bildungsroman. I’m excited to continue working on projects like the 2006 Leadership Event, and to develop NNPCW in new directions. Thank you for this opportunity to continue growing with the Network!

“And when you turn to the right or when you turn to the left, your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying, ‘This is the way; walk in it.’” --Isaiah 30:21

Kelsey

It is dangerously quiet at the NNPCW office these days. With the Leadership Event only a week away, it seems that either we have planned this event incredibly well, or there is something absolutely earth-shattering that we’re forgetting to do in preparation. Neither describes the situation accurately… everything that needs to be done is probably done, but we’re forgetting tons of tiny details. Ah well, that’s why Kinkos is open 24 hours.

I leave on Monday for Chicago. I’ll have five to six hours of driving en route to relax and clear my head before the madness begins. Those of you who have never been to a leadership event might be asking what the typical experience is like. Well, it depends on whom you talk to. For the students, it is an awesome time of meeting like-minded women. They attend plenaries, learn at great workshops about topics ranging from vocational discernment to sexual ethics, and see social justice work being done in some of America’s greatest cities. It is a time of rest, rejuvenation, and motivation for the school year ahead.

My defining impression of the leadership event, however, will always be of driving a lot. The first day of this year’s event will see me on the road by 7:30 am for the first of five runs that day to and from O’Hare International Airport. I finally finish sometime around 9 pm. Sunday will probably be even worse—I’m looking at seven trips total. Add to that Brianne’s three runs each on Wednesday and Sunday, and you have logged a lot of miles in two days.

I see my role at the Leadership Event as that of an orchestra conductor. There are so many pieces, from organizing the panelists on Thursday to making sure everyone makes it back on the bus on Friday night, and I’m the one who makes sure they all come together. I rather like it—it indulges my organizational streak. Still, the role can be rather stressful.

While at the Leadership Event, we should have access to dial-up Internet. Thus I can log on and update the blog while I’m there. What I’m hoping to have, actually, is a series of guest bloggers give you their takes on the event in a sort of daily journal. So if you want to keep up with the event, keep tuned in here. I may be trapped in traffic somewhere on Interstate 90 all day, but someone will be blogging.

“Why are you afraid? Have you still no faith?” --Mark 4:40

Kelsey

I’ve been reflecting lately on demographics. Just as Christmas is the time for gifts and drunken office parties in modern culture, July and August mark the season in which a good segment of the under-25 population pack up and move somewhere else. Not since the children of Israel roamed in the desert for 40 years have so many young people stayed for such a short time in one place.

I left home over six years ago to go to college. In that span of time, I’ve never lived in any one building for more than two years—I’ve never lived in any one room more than a year at a time. I can immediately think of ten good friends moving in the next month or so, myself included, and we’re all out of college. It is even worse there, as many students constantly move back and forth between home and school, school and home.

Several factors contribute to this increased mobility, which of course I am not an expert in. Yet I would guess that this is one of the many profound marks globalization has made on my generation. We move where the schools and jobs are, places that may take us thousands of miles from where we were born. The women I went to grade school with spread all over the country—from Minneapolis to San Antonio, Seattle to Washington, DC. I can go to almost any region and find someone I know.

Our mobility puts new twists on the word “community.” My community—the circle of people I call on with joys and concerns, the people who give me the love and affirmation I need to exist in this world, the people I trust—is a cell phone family. Roughly once a month I talk to Krysten, Casey, or Kendroid. My mom and sister probably get a ring three or four times a week, my grandparents and cousins every so often. I may call up college friends like Tara and Katie every few months for an update. With David moving to Boston, I’m now facing the prospect of a cell phone romance as well. There are people in Louisville to count on, of course, but several of the most significant people in my life live thousands of miles away from me.

Yet what does such a community mean in terms of how our generation relates to and engages the world? Is it any wonder that people my age are much more interested in the effects of globalization on developing nations than on the food pantry across the street? I know that my investment in the city of Louisville is minimal—I won’t even register my car here, telling myself that I’m not going to stay long enough to make it worthwhile. Part of the reason we so strongly identify as citizens of a “global village” is because planet Earth is the only place we can’t move away from.

