Thoughts on the Election

I’m not sure what everyone else’s social media feeds look like, but it only takes a glance to see that the country is in an uproar over Trump winning the election. I wasn’t completely thrilled about Trump being the Republican candidate, but in the end, my choices were either him or Hillary. I voted for him. You could write books on all the issues and policies that surrounded this election, but here are a few of the main issues that stuck out to me and a few reasons on why I voted the way I did.

Why I didn’t vote third party: Many of my friends voted for a third party candidate stating that it was the only option they had that would allow them to leave the polls with a clear conscience. I understand the principle of this stance and voting your conscience. Personally, the protection of unborn children is my number one priority though. The simple fact is, an independent will not win the White House. I’m not saying they shouldn’t, but they won’t.

I’ve heard “the change begins with me,” and “I’m starting with the man in the mirror,” mentality, but I still can’t justify it. I’m not sure as a Christian I can justify voting for an independent to only make a statement. I would rather do my part and vote for the most likely to win candidate that is running on a pro-life platform. It’s just too important. While there are certainly other policies to look at, pro-life is where I begin. If a candidate doesn’t value life, which is connected to everything else, I can’t see how they fully understand the value of anything else. So while my conscience does not nearly align with all of Mr. Trump’s views, my duty to protect children with no voice is the number one priority.

Trump’s remarks on women: I don’t want to spend a lengthy amount of time on this subject as I feel the topic has been exhausted. I would like to address three main reasons though why I didn’t dismiss voting for Trump because of his comments. First of all, everyone has said things that if they were recorded and released to the public, they would be ashamed and embarrassed of. I know I have. It may not be to the degree of crudeness that Trump’s conversation with Billy Bush was, but the fact remains. We all have at one point talked big and bad when we thought no one was listening. We were overly cocky and said appalling things. I didn’t judge too harshly because I’ve been ashamed of things I’ve said as well.

Secondly, I don’t get offended. Why would I? I’m secure enough in myself that I’m not going to let Hillary calling me a deplorable or Trump saying something perverted have any effect on me. I know it’s not true and I was raised to understand my worth and value. If you’re getting offended over what a tactless person with no filtering system says, you’re not doing yourself any good. Buck up.

Lastly, as I’ve stated before, when I’m weighing the options between the candidates, these comments are not going to sway me to vote instead for someone that stands behind policies which do not align with my moral compass. Yes, what he said was gross. He also said it a decade ago and apologized for it. So for all the “strong, secure” feminists out there – why don’t you actually BE secure and independent and not let your self-esteem crumble just because Trump said something idiotic.

Issues with a woman as president: Let me begin by saying that if I looked at the potential candidates and I sincerely believed a woman was the best choice, I would vote for her. However, I’m not going to vote for a woman simply to be part of a historical event. If our nation is at a point where there are no able-bodied men to stand up and accept the burden of becoming the Commander-in-Chief of our country, we’re more lost than I thought. A nation where the men have become so womanized that they have no qualms of placing a woman on the front lines of political warfare, is a nation that has forgotten what it is to be true, godly men. So while I would vote for a woman with conservative values over a man with liberal values, I pray the day doesn’t come where those are my only options.

Trump: Liberals cried, “Trump has zero political experience!”

Okay, but Hillary doesn’t know the difference between right and wrong. What’s more important to me? That doesn’t mean I think that Trump knows the difference. I even tend to think he has more liberal leanings than conservative ones. But I’ve seen the people that Trump has surrounded himself with during his campaign such as Mike Pence and Ben Carson. I believe they have a solid understanding of moral and immoral choices. I am praying that as president, Trump seeks their counsel. While I’m unsure of what exactly a Trump presidency holds, I genuinely think it’s better than what Hillary laid out during her campaign.

Capitalism: I saw a rioter at an anti-Trump protest holding a sign that said “Capitalism Must Go.” Honestly, I still find it hard to believe that people are now okay identifying themselves as socialists. I don’t like to generalize, but I think a large number of these people feel this way because they’re lazy and entitled. As humans, should we help one another out when one of us is struggling? Absolutely. Not in a way where the government is dictating how we do it though.

