Deserve

Injustice frustrates me.

It boils in me this anger and insistence that the right thing will be done; the bad will be punished and the good will get their reward and compensation.

Steve and I were friends when was celebrating his 22^nd birthday. I was at his apartment as he opened his table football set from his buddy Iain and was filled with joy until he realized that two of the four defenders were missing. Before he knew it, I was on the phone to the store stating my disapproval. When the help I received was not satisfactory, I called the head office customer services declaring “You wouldn’t ask England to play without Sol Campbell and Rio Ferdinand would you?!” I was one step away from calling a national state of emergency.

My irrational passion paid off: we were provided a new set as well as reimbursement for travel costs incurred. I had defeated “The Man”.

On my birthday, I received SOOO many lovely messages; my primary love language is ‘Words of Affirmation’ meaning I feel most “loved” when people say or write nice things about me (though oddly enough it thoroughly embarrasses me when people say them to my face!!)

“I hope you have had a fab day and been totally spoilt as you deserve”

“Hope you enjoy ur day, u deserve it”

“Have a lovely day you deserve it”

What do I deserve?

I don’t know why this word has troubled me in recent weeks

If you are deemed good then society says you “deserve” good things – a good birthday getting wasted with loads of presents…a great family…

I guess I struggle when I think of those who have the same birthday as me, born the same year as me, and what they got.

Dirty water? Family death? HIV?

Why weren’t their gifts good? Didn’t they deserve it too?

Yet while I sympathize, my actions tell a different tale.

Why does only the injustice of missing plastic football players drive me to the telephone and time demanding a wrong is put to right but I tell no one of the suffering of those both home and abroad.

Clean water.

Internet connection.

Rent payment.

Social networking.

Deadly mosquito bites.

Sinus trouble.

HIV.

Often our worries are petty, pathetic and pedestrian in comparison to the real issues of this world – education, healthcare, sanitation, communicable disease,

I think about my recent adventure to the African continent. Did Ghana change me?? Yes, it opened my eyes to another world, though I have experienced poverty of that magnitude in Nicaragua, and arguably in some places in England and America, but was I so changed that my life looks completely different??

Honestly and ashamedly, no.

It has affected my heart, yes. I look through my pictures and videos, or bring it up into conversation and the smell of the red ground permeates, as I am right there walking through the streets.

But still I am still.

Unmoved by these words:

“Anyone who sets himself up as "religious" by talking a good game is self-deceived. This kind of religion is hot air and only hot air. Real religion, the kind that passes muster before God the Father, is this: Reach out to the homeless and loveless in their plight, and guard against corruption from the godless world.”

Check out www.GlobalRichList.com – it simply calculates where you in terms of the richest people in the world. Last year with my modest missionary wage (not including Steve’s money) I was in the top 13%.  This year despite no fixed  salary, I am in the top 14.81%

By simply being a part of the West, by my currency being strong, my country being a superpower, with no job I end up in the top 15%.

Do I deserve this?

People deserve to be equal. When I posted a previous note entitled “Feminists”, several of my favourite girl friends and I had a great discussion on whether we really were equal. I had several days and nights of pondering and questioning all that was shared.

Our world isn’t equal.

I read once that there is enough money in the world for everyone to have $17 million.

Cancer affects 1/3 of people during their lifetime.

Clean water is a merely a dream for too many.

People don’t always get what they deserve.

Sometimes they get more.

Sometimes they get less.

I am working on changing this guilt into action. 

Feminists

Every since the days of the Suffragettes chaining themselves to railings, setting fire to mailboxes and smashing windows to gain the right to vote, us women have fought to be equal.

Equal rights. 

Equal opportunities.

Equal with men. 

Though we are from Venus and they are from Mars, we desire to be just like them, work just as hard, be just as tough.

If it’s possible for men, it is possible for women.

Watching ‘The Apprentice’ either stateside or in England, the longest surviving females are either

the most ruthless (backstabbing anyone on their team)

or

the most risqué (willing to pose half naked on a bed for a men’s clothing advertisement).

While listening to Destiny’s Child ‘Independent Women’ and reading the Feminine Mystique, we have bought into the lie that we have to do it all.

Have the A* in school.

Have the glittering extra-curricular activity list.

Have the degree.

Have the princess-themed white wedding.

Have the businessman husband who modeled through university.

Have the career we dreamed of before we are 30.

Have the beautiful children who everyone positively comments on.

Have the hot body that makes other women jealous.

Have the fresh bread baking in the oven.

Have the beautiful house in the suburbs of the city.

We want to have it all.

We don’t want to be equal.

That is obvious because we reached that goal long ago and yet we still desperately strive to achieve.

We want to be more than equal.

We overcompensate putting in the long hours at work, home, with friends. Our calendars are bursting at the seems with coffee dates, lunches, parties, weddings, business meetings, after-school activities, extra-credit reports, volunteer opportunities…

As I sat on the bus between Birmingham and Oxford earlier this week (driven incidentally, by a woman) I enjoyed watching the countryside, the beautiful fields, and reading my magazine (it may or may not have been ‘Closer’).

And I felt guilty.

I felt guilty about relaxing. Enjoying life. Looking at the scenery. Taking time our to think. Being inspired by creative surroundings.

When people have asked me about my job situation, I have felt ashamed describing how I’m not employed and spent my days writing, babysitting, teaching English, spending time with friends, and seeking volunteer opportunities. I feel as if I should be a professional cake baker and my house should be immaculate and I should be picking the best of the seven offers of work I have received.

Continually people ask about when the first (and potentially only if labour is as painful as everyone says) Miller baby is coming along. I am fully aware of how hot and amazing this child will be, and feel that pressure that if I’m not working, then I should start churning the babies out, justifying my staying at home status, feeling (re)productive.

One of my favourite sociological concepts to discuss is ‘body dysmorphia’. Seen painfully in those who suffer from eating disorders or have had multiple cosmetic surgeries, it is when there is a perceived defect in our physical appearance thus we are unable to see ourselves the way we truly are.

We don’t know who we truly are.

Unmarried at 27 or {gasp!!} at 30 and granny is frantic with worry that we will be a spinster on the shelf with a house full of cats.

Disney repeatedly projects the notion that there is something wrong with women who remain unmarried and childless, turning them into the baddies (think Cruella de Vil, or Ursula).

Not on the fast track at work, or not getting enough promotions and we panic that we have wasted our life and have nothing to show for it.

We don’t know who are we.

We don’t know that we are beautiful.

We don’t know that we each have an individual life plan.

We don’t know that we have a purpose far beyond what we can even dream.

We don’t know that we are shouldn’t compare ourselves.

We don’t know that we are free from judging words.

We don’t know that we aren’t expected to do it all.

We don’t know that we are loved by a heavenly Father ordering our everyday steps.

We are intelligent.

Let us not be dumb.

Dumb enough to be fooled by the modern lie that

we are not a complete woman

we are not enough

we are not equal

until we are working 12 hour days at the office, with straight hair, a Vogue wardrobe on a shoestring budget and a house out of a Victorian magazine, all while home-schooling our perfect children.

Be who you are.

Happily working part-time.

With one child at home.

Single and loving it.

With curly hair.

Unable to cook.

Teaching difficult kids for love not money.

Creating your own style.

Whoppi Goldberg said this morning: “Take a little time today to enjoy the view”.

Because maybe,

Just maybe,

That’s what it means to have it “all”.