And what does it mean for the church? Our churches are stable institutions, meant to sustain several generations of parents and children in nurturing their faith journeys. Perhaps the church’s decline has nothing to do with doctrine, nothing to do with the worship, nothing to do with relevance or irrelevance. Perhaps the church’s decline simply lies in the fact that for 2000 years it has dealt with populations that stay in one place, and this is the one shift it can’t seem to handle.

If the church wants to do outreach or ministry in modern culture, it needs to become a place where people from diverse places and diverse backgrounds can find an island of community within the isolation of the modern world. For people like me, where change truly is the only constant, the greatest opportunities for ministry exist in acknowledging and responding to the “cell phone community.”

“And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.” --Matthew 28:20b

Kelsey

Hey all, I’m back. Southern California was really good—better than I thought it would be, actually. I’ve traveled to many places in my work with the church, including places renowned for their hospitality. But I don’t think I’ve ever worked with a group that was as friendly and welcoming as the Presbyterian Women of the Synod of Southern California and Hawaii. Within a day, everyone was greeting me by name as if I’d been part of the synod for the last twenty years.

The program itself also ranked among the better events I’ve seen. Four women from four different cultural backgrounds—African American, Hispanic/Latina, Asian American, and Anglo spoke about women’s theology from their particular viewpoint. Some of the differences between cultural experiences were illuminating. For instance, Unzu Lee pointed out the difficulties in a cohesive women’s theology movement in the Asian American community because of the wide variety of cultures and experiences represented by the term. As she pointed out, Asian Americans lack the unity of a common language, as Latina women have, or a collective historical experience like slavery. Thus “Asian American” theology reflects different cultures, but also strands of inclusiveness and a common focus on community.

Yet a point of similarity interested me. All the women of color alluded to body image issues related to not looking like the white majority. Of course, white women don’t have to try to look like white women. But in a similar way, so many white women are trying to live up to some impossible Cosmo ideal, only to fall far short. Why does the dominant culture create such a narrowly defined image of “normal,” one that not even members of its own group can possibly fit?

I actually read an article last night in The Atlantic Monthly (June 2005 issue) that alluded to weight loss. The article, actually a travel piece written by French philosopher Bernard-Henri Levy, touches on recent media alarms sounded about an “obesity epidemic” in the United States. He says that though Americans are told that they’re getting fat at an alarming rate, the truth is that Europeans would exhibit about the same percentages of obesity if the same body mass index standards were used on them.

Levy observes that this “epidemic” of fatness really serves the interest of a new, burgeoning weight-loss industry:

“Even better, I understand that inventing obesity—that is to say, claiming first that being fat is a disease, second that this disease must be treated, and third that it will never, despite treatment, be completely cured—creates a type of dependence that is at least equal to that produced by the inventors of flavors, fragrances, and packaging that are designed to develop a loyal following among junk-food consumers.”

Now I’m not trying to say that we shouldn’t be leading healthier lifestyles. But perhaps it does go back to that whole issue of body image, perfection, and the dominant culture. We go to weight-loss places because we’re not happy with our natural shapes. Why aren’t we happy with our natural shapes? Who gains power over our bodies when we allow someone else to dictate how we should look?

And this dissatisfaction with who we are, with how God created us, affects all American women in unique ways. It’s just one more method of disempowerment, one more way to keep us from living fully into God’s call to create a new world.

“But strive first for the realm of God and God’s righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.” --Matthew 6:33

Kelsey

Hello rad NNPCW members, alumnae and interested parties...this is Ann Crews Melton guest blogging while Kelsey and Brianne are in southern California.

So first cheers to Kelsey for her goodbye post the other day. Today is actually my last day at the Presbyterian Center, which feels a little like the last day of school--without exams. But still a lot of cleaning and moving to do. I've been here two years working in the Women's Advocacy Office, and without trying to sound sappy, must say my role here is in large part due to my involvement with NNPCW during college. Shout out to Kristy, Molly, and Dani, the first hip women I met who connected me to the Network...without which I probably wouldn't have stayed involved with Christianity, much less Presbyterianland, at all. NNPCW helped me discover God in community, and provided the spaciousness to explore my burgeoning politics and theological doubts. Which are still present and evolving, but mainly, regardless of where our politics or beliefs fall, NNPCW showed me how to stay in community and learn to love one another along the way.

