Age ain’t nothing but a number

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

As I waited to pick up lunch, I caught part of an NFL game. It’s the first I’ve seen of my team in years, and as I watched I realized something that wasn’t true all those years ago. Now, some of these kids are my age! (Some of them may be even younger!)

That observation is just further evidence of my age hang-up. This hyper-awareness probably stems from my college graduation; I was 20 when I received my bachelor’s, and have been noticing age demographics ever since.

I’m not sure it was a big deal to anyone else, but I was always aware of my place as the youngest in my grad program at Florida State.(I have a cushion at Alabama; three of us were born within a month’s time, so I’m not alone at 23.) I’m never quite sure where I fit.

I complicate things further through the men I date. My ex is three and a half years older than me. It rarely came up in conversation, but it hovered as insecurity in the back of my mind.

I’ve also had several crushes on younger men, both before and since that relationship. (In fact, the only date I’ve been on in the past five years was with a younger man!) None of those guys was anything more than a friend, and so the age difference wasn’t important. (It was also much smaller than the difference between my ex and I in both of these instances.) But it still crossed my mind.

Call me old fashioned, but I’m always careful to avoid “emasculating” the men in my life. I let them open doors for me. (It’s part of being southern, you know.) I try to let them defend themselves in debates (a strange example, but it did come up once in the past). I prefer to date men who are smarter than me—partially because that attracts me, partially because I don’t want to dominate a relationship, and I fear that could become the case if I were intellectually superior.

Now I’m approaching another graduation, and my mental age barriers are slowly fading. I don’t think it’s nearly as strange to be 23 with a master’s as to be 20 with a bachelor’s. Maybe (maybe?) I’m coming into my own.

Marks of unprofessionalism in the world

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

Dear Andrea,

Thank you for submitting for resume for our Copy Editor position with our magazines…

I ripped open this letter, assuming it would be a rejection from a job somewhere. What I didn’t expect was that they didn’t bother to update their form letter with my name–and that they clearly needed a copy editor to proof their correspondence!
____________________
In other unprofessional behavior news… so my car is gimp right now and I’ve had to drive 50 mph (or less) everywhere I go. The other night, I was cruising along in the far right lane on the interstate when an 18 wheeler pulled up behind me. Rather than simply going around (as there was plenty of room to do), the driver sat right up on my rear and turned his brights on.

Too bad I didn’t think to get the “How’s my driving?” 800 number when he finally passed me.

I’m a model, you know what I mean

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

and I do my little turn on the catwalk…

Oh, wait. There won’t be any catwalk involved–this is print modeling. But tomorrow will be my modeling debut (and probably my last experience as a model, as well!).

It’s not real modeling–no one picked me out of a crowd and demanded I pose for them. But the mag I work for needs another person to model fur coats for our December “In Style” section… so I’m it!

I figure it’ll be a fun new experience–and hey, something else I can put on my resume. 🙂

Finish up your coffee, love, it’s getting cold

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

So I think I’ve figured out the Starbucks secret.

It’s not their ubiquity. It’s not the benefits they offer their employees. It’s not even freshness of products.

Starbucks’ appeal is in brainwashing.

Think about it. At least an entire generation has cut their coffee drinking teeth on Starbucks. You may be like me, starting out with a fluffy 16-year-old girl drink and progressing to combinations not even listed on the menu. You drink Starbucks because it’s convenient and it’s the same in every city.

Given a couple years—or weeks, depending on the frequency of your visits—the addiction takes hold. You slowly move from a social drinker to brewing a cup a week in your home to… well, let’s be honest. You end up brewing at least two cups a day at home, and you often stop for a latte when you’re out. And now that you’ve developed a full blown expensive coffee habit, you’ve got to determine your favorite local shop. We all know true coffee snobs don’t drink corporate coffee!