A few years back, I worked in a retail shop that closed down. Because I believe so strongly in the values of capitalism, I didn’t file for unemployment. I didn’t waste any time, I started filling out applications everywhere I could, and I ended up having three jobs that summer. They weren’t anything to brag about either. I was wearing a hair net and cleaning out a yogurt machine. But you know what – I felt good about it. I was making money, working hard, and I wasn’t trying to mooch off people that were getting up early for work every morning while I sat at home watching Netflix and eating nachos.

Please know that I’m not speaking to everyone when I say these things. I know that people who are laid off may have families to support and need more money than a minimum wage job can provide. I know that illnesses can come at the most inopportune times and extra help is needed.  I’m talking to the young, healthy millennials who are out there rioting in the streets and holding up signs bashing capitalism.

Put on your big boy/girl pants and get a job.

In closing: Man, it felt good to get all of that out of my system. If the election went the way you wanted, pray for the people of America and President-elect Trump. If the election didn’t go your way, pray for the people of America and President-elect Trump.

Yay! Something that hopefully everyone can agree upon.

 

 

 

 

Dad, You’re the Prize

 

Field of Dreams

Whenever someone begins a sentence with, “Hey Toni, remind me to….,” I immediately warn that person I won’t be much help. I don’t remember the sopping wet clothes that I need to switch over to the dryer. I don’t remember to locate my glasses before taking out my contacts. I don’t remember to return my library books after three weeks.

But I do remember a lot. Memories that matter.

I remember the Little Mermaid song ‘Kiss the Girl’ playing throughout the house when I was six and my dad chasing me through the halls, snatching me up, and kissing me.

I remember Stephen and I coming home late at night, walking up our hill in the dark, and a few feet in front of us – BOOM!                                                                                                                                                  “Got ya!” my dad yelled from the porch. Firecrackers.

I remember him carrying me out of the office after my oral surgery because I was too loopy.

I remember wanting a black James Bondy-girl dress for my ninth grade Christmas dance and thinking I probably needed a bolder personality to wear it. I opted for a long, boxier dress instead. I remember my dad buying the black one and surprising me with it. I felt so glamorous.

I remember date nights to Barnes and Noble with him and sharing a shortbread cookie in the cafe.

I remember calling him at 1am while I was away at school. “Dad! I dropped my book and the front cover bent! I can’t even bear to look at it!” I knew he was one of the few who would sympathize with me.

I remember Sunday nights eating hot wings and watching Columbo together.

I remember evening drives with him, arriving home, and still sitting in the car because Michael Savage was on a roll and we didn’t want to miss anything.

I remember him attending a C.S. Lewis symposium with me and one of the professors exclaiming to my dad, “What you said was utterly brilliant!” I gave him a look like, “Oh great. Your ego is going to blow up.” Inside though, I was beaming. It’s nice to have a genius as a father.

I remember sitting at the Stone-Pepper Grill with him. It was the first time I had been hurt because things hadn’t worked out with a boy. I remember my dad somehow knowing what was wrong even though I hadn’t said anything about it. I remember him telling me, “Honey, you’re the prize.” I remember him giving me money and telling me to go buy a cute dress to make myself feel better.

I remember our father-daughter trip to Wrigley Field and him driving hours through corn fields in Iowa so we could play catch on the Field of Dreams – and then him buying me half the merchandise at the gift stand there.

I remember biting my lip as I nervously called him from Virginia telling him I had dented the side of my car. As soon as he spoke my worries were gone. “Honey, that’s what insurance is for!”

I remember my dad starting games of Pancake Frisbee with leftover breakfast.

I remember him driving me places when it was snowing and I was scared to drive myself.

I remember him staying up to 2 am with me because I wanted to watch an obscure black and white film that was on television. It was completely in Swedish.

I remember when I walked out of my room late one night to talk to him about God and what to do when you feel like your faith is weak. I remember going to bed after our chat and feeling like a burden had been lifted.

My forgetfulness may cause the cookies to burn in the oven or the house plant to die from lack of watering. But I don’t think I’ll ever forget any of these memories. I’m grateful that God designed the brain to be like a muscle that can be stretched and expanded.