So I'm leaving my job and stepping out in search of a new community. I'm giving up my apartment, my office, and probably my car....to rely on the grace of others for awhile. I plan to visit Open Door Community in Atlanta, which is modelled on the Catholic Worker Houses to offer food and shelter to anyone in need. They also maintain a space for activism, participating in the School of the Americas protests and anti-death penalty work. I look forward to the pilgrims I will meet upon this journey, there and in other spaces, and am sure I'll run across NNPCW alums along the way. We are everywhere. God is, I am, we are, here and now. Drop me a note and let me know how you're doing. Peace everybody.

Ann Crews

"I keep running round in circles
I keep looking for a doorway
I'm gonna need two lives to follow the paths I've been taking...." -belle and sebastian

Once again, my friends, I’m off on a new adventure today. After a hiatus of a couple of months, I’m taking another work trip, this time to the bright lights of Southern California to speak at Presbyterian Women’s Synod of Southern California and Hawaii Gathering. Brianne and I are both going—it will also be Brianne’s maiden trip for the office, if you don’t count when she drove down the street to go to the PEER 1 Collegiate conference in June. Be thinking of both of us as we travel.

Brianne and I will be talking a lot about how to expand at this conference—how to reach out to young women, how to start campus groups and attract new members, how to connect with people at their spiritual level. I often hear people looking for that secret on how to get people involved. Perhaps we Presbyterians really do have an evangelistic streak at heart.

On one level, drawing people in presents many difficulties. Our own inhibitions stop us, and other people just don’t make a lot of sense (that’s my scientific analysis of why students at schools where I go visit just won’t sign up for NNPCW!). But on another, getting people interested in what we’re doing is a matter of reaching out and being persistent. Everyone is searching for a place to belong. If you can provide that, they will come.

An example—my first year in Louisville, I went to a rather large church in my neighborhood. People were friendly, of course, but they never seemed to know me. Every Sunday, even a year after I started going there, someone would approach me and ask if I was a visitor. It is understandable. I sat in the back, was kind of nondescript, and didn’t really talk to anyone or try hard to get involved (I have strange church phobias that render my extroverted self into some sort of walled-off hermit, but that’s a story for another day). But after a while, I drifted away and lost interest in that community.

This last year, I’ve started going to a smaller church. Same story for me—nondescript, sat toward the back and didn’t talk to anyone if I could help it. The difference, though, was that after I’d been attending this church for about a month, people started to recognize me. They started to talk to me, even when I tried to jet out the door right after the benediction. The pastor started inviting me to activities when I met her in the hand-shaking lineup at the end of service. I never went, of course, but she kept asking. People started asking me to join the church. When the pastor found out that I worked at the Presbyterian Center, she included me in e-mails to her church members there.

Last weekend, I finally contacted the pastor about helping out with a refugee ministry the church is interested in doing. And when someone I’d talked to at church called the other night and asked if I’d like to come to a dinner party at their house, I said yes. I’m finally coming out of my shell and getting involved.

My friends, I am as tough a nut to crack when it comes to this sort of thing as any of the folks you’ll run into. So if you’re wondering how to get people involved, ask them! Ask them again! Don’t become a psycho about it, but help them realize that the door is always open and you value their contribution to their community. Let them know that you want to get to know them, not just for the sake of numbers, but because they are a child of God.

It is all about a spirit of hospitality, something our modern culture lacks but that we as individuals crave. So open your lives, and your organizations, to others in a spirit of hospitality. Let the flood of God’s radical, amazing love come in.

“Share with God's people who are in need. Practice hospitality.” --Romans 12:13

Kelsey

I’ll start by pleading your forgiveness… no, there wasn’t a blog post yesterday. Basically I just dropped the ball. Sorry about that. My brain was scattered in about five different directions—I actually asked one woman over the phone if she was my grandmother!! I just heard a voice saying my name, and it sounded like Grandma Rice. Of course, it did seem a bit strange to me that Grandma would be calling to ask about the NNPCW Leadership Event….

I have a feeling that today isn’t going to be much better. On one side, I’m leaving to attend the summer gathering of the Synod of Southern California and Hawaii’s Presbyterian Women organization tomorrow. This is probably a good thing, as Hurricane Dennis’ aftereffects have shrouded Louisville in gloom (something my roommate from Western Washington loves—as an east-sider from the Evergreen State, I hate rain). Moreover, I may meet up with my friend Kendroid out there. Two very good reasons to be heading out.