So you grab an almond latte at Safari Cup during your lunch break. It’s fresher than the French Roast in your Starbucks thermos… but it doesn’t fulfill your craving. The next day, you try a “cinnamon roll” from O’Henry’s. The blend of cinnamon, caramel and vanilla smells delicious and warms you from the inside out, but it doesn’t really compare to the toffee nut latte you wanted this morning. (Everyone should have toffee nut syrup.) Highland Coffee serves organic, fair trade coffee—but it’s still more acidic than you prefer.

That’s it. Starbucks must slip some sort of brainwashing additive into their espresso. You think you prefer the way they roast their beans. You guess it’s because pumpkin spice lattes aren’t available anywhere else. But you’re wrong.

If drinking Starbucks means you’re brainwashed, then I’m perfectly content being a zombie. Bring on the toffee nut.

I want to cry like the rain, shine like the sun on a beautiful morning

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

In case what I wrote last made no sense whatsoever… I’ll let Tim Downs explain it for me.

A sower’s music might take many forms, but it would always possess two qualities. First, it would refuse to exalt or endorse any value that undermines a biblical worldview. A sower’s music would not, for example, lament the ultimate meaninglessness of life or extol the pleasures of casual sex. Second, a sower’s music, in form and content, would seek to undergird and strengthen a biblical view of life. It might praise the seeker of truth, or reflect on the beauty and design inherent in nature, or do any one of a thousand other things that are consistent with a biblical image of the world. On first hearing, it might seem to say little or nothing at all about God–directly.

“But that’s not Christian music,” some would complain. No, not if by Christian music you mean straightforward gospel music, music that attempts to harvest. This is music, as C.S. Lewis would say, with the Christianity latent. It’s an indirect communication that has tremendous potential for influence–over time. Imagine, as Lewis would say, if every time a teenager turned on a radio, the music he heard was not proclaiming a Christian message, but was simply consistent with a biblical worldview. Would that be of any value? Would it have any effect on the mind-set of the teenager over time? And could it have any effect on the way that teenager might one day respond to the direct appeal of a harvester?

Who could ask for more than to be living in a moment you would die for?

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

No ice, no flame
No place to stand
No one to blame
No ice, no flame
Rescue me, rescue me
From the inbetween
–Sandra McCracken

I’ve noticed a trend over the past few months. Everything has become “okay.” One week blends seemlessly into the next and the passage of time is the most remarkable quality of my days. I’m moving toward a goal, but the path has been bland.

I’m not alright with leading an “okay” life. My days haven’t been characterized with glaring sins, but my time has been filled with more socially acceptable ones. I’ve been coasting along at less than what God has for me.

Jesus said He came that we might have life and have it “to the full.” The cup of my life has not been running over.

What do I want my life to look like? I have learned over the past weeks that I don’t want to lead a self serving existence. That may be comofrtable, but it’s also boring and pointless.

Neither do I want to err on the opposite extreme. There was a time when I embodied the happy cheesy Christian image. I went through the ritualistic purging of my CD collection. (Sister Hazel, out. Jennifer Knapp, in. Limp Bizkit, out. FFH, in. Needless to say, these weren’t all wise decisions.) I bottled up my struggles because “God would take care of it.” Though that’s true, I wasn’t entirely real in my relationship with Him or with others.

During that period, I learned a lot and grew spiritually. But my focus was still inward in many ways. I think that may have been part of why I wanted to join staff with Campus Crusade. It may have helped me, to some degree, avoid the corporate power struggle that quickly makes me forget my faith.

Now, I want balance.

I’m re-reading my favorite book, Finding Common Ground: How to Communicate with Those Outside the Christian Community… While We Still Can (Tim Downs). In the chapter on Christians in the workplace he asks, “What in the world does a Christian auto mechanic look like?” His point is that the Bible doesn’t prescribe action points for each possible vocation, but as Christians, our faith should be reflected in our work.

So what does a Christian auto mechanic look like? Maybe he’d be like the gentleman at Firestone Tires who is helping me find a new wheel for my car. (Long story.) It isn’t this man’s responsibility to find me a part and save me a couple hundred dollars. All I asked him to do was put new tires on my car!

