spring crochet me and a thousand resurrections
After much waiting-with-baited-breath (what is baited breath, anyhow?), the new issue of Crochet Me is up! Yours truly has a featured article about how your hook size affects drape of the crocheted fabric. Maybe some of you wouldn't know a crochet hook from a chopstick, but I think the article might be entertaining nonetheless.
I've felt like I'm in a sort of mental limbo this week, doing a whole lot of reading and more reading, and not much else. Well, thinking about what I have read of course. I finished the Rwanda book mentioned in my last post, and then read A Thousand Resurrections straight through in a day. The book is by a pastor's wife in Baltimore, and her family's twenty-some years of trying to live and make a difference in a blighted NE Baltimore neighborhood (well, the words "blighted" and "neighborhood" are kindof redundant here). The neighborhood, in fact, is about a five minute drive from the one I grew up in. I passed through it every Sunday on the way to my home church, and I drive through it to get to the Y every week.
It was a bitter-sweet book to read; there were so many familiar sensations, familiar names even (her kids went to the Lutheran school I attended), and the disconnect of being nearly the only white family living in a black neighborhood. There was the struggle to shield her five children from the drug culture, the violence and the decay, but at the same time wanting to fully share in the lives of neighbors and church members, many of whom were mentally ill, addicted to alcohol or drugs, and/or had troubles with the law. Her kids had the same identity crisis that African-Americans had at the elite private school where I taught: you're not the same color as the rest of us, but when you want to hang out with people like yourself, there's a suspicion and isolation from everyone else. You go back home and you don't fit in there either: you're acting black, acting white, and you aren't being true to your race, whatever that means. Whatever you do, you are wrong--you're either the oppressor or you're a victim, and sometimes both. The issue of race is so stark in Baltimore, one of the most segregated, depressed cities in our country.
The church and school this family started have been a sortof touchstone for reconciliation--her husband co-pastors with an African-American man, and their church has members from the community, from nearby universities, immigrants, and people from other neighborhoods in the area. They have sought to offer an alternative, a hope to people of the city who have no options. When you're raised by a teenager and a tired grandmother, then sent off to a criminally negligent school system run by bloated bureaucrats and overrun with gang violence and intimidation, when the cops are corrupt and hate you, and snitching will get you killed anyway, what else is there? Every neighborhood needs healing and redemption, and no amount of government money or special initiatives is going to get the job done. No political party or sports stars or pep talks are going to change a person from the inside. I'm just wondering how long it will take people to realize their cherished hopes are incredibly naive--spend enough money, lock up enough bad people, and then people will remember that they are inherently good and will choose the right thing. They'll choose the difficult, less lucrative way; they'll delay gratification and hold every life sacred; they'll use their new power to lift people up. No, people are bad, self-serving to the end, and cannot stop choosing evil by an act of the will. No one is righteous, not even one, as it says in the Bible. Whoever had been oppressed before, when they come to power, will merely pay back their oppressors. It happened in Rwanda. Nothing but a supernatural break-in will stop the cycle of recrimination. Nothing but the resurrection.
Add to all these thoughts my own struggle: what do I do with this information? How can this sheltered, suburban white mom help to bring healing? All I can do most days is cry about the injustice, scream at God for allowing generations of children to be abused by everyone and turn into abusers themselves. What can I do that won't be patronizing, exploitative, or counterproductive? I guess right now I am in the education phase. I'm reading a lot, learning the history and the theology. I have been forced to confront my own ingrained racism and suspicion, fear of violence and the unknown. I can pray for my own healing, for the grace to see people as God sees them, and do the job God has for me to do. Not run away from Nineveh like Jonah did. God asked him, "Should I not be concerned about that great city?"