On the other end, Ann Crews Melton is leaving Women’s Ministries this week. Many alumnae know Ann, a former CoCo co-moderator and Austin College grad. Ann and I came into this craziness that is Presbyland together… most of you don’t know that Ann and I originally interviewed against one another for the same two internships (NNPCW and Women’s Advocacy). The National Volunteers Office put us up in a hotel room together for the night before the interviews. Imagine having to spend the night with the person you’re competing with for a job! Frankly, I was terrified of Ann because she was so quiet. I thought she disliked me. Then, right before we said goodnight, she said, “I’m really quiet in the mornings, so don’t think I hate you or anything.” Then, of course, Women’s Ministries offered her the Advocacy position and me the NNPCW internship. Ah, the memories.

I’m actually going to miss Ann quite a bit. We’ve been through a lot together here—both eventually losing our bosses, surviving the last RIF (reduction in force) where we lost Robin Yeary, and transitioning from interns to the primary staff people for our offices. During those difficulties, I always knew I could decompress with Ann. She’s quiet, yes, but not afraid to say what she thinks either. When things got really stressful around here, we used to have a running joke—we were going to quit our jobs and play Atari in our bathrobes all day. By the grace of God, it never got to that!

Ann has taught me a lot, too, about women’s issues and structures of oppression. I always said that Ann sent me the best articles from online about various social issues… some of them have been inspirations for blog posts. Hopefully she’ll continue to send them, and continue to challenge my worldview. And I hope she’ll continue to play some small role in shaping the direction of the Network.

And of course, behind all these other things lies the Leadership Event. Only 13 more days until showtime!!

“For you have been a refuge to the poor, a refuge to the needy in their distress, a shelter from the rainstorm and a shade from the heat.” --Isaiah 25:4a

Kelsey

Have you ever thought about violence against women? And no, I don’t just mean domestic violence—abusive significant others. I mean the subtle ways in which women experience violence in our society, ways so imperceptible that most men don’t understand and won’t readily acknowledge them.

I’ve been thinking about it recently. You see, I’m seriously considering living alone next year here in Louisville. Most of my friends who have lived alone in the past highly recommend it, and I’m just ready for the autonomy that comes with control over your own space—a Virginia Woolf-style “room of one’s own,” if you will. Yes, I am nervous that my extroverted self won’t be able to bear the weight of a quiet apartment every night. But I’m to the stage in my life where I’m willing to try it.

Here’s a true confession, though—I’m afraid of the boogeyman. I’m terrified that someone might jump out of the bushes as I’m walking from my apartment to the car and drag me off, or break in through my bedroom window and rape me. I’m the type of woman who, when approached by a man at the apartment complex car wash the other day, held the hose at the ready to squirt him and run if he attacked. Noises in my apartment freak me out. I walk to my car from work with my keys in my fist, to claw the stranger lurking in the shadows. I’m scared to live alone.

I know what you’re thinking. “This is the girl who goes all over the country, by herself, to talk about NNPCW?” Yes, one and the same.

So why am I like this, besides perhaps a mother who e-mails me a lot of forwards? I didn’t think too much about it until I went to NNPCW alumna Annie Dieckman’s Violence Against Women workshop at the 2003 Leadership Event. There she talked about the ways in which violent acts are expressions of power and control by the perpetrator. The threat of rape—and a society that turns around and asks you what you did to cause it—robs women of autonomy and control over their own lives. We’re afraid to walk across campus, go jogging in the park, live alone, or do many of the activities our male peers think nothing of, because of constant threats to our safety. It inhibits our freedom in a way that most men never even consider. In fact, more men commit violent acts in lesser forms of catcalling as a woman walks down the street, “accidentally” grabbing her in the supermarket, or perpetrating other violations of a woman’s space.

Worse, our media sensationalizes violence against women. David and I had a discussion about my fears the other day, and he said that men were probably victims of similar violence more than I thought. My reply? Maybe so, but you never see a report of a disappeared 23-year-old, able-bodied male like you on the national news. I see women just like me every day, their faces plastered on the TV screen (think Chandra Levy a few years back), their bodies eventually found dead in a ditch somewhere after unspeakable things had been done to them. The implicit message is to watch out, or it could be you next. After years of this frenzied flood, can you blame me (or every parent in the country) for being scared?