Good thing – knowing how great my dad is, I want to have room to remember it all.

 

 

 

Rewired

Stephen helping me spread my social butterfly wings

My younger brother Stephen, in his earlier high school years, was not exactly someone who cared much about his grades, or whether or not teachers liked him, or how fast he could fly through a pack of history flashcards. At some time around the latter half of high school though, there was a drastic change. He loved learning all of a sudden. He wanted to learn about philosophers and foreign affairs and Hemingway’s writing style. He was eager to engage in intellectual conversations and discuss articles he had read. I was excited that there was a shift in his thinking. Still, there was a peculiar sense of panic in me. I can remember telling my mom, “I’ve always been the studious Jackson child. Stephen has been the social butterfly. What am I supposed to be now?”

Stephen is the type of person who can insert himself into a group of strangers and immediately start making people laugh. Often times when I would walk into an unfamiliar setting, I’d have to coach myself through it in my head: “Say hello to that person. No! Not like that! Act natural, not like it’s rehearsed. Grab a drink so you know what to do with your hands.” On and on…

I felt that anyone could discipline themselves in becoming more studious. But could I learn to have Stephen’s sense of social confidence? Was this more a matter of personality that some people are born with and others are not?

Short answer: No, it’s not. And may I be blunt? It’s perfectly okay (and often necessary) to change your personality sometimes. People will say, “Well, that’s the way I’m wired. I can’t help it” or “That’s just who I am” or “I’m not going to change for that person.”  My goodness! I’m surprised my eyes aren’t stuck in the back of my head from rolling them whenever I hear these cringe-worthy excuses.

Why would I want to solely be known as the “studious Jackson child?” Well hotdog! That sounds like a person who’s fun to invite to a party!

I was inspired by how Stephen was making himself more well rounded and decided to do the same. I went to a movie screening at my new college I had transferred to, sat next to a stranger, and that boy became one of my best friends. I started a conversation with a man I saw reading his Bible at Chick-fil-A and he became a spiritual mentor of mine. I joined a Student Ambassadors club at school and gained a second family. To many people, those circumstances may not sound challenging or frightening in the slightest. For the type of person I was, I had to give myself mental pep talks before doing those things. It’s like I was forcing myself to enroll in a social boot camp.

And you know what? It worked.

While I’m not exactly at the point where I’ll tear up the dance floor in the midst of a circle of strangers, there has been an apparent change for the better. The friends I’ve made and the adventures I’ve been a part of are all results of choosing to develop my personality.  I’m sure those Myers-Briggs personality tests have their place. But it can be dangerous and suffocating after a while. You feel once you’ve taken it, you have branded yourself with a certain personality type and suddenly that’s your safety net. Oh, I can excuse myself from this or that because that’s just not who I am. 

Of course there’s a fine balance between owning your uniqueness and being stubborn because you’re not willing to admit you need a change. Stephen helped me find that balance. Without knowing it, he taught me that thinking “That’s just the way I’m wired,” is cowardly.

Perhaps you need to rewire yourself. Who knows what you’re missing?

 

 

My Favorite Collection

“What’s the first thing you’ll do if we ever emerge from the forest? Do you wish you had done anything differently? What do you think the world will be like if we ever make it out alive?”

Rachel and I trudged through the woods in our less than ideal hiking attire, asking each other a series of melodramatic questions. We had planned a short walk in a nearby park, but somewhere we had taken a wrong turn and ended up…well, I couldn’t tell you. Refusing to turn back, as that would have been unbearably lame, we decided to go off the trail and scale a steep hill to the right. Clawing at the grass and grabbing roots to assist us in our ascent, we giggled as we sang lines from ‘Climb Every Mountain’ and joked about how we could use a puff from an inhaler right about now.

Another time, in the comfort of our house, Rachel was sitting at our dining room table and said, “Toni! Last night we were playing a board game. After cleaning it up, there was one space left in the box and the remaining piece fit PERFECTLY into the spot. It was such a satisfying feeling.”