Moreover, what does a Christian journalist look like? My faith and ability may carry me to a publication that seeks to combine the two. But they may not, either. That doesn’t mean my faith is irrelevant to my work.

I’ve had some opportunity to see the two interact at my present internship. Recently I wrote an article about a ministry. In doing so, I was challenged to use language that did not betray my worldview while writing to a “secular” audience.

That’s a small example, but an easy illustration of how God works at my job. The words I use are read by tens of thousands; heaven forbid I inadvertently rule out the power of prayer in the ministry’s work by careless word choice.

Maybe that doesn’t make sense to you–maybe it would seem more logical with the story in front of you. Be assured that I am not abusing my position to evangelize the city. That’s not within the magazine’s editorial mission and would be sloppy “journalism.”

Instead, I see it as my responsibility to avoid contradicting the possibility of God with my words. I don’t think you would guess from the article that I’m a Christian. But neither do I think you’d conclude that I don’t believe in God.

So I’ve spent four paragraphs of your time harping on the selection of a single word in a magazine filled with thousands of them. My point is this: I don’t want to fly below the spiritual radar. I don’t want to be one of those people I always hear stories about–people who get so caught up in their car, house, family that those responisbilities consume them. I don’t want to live for God for an hour on Sunday and merely give Him lip service during the week’s remainder.

I want to see God’s presence and live for His role in my every move. I want to see Him radically change me and those I know.

That probably doesn’t demand going into Christian service as a full time vocation, in my case. It may mean devoting myself full time for a period of my life. (I’m still praying about that/playing with that idea.)

All I know is the Christian life isn’t meant to be bland.

I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full. John 10:10b

Here’s to my patchwork world

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

Let’s do a little recap (yes, even before we get started).

1981 – I was born in Birmingham, Ala.
1988 – After several moves within the city, I move to Jacksonville, Fla.
1990 – My family moves to a different part of Jacksonville.
(Here’s where it gets fun.)
1999 – I move to Tallahassee, Fla., for college.
1999-2002 – I won’t bore you with the details of a plethora in-town moves. I think there were like five of them?
Summer 2002 – I spend two months as a camp counselor in California.
January 2003 – Home, home on the range… er, beach… er, suburbs… I move back to my parents’ house in Jacksonville.
March 2003 – Here I am again, back where I began… or at least 60 miles away. I move to Tuscaloosa, Ala.
Summer 2004 – They always say Campus Crusade summer project will be the best summer of your life, and I never really believed it. But living in Orlando, Fla., for ten weeks with 44 other Campus Crusade for Christ interns was amazing.
August 2004 – With nothing more than a four month commitment on the mind, I return to Birmingham.

I spent the weekend with 21 friends from a number of different states. Georgia and Kentucky aren’t so far away, but Wisconsin, Kansas, New York and others are a heckuva drive. As we laughed at inside jokes (and created new ones!) and shared what the Lord has been doing in our hearts, I couldn’t help but marvel at the oddity that is long distance friendship.

That concept has boggled my mind for years. When I was an eager young Campus Crusader, I never understood why others from my campus would spend so much effort getting to know strangers at Christmas Conference. We’re all going back to different campuses, I thought. Why not focus your energy on the people coming back with you?

In a four day conference setting, I would still maintain that point of view. But as my life progresses, I recognize the value of these friendships.

I’m in a place right now where I don’t have a lot of meaningful friendships. I know people in Birmingham, and it’s getting to the point where I can go out to a movie and not have to do it alone. But the friends who are willing to pray for me regularly and challenge me spiritually are spread throughout the country.

I’ve been a little nostalgic and a little mushy this week, so pardon my non-sensical ramblings. But I look at the number of people in my life who really know and love me, and I feel blessed beyond belief. So right now they’re not in my backyard… but the community I’ve experienced provides both encouragement and a challenge. If God has provided in the past, who am I to say he won’t provide in the present?