So what should we do? Carry a keychain can of Mace around? Interesting question, especially if you tend toward a biblical model of non-violence. Maybe we women should be fighting for tougher penalties against those who commit rape and other crimes of violence against women. We should insist that our society explicitly condemn acts that terrorize our own lives, in all their forms. We should talk to our fathers, brothers, male significant others, and all those men who don’t realize how pervasive the problem is, and ask them to change their own attitudes toward women.

And we should remember that Jesus calls us not to live in fear, but in love. Because we serve a God that will overcome violence and create all things new.

“So do not be afraid; you are of more value than many sparrows.” --Matthew 10:31

Kelsey

Once upon a time, centuries ago, that mass act of violence known as war was a relatively localized event. Don’t misunderstand—acts of war have never been exclusively the premise of direct combatants. Knights during the Crusades may have met on battlefields to challenge one another, but civilian populations were always at risk, via sacking, slaughtering, and raping, when the fighting ended. Still, the war only extended as far as a particular army’s reach.

Of course, technological advances made the military’s arm extend further and further. Eventually we were fighting world wars, where planes from Nazi Germany could bomb targets in Britain in a matter of hours. Civilians bore heavy, but somewhat unintended, casualties. At least in principle, the innocent were to be protected.

Yet war never leaves civilians out—it never has. Targeting non-combatants, particularly women, has crucial psychological impact for both sides of a conflict. The Vagina Monologues depicts a particularly poignant piece about a Bosnian woman brutally raped by the enemy, an experience that leaves her dead to the joys of life, love, and sexuality. A majority of the world’s refugees from conflict are women and their children. When a bomb falls on a factory in Baghdad, it hits the school nearby, too.

Yesterday’s bombings in London, like the 9/11 attacks and the Madrid bombings a year ago, remind us that war always impacts civilians. People around the world know this, from Sudanese refugees in Kenya to Afghani women. Modern terrorism is perhaps the first time in history that civilians have been the sole targets of attack, but the psychological impact of war on the innocent is as old as humanity itself.

We talk so much about the divisions between us. Humans cannot cross their own socially-constructed barriers to unite around love, kindness, joy, or any of the other attributes that Paul proclaims as fruits of the Spirit of God. The only thing that can unite us, it seems, is the common experience of pain. Whether you’re a survivor of 9/11, a woman fleeing ethnic violence in the Balkans, or a child maimed by a landmine in Cambodia, you know what it is to innocently suffer.

Perhaps this is where the story of Christ’s death and resurrection finds its greatest resonance. We follow an innocent victim of violence, one crucified by an imperial power in a war with religious authorities over the “right” way to believe. Yet this victim rose again in victory over death and the earthly powers that had attempted to subdue him. His message of love survived and grew, and works in the world today.

And we live in this hope, that we shall rise as well.

“God shall judge between the nations, and shall arbitrate for many peoples; they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more.” --Isaiah 2:4

Kelsey

And in what could be considered perhaps the biggest news of all from my jaunts abroad, there is a new member of the Bogdan family! No, not me, silly—David’s sister’s boyfriend proposed at the end of the trip, in the same park where David’s parents had wandered as young lovers. Ah, how romantic.

Not that several elderly people weren’t trying to marry me off… it was a common inquiry throughout our travels, in addition to the aforementioned encounter with David’s Hungarian aunt.

I must say that the Bogdans plus significant others got along quite well for our ten days on the road together. Despite spending substantial amounts of time in close quarters, we managed to keep rather felicitous company. In fact, our harrowing road trip experiences bonded us together….

First, let me say that we probably had one of the best drivers in Eastern Europe, in the person of David’s mother’s cousin Miki. No one can ease a minibus off the side of a mountain like that man. Still, while having complete trust in Miki’s driving skills, I must confess that it was a bit unnerving to watch him dodge a horse-drawn cart on one side while squeezing by oncoming traffic on the other at 45 mph. It was a miracle that we made it out of the country without running down a goat or small child. Actually, we passed up the opportunity to hit several cows, wending their way home one evening on the main road.

Next, for those of you who know of my hypocondriatic obsession with sanitary restroom conditions, Romania presented quite a challenge. I managed to avoid using an outhouse, but I would have rather done that than encounter the public restroom at one castle. After paying to use it, we walked in to discover that there were no toilets—just a hole in the ground and a place to put your feet while you squatted. My male readers may not understand my consternation, but I’m sorry—unless you’re in the woods using maple leaves as toilet paper, women do not squat (you can tell I didn’t go camping much as a child). I just couldn’t do it, even if not doing it violated my thrifty streak over the fee we’d paid to pee.

