Unsung Heroes

I recently finished a book about World War Two, focusing primarily on London during the Blitz, but other fine moments in England's history during that long war. I am always amazed when something manages to wake me up to the fact that WWII wasn't just GIs in bars on leave with the pretty girls, it's not just Pearl Harbor and A League of Their Own. Europe experienced a very different war than we did. Though I will in no way desire to down-play what Americans experienced, I am focusing here on what I read in All Clear, which focuses on England; their war was very different from ours.

Night after night raids plagued London. The blackout, V1's, V2's, fires, shelters, rationing, I can't even seem to explain to myself what this means to me. The reminder of what mankind has survived. What we are capable of. We can pull together and make it through seemingly horrifyingly never ending times. And London didn't see all of it, either, there was still France, the Russian front, Auschwitz, Hiroshima, the list goes on and on. The wars I've lived through were very impersonal. I didn't really think about them at all. WWII wasn't like that. It hit home with Americans and Europeans alike.

The unsung heroes of the war include ambulance drivers and entertainers, women who worked while the men were away, moms that raised kids alone, people who opened their homes to those who'd lost theirs, families formed in the shelters, men and women putting out fires, digging through debris, refusing to lose hope through all the dark months and years. They were prisoners too. The human spirit never ceases to amaze me. Perhaps that's what I love about history so much. And Connie Willis has a knack for capturing that spirit. First in Doomsday Book, and now Blackout and All Clear, I truly appreciate her ability to bring those days to life for me.

I am thankful for the men and women, military and civilian alike, who fought then, and those who fight now, for the freedoms we enjoy but rarely recognize.

Alone in a Sea of Communication

Apparently I often fall into communication funks. I sit on Facebook, or clicking in and out of my Gmail inbox, waiting for some sliver of information, news of life happening. The sad thing is my life is slowly passing me by as I wait. So are the lives of all the people I care about. How much of their lives never see a Facebook status?

It's in times such as these that I start speculating on how Facebook has ruined communication. Whatever happened to letters - you know them, those hand written things we used to have to LIVE in order to fill - and phone calls - the ones that could last hours because we're connecting with someone - and face to face conversations? We need to experience life in order to communicate more than a Facebook status to someone about our lives.

Our reality has become virtual in many ways. Naturally everything I'm discussing here is my own doing, my own fault. I do have conversations with people, and I could call my friends and ask if they have the time to sit with me, maybe over coffee or dinner, or a nice walk. Somewhere along the line I got it into my head, though, that I only need to do that when I have something to share - usually negative - and that no one wants to hear my problems. I complain too much and I HATE complaining. It's so negative. I hate dumping that on others. I just want to hear about everyone else's lives.

Why do I think people don't want to extend the courtesy back to me? Especially since it's a big fat lie; the Carey inside is screaming to be let out, for someone to listen and care about what she's going through, that her heart is 15 times heavier than it should be. Or give her a good talking to: "Carey, you aren't the center of the universe!" "Carey! You aren't always right!" "Carey, you're loved more than you could ever fathom!"

Of course there's another problem: I have no idea how to have a conversation. Okay, explain to me again, how does it go? You talk, then I talk, and we discuss some subject either one or the both of us has an interest in and we learn something? Not only about each other, but maybe (just maybe), the world we live in, the God we serve, and the role we play?

Shocker.

Or I have a burden that I need shared by a fellow disciple and you're willing to hear it and pray for me? Or I get to share yours? Or how about a praise of God's faithfulness and wonder?

Sharing LIFE. But first we have to live it! (This I decided to expound upon in its own post.)

You can't get to know someone through bits of information fed through a "What's on your mind?" prompt on a website. Texting only offers you one iota of the human you are attempting to connect with. Just like masterpiece meals take more than 30 minutes, true relationships take longer than a half hour here or there.

So here I stand, bombarded on every side by information, technology, and immediate gratification, screaming out for someone to take more than a cyberspace minute's interest in my life.

Makes me wonder how many more souls around me are crying out for the same.

Raising Awareness

I have found something to be true: one must learn to laugh at oneself. This post is published in honor of that truth.

On Wednesday evening I learned that there was a shoe store hoping to raise awareness for the shoeless children in Africa by encouraging Americans to go barefoot on Thursday. I'm all about African children! BUT it was quite cold and rainy yesterday, so I wore flip-flops to make my statement. Off I went to the CU campus in Denver, my toes quite numb by the time I got to my first class. Admittedly I was feeling a little foolish. (I find that any time I do something to raise awareness all I do is spend the day being reminded myself of the cause I'm attempting to raise awareness for.)

The first person to ask me about my footwear choice was an acquaintance I have made in my C++ Programming class who just so happens to have been born and raised in Tanzania. In fact the first words out of his mouth were, "This is not right, Carey!" and I thought he was talking about our program that's due on Tuesday. I was wrong. So I had to explain to him why I was being so very un-wise.

"Carey, let me tell you something," he said. "Growing up I only wore shoes to church. And on Sunday I knew my grandmother would make me wear them and I would go and right after it's over I took them off! I don't like shoes. Now I have lived in America I wear shoes (without socks) but when I go home they laugh at me. I cannot walk barefoot on the ground."

This is where the light bulb came on: here was a man who lived the life of the children I am "supporting" and his reaction: "they don't want shoes!" (He also mentioned that East Africans are much more laid-back than West Africans. Something he felt he had to share when he heard I had been to Nigeria. Apparently I simply must see Tanzania! Something I could do with CU if I were into Paleo-Anthropology, which...I'm not...but I would like to see Tanzania just the same.)

Now I know the reasons we as Americans encourage shoe-wearing in the lives of children around the world, it helps with disease prevention, etc. But I found in my 10 hours of numb-toed living yesterday that the only awareness I rose was my own. I became fully aware (during my humbling chat with this friend, and in the hours that followed it), of how culturally unaware I truly am. It pricks my desire to know more about cultures around the world. How much more good could we do if we took the time to actually understand and appreciate the culture of those we desire to help? I am thankful for the missionaries around the world that do just that and for the people God so graciously puts in my life (in the most unexpected places), to teach me such simple, yet profound, truths.