Don’t tip the boat over

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

It felt a little funny to cast my vote several weeks before election day arrived, but I did so with pleasure. I felt a small sense of pride as I raised the flag on my mailbox. Because I’m registered in Florida, not Alabama, I feel like my vote counts a bit extra.

Though I may stand a bit taller today because of the impact my vote can make, I’ll do so with my eyes lowered whenever I pass someone with an “I voted” sticker. Can’t they send a sticker in the mail with your absentee ballot? I did my duty; now I want my reward!

😉 It’s gonna be an interesting night.

Who do you think you are?

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

I mentioned last week that I was reading Pledged: The Secret Life of Sororities. One of the many issues Alexandra Robbins touched upon during the course of the book is the idea of charity. Greek organizations claim to have at least some degree of service orientation, but so often service is directly tied to their money.

I remember cynically observing this when I was in a sorority myself. Our biggest philathropy of the semester was a rock climbing party at a local gym. Other sorority and fraternity members paid money for the chance to climb and win prizes in the party-like atmosphere we established.

“This isn’t service,” I thought bitterly to myself. “This is ridiculous.”

I approached the pages of Pledged with the same attitude – until reality got the best of me.

Maybe many Greek organizations are more focused on social functions than service. Maybe the primary difference they make in their community is achieved through mommy & daddy’s money.

But isn’t that more than what I’ve done?

What a hypocrite I am to think myself better than someone because I’m not affiliated with a Greek organization (anymore). Yes, I have several friends whose Greek involvement has been a major factor in their college career. But on the whole, I still tend to look at sorority girls with disdain.

Meanwhile, I sit in cozy suburban home and focus on what I can do to make my life better. I plot what shoes I need to complement my winter wardrobe and pore over Web sites to find job openings. I read countless novels each week, and buy $3 lattes because I’m too lazy to make one in my own kitchen.

That’s not the lifestyle Christ has for me. These aren’t necessarily bad things, but they are far from loving my brother and allowing my faith to be reflected in everything I do.

The truth is, I’m ashamed. I don’t want to help other people – when I made a list of life goals a few weeks ago, that virtuous mission wasn’t on there. It’s not that I wish people ill. I’m just too damn self-centered to do much about it.

I visited a nursing home on assignment for my magazine while these thoughts were stirring in my head. Initially, I was reluctant to spend two hours there. Nursing homes aren’t exactly my favorite place to be, and I was afraid I’d be uncomfortable. But I resolved to do what I must to get the story. “Besides,” I thought, “my presence will probably mean more to these people than my discomfort means to me.”

Two hours later, I drove through the streets of downtown Birmingham with a heart made heavy by conviction. I didn’t have anything to offer those people. More than anything, I observed the ministry I was reporting on and smiled at the residents in their beds.

But the enthusiasm of the chaplains got to me. I’ve received so many blessings. Why am I so reluctant to bless others? I’ll tell you what, changing my attitude isn’t going to be easy. Though I have time to spare, I while it away watching A Makeover Story and Friends. But if you would, join me in praying for my selfishness and for how I can serve God by serving others. It won’t be the easiest change I’ve made, but it will be among the most worthwhile.

It don’t matter if you’re black or white

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

I’m reading Pledged: The Secret Life of Sororities (Alexandra Robbins) right now, and it’s prompted thought on several different subjects. I’ll probably write more about those later, but I have a specific tidbit to share with you now.

It figures that the University of Alabama has to be mentioned in this book. As usual, it’s bad (but accurate!) press. The author interviewed Melody Twilley, a black girl who went through rush-twice-without receiving a bid. This was old news to me-it’s received extensive media coverage, both in the student paper and larger papers nationwide.

Alabama finally integrated by accepting a black girl into a traditionally white sorority in 2003. What shocked me was this: according to this book, we were the last university in the nation to do so.

I don’t know how accurate that is. It seems it’d be hard to verify that with every other university, given their ubiquity. But let’s assume that it’s accurate. That’s yet another reason to be embarrassed to attend the school I am otherwise so proud of.