And that afternoon she and I had been strolling around the conservatory and I pointed to a plant saying, “You remember that ugly goblin with the goiters in the Hobbit movie? If he was a plant, he’d be this one.”

Moments like this made me appreciate Rachel more than I already did. It is always refreshing having someone in your life who allows you to just spurt out your thoughts and weird quirks without hesitancy. Isn’t it fulfilling to hear someone articulate the whimsies floating around in their head and exclaim, “YES! That’s how I feel!”? Sometimes I can’t help but be in awe at how much Rachel and I have in common. How we like to stand back and admire bookshelves once we’ve added a new one to the collection. Or sharing the firm belief that a Winnie the Pooh marathon can fix anything from a stuffy nose to a moral dilemma.

On the flip side, there was my friend Dex. If you knew the two of us, you wouldn’t think we had a single thing in common. He was a bold talker, unashamed to abandon his filtering system and throw a crude statement out here and there. But that boy could make the most impressive pterodactyl screech I had ever heard, so naturally I wanted to be friends. Sometimes my conservative self was shocked at the stuff Dex would say, but how bland would our lives be if we didn’t associate with people whom we found hard to understand in the beginning?

I remember going to his house one weekend. After meeting his family, we all hopped into three or four cars and headed to Golden Corral. “This is something my family and I always do,” Dex said reaching his arm out the window. He then proceeded to twist his hand like he was trying to make a shadow puppet. He would turn his crooked hand like it was a head and open its mouth. Looking in the side mirror, I saw his whole family doing it. A hand puppet parade, rolling down the highway. Walking into Golden Corral, Dex told his family that I had never eaten at one. “Honey,” his aunt said slapping me on the back, “Imma show you how it’s done.”

That’s the kind of memory that makes you smile when you’re stamping utility bills at work and the flickering fluorescent lights are depressing you.

One of my favorite Dex memories though was when he and I went to the Philadelphia art museum. There was an open area within the museum with a beautiful fountain. We took a seat on a bench and sat there for half an hour, not talking, just allowing ourselves to be mesmerized by the trickling sound and the beauty of the sculpture resting in the fountain’s center. I’ve found that there aren’t too many people you can do those array of things with – things like blaring country karaoke road trips or sitting there in silence and sharing a moment. I loved that about Dex.

At different times in life my circumstances, my moods, my desires vary. So should my companions. I collect books. I collect Raggedy Anns. I collect moose. But my favorite collection is my set of weird Winnie the Pooh loving, pterodactyl screeching, wonderful friends.

Be an Idiot

Closing one eye, I tried to line the arrow at the top of my compass to a building I saw far in the distance. Bringing the compass slowly down, I aligned it to a grid line on my map and tried to create the illusion I knew what I was doing. I am Meriwether Lewis. I have an innate sense of direction. I am one with nature and the world is…that’s when a guy stepped up behind me and fully rotated the map I was holding. Well – solid start.

I was hiking with an REI Backcountry Navigation class yesterday, desperately attempting to hone my extreme backwoods-woman skills. I knew little about “proper hiking.” Fairly certain though that my breathing technique wasn’t quite helping my case, as I was making a conscious effort not to let my fellow hikers in on the secret that I hadn’t worked out in a while and would probably die instantly if I was thrown into a Hunger Games setting. Fortunately, I regained some confidence as we traversed a stream and I was able to carelessly march through with my waterproof boots. “I’ve come a long way since my Oregon Trail computer game,” I thought. “I couldn’t even survive a stream crossing in my Conestoga wagon. Now I’m walking through. Walking!” You have to enjoy the small victories. Am I right?

The hiking excursion was fun yesterday, but there were a couple of times when I had the same sense of panic that took me back to fourth grade math…or any math class for that matter. I’d be writing a problem on the board next to two other students, we’d put our pieces of chalk down and my heart would stop. Why did everyone else get 42 for an answer and I had -5? Maybe Jesus could return right now and all this humiliation could be avoided. Should I faint and pretend that dehydration had messed with my sense of mathematical intelligence? Those ideas once again popped into my head yesterday as everyone was sharing their compass readings. But now I was older and wiser. Looking at the instructor, I confessed “Steve, I’m lost.” Bless that man for his patience. He did a couple compass and map readings with me and then supervised as I did them on my own. I started gaining a better understanding and pretty soon I began bopping my head to the Rocky victory music playing inside my mind (does anyone else do that)?