And I didn’t quite understand the obsession with chocolate on the trip. One of the members of our merry little band was a chocolate lover, so one day we went to Metro (the German equivalent of Costco) and bought European chocolate in bulk. We came out of the store loaded down with bulk packages of Toblerone, Milka, and several other brands of premium chocolate. The problem was that we didn’t eat it. So now I’m back here in the States, loaded down with several bars of Milka Wildberry Yougurt. Chocolate, anyone??? It is, I was told by CoCo co-moderator Melissa McNair, National Chocolate Day today.

Well, I think that’s about it as far as my general roadtripping experiences, and probably for most of my Romanian trip stories. On a more somber note, I just read about the London bombings. I don’t really have anything to say today except to express my sadness. Maybe tomorrow.

“But I, O Lord, cry out to you; in the morning my prayer comes before you. O Lord, why do you cast me off? Why do you hide your face from me?” --Psalm 88:13-14

Kelsey

Right before I left on vacation, I was in desperate need of a break in routine. The strange thing about traveling, though, is that when you get back you actually crave the routine again. I’m kind of in that stage right now—summers are always a time of flux around the Center for us young folks, as old interns say goodbye, new ones come in, people travel all over the place, and others in our lives starts off on new adventures. On days like today, I long for the stability, structure, and routine of my childhood. Do you ever feel like that?

Anyway, since this is Kelsey’s vacation report week, I should probably get on with it. Once upon a time, not so long ago, I saw Europe as this great utopia—countries that had social guarantees for their citizens, societies that had learned from their earlier colonial excesses and were beacons of civil enlightenment.

My visit to Romania dispelled any such notions about our friends in Europe. Yes, we can learn from them. But they don’t really have the world’s great problems solved any more than we do, particularly when it comes to clashes between racial ethnic groups.

There are two different versions of Romania’s history, all based on who you talk to. The Romanian version tells you that Romanians are descended directly from the Roman colony of Dacia, established in the first years after Christ. Romania, according to this story, consisted of the provinces of Walachia, Moldavia, and Transylvania. Transylvania, with its Dacian (Romanian) population, suffered successively under the occupation of Hungary, the Ottoman Turks, and the Austro-Hungarian Empire before finally being returned to Romania in 1920.

The Hungarian version, on the other hand, asserts that the Dacians moved out of Transylvania following the withdrawl of Roman administration around 271. After several barbarian migrations during the early Middle Ages, the Magyars (Hungarians) conquered the area in the 10th century and have lived there ever since. The region was primarily part of Hungary until the Austro-Hungarian Empire’s loss in World War I, when it was awarded to Romania by the Allies as spoils of war.

I don’t know enough Eastern European history to know who has it right. But, as in so many other places around the world, these competing versions of history justify conflict in the region. The battle was subtle, but you could see it if you knew what to look for. An example: we visited Cluj-Napoca, the capital of Transylvania and a region that used to be largely Hungarian. There, we saw the old Roman Catholic cathedral, with its giant statue of a Hungarian king in the town square. A few blocks down, flanked by more Romanian flags than I saw anywhere else in the country, was the rather new (or perhaps renovated) looking Romanian Orthodox cathedral. It, too, had a statue of some Romanian national hero in front of it. A hundred years ago, the city was overwhemingly Hungarian—today most of its citizens are ethnically Romanian.

Our travels took us through some of the poorest rural regions of Romania, too—places where your car could almost be swallowed up by a pothole in the road, places where many people got around by horse-drawn carts, places where indoor plumbing was a bonus. The poverty seemed more severe in the border regions, further away from the nerve center of Bucharest. These poorer regions also seemed to be some of the last remaining ethnic Hungarian strongholds in the area, places where the population didn’t even speak Romanian.

And yes, we did see some of the Roma people on our travels, also known as the Gypsies. They traveled nomadically in horse-drawn carts, but some had houses on the outskirts of villages—ramshackle little buildings that sheltered several families. In Bucharest, they were many of the beggars we saw. While I had very little interaction with them, it is safe to say that they literally and figuratively live on the absolute margins of both Romanian and Hungarian society. They are disliked by all.