I've felt like I'm in a sort of mental limbo this week, doing a whole lot of reading and more reading, and not much else. Well, thinking about what I have read of course. I finished the Rwanda book mentioned in my last post, and then read A Thousand Resurrections straight through in a day. The book is by a pastor's wife in Baltimore, and her family's twenty-some years of trying to live and make a difference in a blighted NE Baltimore neighborhood (well, the words "blighted" and "neighborhood" are kindof redundant here). The neighborhood, in fact, is about a five minute drive from the one I grew up in. I passed through it every Sunday on the way to my home church, and I drive through it to get to the Y every week.
It was a bitter-sweet book to read; there were so many familiar sensations, familiar names even (her kids went to the Lutheran school I attended), and the disconnect of being nearly the only white family living in a black neighborhood. There was the struggle to shield her five children from the drug culture, the violence and the decay, but at the same time wanting to fully share in the lives of neighbors and church members, many of whom were mentally ill, addicted to alcohol or drugs, and/or had troubles with the law. Her kids had the same identity crisis that African-Americans had at the elite private school where I taught: you're not the same color as the rest of us, but when you want to hang out with people like yourself, there's a suspicion and isolation from everyone else. You go back home and you don't fit in there either: you're acting black, acting white, and you aren't being true to your race, whatever that means. Whatever you do, you are wrong--you're either the oppressor or you're a victim, and sometimes both. The issue of race is so stark in Baltimore, one of the most segregated, depressed cities in our country.
The church and school this family started have been a sortof touchstone for reconciliation--her husband co-pastors with an African-American man, and their church has members from the community, from nearby universities, immigrants, and people from other neighborhoods in the area. They have sought to offer an alternative, a hope to people of the city who have no options. When you're raised by a teenager and a tired grandmother, then sent off to a criminally negligent school system run by bloated bureaucrats and overrun with gang violence and intimidation, when the cops are corrupt and hate you, and snitching will get you killed anyway, what else is there? Every neighborhood needs healing and redemption, and no amount of government money or special initiatives is going to get the job done. No political party or sports stars or pep talks are going to change a person from the inside. I'm just wondering how long it will take people to realize their cherished hopes are incredibly naive--spend enough money, lock up enough bad people, and then people will remember that they are inherently good and will choose the right thing. They'll choose the difficult, less lucrative way; they'll delay gratification and hold every life sacred; they'll use their new power to lift people up. No, people are bad, self-serving to the end, and cannot stop choosing evil by an act of the will. No one is righteous, not even one, as it says in the Bible. Whoever had been oppressed before, when they come to power, will merely pay back their oppressors. It happened in Rwanda. Nothing but a supernatural break-in will stop the cycle of recrimination. Nothing but the resurrection.
Add to all these thoughts my own struggle: what do I do with this information? How can this sheltered, suburban white mom help to bring healing? All I can do most days is cry about the injustice, scream at God for allowing generations of children to be abused by everyone and turn into abusers themselves. What can I do that won't be patronizing, exploitative, or counterproductive? I guess right now I am in the education phase. I'm reading a lot, learning the history and the theology. I have been forced to confront my own ingrained racism and suspicion, fear of violence and the unknown. I can pray for my own healing, for the grace to see people as God sees them, and do the job God has for me to do. Not run away from Nineveh like Jonah did. God asked him, "Should I not be concerned about that great city?"
3 Comments:
So, I have a question about the size hook. Do you suggest generally using the size hook recommended in the pattern?
Sounds like a great book, making its readers really take an introspective look at themselves. Looks like another great book I'll have to read this summer!
that's a good question! for patterns that are already written, you pretty much need to keep to the gauge they suggest, whichever hook gets the job done. But for people who are designing garments or working from scratch, it's less intuitive to use a bigger hook for some reason. A lot of the commercially available patterns have too tight a gauge, so the drape is much less flattering.
and the book is well worth a read--she homeschooled her kids when it was almost unheard of.
WHITE LIKE ME, by Time Wise would be another worthwhile read. Its not written by a Christian and does contain a bit too much of the sentiment that we are all good people and that racism is the enemy (rather than sin being the cause of racism.)But, I think its still a helpful book for white folks like us, who don't often enough think of race. Plus, its short--you could finish it in a few (uninterrupted) hours.
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