Throughout the rest of the hike I thought about how necessary it is that we should all feel like idiots sometimes. If we never feel clueless, never have that math class dread, we aren’t learning anything. Now I know everyone would like to give off that air of scholarly importance – the type that strolls around their antique library wearing a smoking jacket, chewing on the end of their glasses, and contemplating the mysteries of the universe. But what if we were able to set aside our pride every now and then, shrug, and say, “Whelp…I haven’t got a clue.” Imagine how more well-rounded we would be, the new wonders of the world we would enjoy. Anyone can cower away in the safety of the limited knowledge they already have. It takes a brave person though to go out there and willingly be an idiot. Never mind if you sound like an asthmatic coal-miner as you’re hiking those trails of unexplored knowledge. Explore new territory – perhaps even literally, as with a compass in the forests of Western Pennsylvania.

 

 

Little Black Book of Ponderings

     My dad often talks about how he and I have a “bookshop radar” or how we can “sniff them out like a hound dog.” Dad and I would have date nights at Barnes and Noble and the thrill I felt when I stepped into that place was such a simple joy. To this day, I’ll still be in the history section of B&N or the travel aisle at Half Priced Books or a back corner of an antique shop; I’ll take a book off the shelf, open it, give a quick glance in both directions, and stick my nose in it to see what kind of smell it holds. I’m not sure if it’s a coincidence or not, but my favorite book on my shelf to smell is The Scarlet Pimpernel – one of my all time favorites, one I read again and again. On a road trip to Chicago with the family, I was reading it for the fourth time. I leaned forward and asked my mom, “Do you ever feel like you love a book so much that it’s a best friend?”

     I sincerely believe books share some of the same powers as friendship. They stimulate the mind, mold your dreams and desires, teach you words to play with in conversation. They can be a safe haven when reality is harsh or a starting path to new found knowledge. One such book for me was Walden by Henry David Thoreau. I love that he seemingly wrote down everything that came to his mind and I smiled knowing that someone else shared a lot of the thoughts that I often had. An idea he penned during his stay at Walden Pond was, “Books must be read as deliberately and reservedly as they were written.” After I read that quote, I changed the way I read. I was already a reader that would often look up from the pages, stare at the wall, and ponder what I just read. It was rare that I would write my ponderings down though or scribble into a notebook the author’s profound words.

     I started keeping a little black notebook by my reading chair and it has become a treasure – a place to stow away words that have made me smile or added to my dreams. Sometimes they’re sentences that I just find pleasing to the ears:

              “…a love that contents itself with a stray ribbon, a fleeting glance, a word spoken in passing.” – The Three Musketeers by Dumas

    Or something that makes me laugh:

            “He felt somehow that jogging was an intimate activity, accompanied by snorts, sweating, hawking and spitting, and an inordinate amount of huffing and puffing. Why in the world anyone would want to do that up and down the center of town was beyond him.”    – At Home in Mitford by Jan Karon

And like I said, perhaps something that I’ve always felt I believed, but never put into words. Something that I was glad someone else felt the same way about:

              “How many a man has dated a new era in his life from the reading of a book. The at present unutterable things we may find somewhere uttered.” – Walden by Thoreau

     I love sitting in my rocker (I sound like an eighty year old, don’t I?) and flipping through my little black book of quotes. Sometimes a memory will be sparked and I’ll regain that inspiration all over again or I’ll just be in awe at how beautifully a person can form their thoughts into words. I would encourage everyone to jot down the revelations that they find between the pages as well. Trust me, it’ll be a source of joy in days to come.

     So grab a pen and notebook. Grab a good book and give it a smell. And remember that the author wrote it with deliberateness and the hope that it would inspire or invoke emotions. Perhaps you’ll be inspired and in turn create something of your own – a creation where the “at present unutterable things” are found “uttered.”