Perhaps when it comes to race relations, the United States is not the only place in need of God’s healing.

“On either side of the river is the tree of life with its twelve kinds of fruit, producing its fruit each month; and the leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations.” --Revelation 22:2b

Kelsey

PS—Thanks for the correction on my Hungarian… I was spelling phonetically in yesterday’s post.

Today is my first day back in the office after getting back from the big trip… basically, I’ve spent the morning sorting out snags regarding the Leadership Event. Remember that there is still space, if you’re interested in coming!!

I told you yesterday that I ended up hearing a lot of Hungarian while I was in Romania. The reason? Romania has a sizable Hungarian ethnic minority, mainly because in the great carving of Europe following World War I, Hungary lost the region of Transylvania to Romania. Despite the fact that many Romanians have since moved into that territory, many signs in the region still point to its Hungarian past… not the least of which is the people of Hungarian descent who still live there. David’s family belongs in this category, so I met many Hungarians while there.

Probably my greatest exposure to this community came with the Hungarian Baptist wedding I attended a couple of weekends ago. It was definitely a cultural experience—the wedding lasted for two hours, followed by a four-hour dinner!! Every hour, someone would bring a new course out. When we finished, we sat and talked until the next course came. Considering that only eight other people in the room spoke English conversantly (and we had already spent several days driving around together in a minibus), it was a fairly long four hours. And those of you who know how I am about waiting for food can only imagine my reaction to a dinner that lasts four hours.

Because the wedding was Baptist, there was no dancing or the like at the reception to keep us occupied between feedings. Though most Hungarians are Catholics, and most Romanians Eastern Orthodox, a small number of both groups are adherents to the Baptist faith. I discovered that these Christians are conservative in a way that makes even the more conservative American churches look downright progressive. I attended three different Baptist churches in Romania—all required men and women to sit separately, and for married women to cover their heads during services. Interestingly enough, none of the churches actually enforced these requirements with our group.

For me, this helped to avoid a quandary—my desire to respect the culture and its traditions versus my objections to such overt symbols of patriarchy within the church. The issue is difficult. On the one hand, I believe that feminism in other cultures has to be indigenous. The systems of power at work in Romanian society are not exactly like those functioning in American culture, and the responses to those systems are not going to be the same in Romania as they are here. Thus I don’t think it is my place to march into a Romanian church and demand that women throw off their head coverings—Romanian women have to come to that conclusion for themselves (and maybe there are other issues of greater importance for them anyway). At the same time, how do we remain true to our own personal convictions?

In any case, I enjoyed the wedding. David’s family was wonderful, his cousin the groom downright sweet in his obvious love for his bride. We had a great time, but I was thankful when they finally let us go to bed around 1:30 am.

“They are now justified by God’s grace as a gift, through the redemption in Christ Jesus.” --Romans 3:24.

Kelsey

Happy Independence Day!! Terribly sorry that you haven't heard from NNPCW in almost a week... don't worry, though, because I am back in the country again and will be posting all the way up until the Leadership Event (and maybe with some technical genius, we can manage to get you access to that event, too).

So I just made it off the plane in Cincinnati and drove home a few hours ago. My day started this morning in Bucharest, Romania, and is still going strong this afternoon in Louisville after almost ten hours in a plane. How was my flight? David finally beat me in chess, making me very irate, and then the French flight attendants ignored my repeated requests for a customs card. But hey, all's well that ends well. They did feed us, after all.

Tomorrow I'll fill your ears with more ruminations from the trip, but for now I'll leave you with Kelsey's hello to Romania story. Being a considerate tourist, I wanted to learn a couple of the words spoken in Transylvania so that I could answer people when they greeted me, etc. So David taught me the two Hungarian words he knew (more later about why some people in Romania speak Hungarian)-- "chokolom," which means hello, and "cusunem," which means thank you. My problem? I got them a bit mixed up. I started saying "chokolom" for everything. So a common conversation between me and the locals went something like this:

Man Loading a Car: May I help you with that bag?

Kelsey: Hello!!

Waitress in a Restaurant: Can I bring you another Fanta?

Kelsey: Hello!!!

David finally pointed out the problem to me, I think after someone gave me a funny look and chuckled a bit without me knowing why. So that's how I said hello to Romania. Until tomorrow!!

"There's no place like home." --The Wizard of Oz

Kelsey