"She's Read All Your Books."

Now that I've already told the Best Friend about it, I can tell you, too.

Two Saturdays ago, my two absolute favorite authors came to town. Not only that, but their book signing was in conjunction with one of my absolute favorite, locally owned stores, Reading Reptile. Needless to say, I was excited.

That being said, I was kind of in an "end of the week" bad mood, which I have been experiencing a lot recently. So, I woke up sad. Still, I was resolved to go; no sadness would keep me from meeting John Green and Rainbow Rowell.

My mom came with me, and she invited my aunt, who is apparently a pretty experienced book-signing-er. Since I wasn't alone, and since the excitement was building, my bad mood melted away pretty quickly.

We arrived at the KC Public Library an hour before the event would begin. I brought with me Fangirl, Eleanor and Park, Will Grayson Will Grayson, and Looking for Alaska: two for me to get signed, two for mom to get signed, two by each author. While I was there, I bought Paper Towns for myself, it's the only John Green book I didn't own. Then I bought An Abundance of Katherines for my best friend, Alli. And I bought a Rainbow Rowell book for Renee (aka the love of my life), but since I haven't sent it to her yet, I've already said too much.

Upon arrival, we each took a John Green ticket, as was advised by the ticket-handing-out-lady. She told us that we could only get one ticket total, and it would insure we would get our books signed by them. Then she suggested we get a John Green ticket and just wait in the Rainbow Rowell line. We could jump over to the John Green line after getting Rainbow's sign...ing...s(?), and the ticket would allow us to get John Green's too. Best of both worlds, yeah?

So, we spent the next forty-five minutes or so waiting in the front of Rainbow Rowell's line.

Then, my aunt goes, "I think I see her."

And there she was: Rainbow Rowell. 

And she was so, so, pretty.

"IS that her?" My mom asked.

"Ohmygod, she's so pretty," I said. And then I said it again. And again. And again. And finally she was getting to close, and I saw John Green and added, "Ohmygod, that's John Green. He's real."

Rainbow Rowell sat down next to us, started unloading her bag of sharpies. My mom encouraged me, "Okay, Katrina, you should go first." And I, dumbfounded, walked over to Rainbow Rowell.

"Hey!" She said, "It's good to... We've met, right?"

"N-n-n-no," I stammered.

"You look familiar," she explained. 

"That might be because I make a bunch of stupid youtube videos, and a lot of them recently were about you, and I tagged you in them on Twitter, and you might have seen them. Also one time I cosplayed Eleanor from Eleanor and Park. And..." I... thought.

But didn't say. What I said was something along the oh-so-eloquent lines of, "Iuhblarghab, sorasdas..." before saying timidly, "I also have this one for Renee."

Then, we went to hop into the John Green line. I would have just headed to the back of the line. But my mother didn't want to--which makes sense, because the John Green line trailed out of the library, around, down, and along the sidewalk beside the lower level of the library. So she went to find the library personnel and ask if, with our tickets, we could just get into the spot our ticket said in line. To which they said, "Sure," and went to find where that spot in line would be. We were 109 and 110, I think, so she found 107 and 108 and put us right behind them. 

Chagrin tinted me the color of a firetruck. 

"Are you mad at me?" My mom asked.

"Just embarrassed."

"Is it going to ruin meeting John Green?"

"Nope."

It didn't. I got over the embarrassment over the line thing really quick. 

But then we were at the front of the line and I was all nervous and embarrassed again. His signing was more streamlined than the other authors'. We'd hand our books to a lady, who would hand them to John Green one at a time. 

So I was standing there, nervously watching the lady pass John books, when he said, "Hey, thanks for reading my books."

To which I responded with... nothing. I just stood there silently for about a minute before quickly saying, "Yeah, thanks for writing them." Then, I grabbed the books quickly, and started walking--nay, sprinting--away. Behind me I hear my mom say, helpfully, "She's read all your books."

"Oh, great!"

And that was how I met my two favorite authors. 

These are all the books I got signed. Except for the one I got for Renee. Since it's still secret.

The Problem of Pain

I was going to start this blogpost with an explanation of why I started doing a nightly devotional in the first place, but not only was it kind of tangent-y, it was also deeply personal and, to be honest, I just don't think I want you to know about some of the stuff that goes on in my pain. You understand, I hope.

Besides, the point isn't why I started doing I nightly devotional, the point is that: for the past two and a half years, I have done some bible studying before going to bed. The first two books that I worked through where entirely biblically based surrounding the idea of "what does this segment mean?" and "how do we apply this old story about this old dude and his farming to our day to day suburban modern lives?" The next was written in the arrogant style of old white middle class men who have degrees from semi-prestigious universities. (The third one that I read said something about 1 Corinthians telling us what women's proper place in the church is in the introduction. I can't believe I read past that. Honestly. I can't believe I didn't just put it down and say, "Sorry, God, I'll find something new tomorrow.)

My current devotional is Hope by Nancy Guthrie. Compared to the others, Hope is much more personal. Guthrie applies biblical passages to personal experiences, many of which surround the loss of two of her infant children to Zellweger Syndrome.

So, there's this common argument against God that if He is really all seeing, all knowing, and all loving He wouldn't let bad things happen. And every time bad things do happen people tend to wonder, "Why would God let this happen?" I have heard the presence of suffering as many people's reasoning for not believing in God. And, along with that, I have heard a lot of Christian justifications for suffering. (Also, I own C.S. Lewis's The Problem of Pain, but I haven't gotten around to reading it. In the past four years that I've owned it. Yikes.)

Gutherie's semi-memoiric devotional is one in a long line of Christian writings that assign reason to pain, grief, and suffering. Gutherie's losses brought her closer to God. In the Soul Surfer franchise, Bethany Hamilton's loss of her arm in a shark attack ultimately helped her find strength, ability, and purpose through God. In Wake Up, Generation, Paige Omartian outlines how dealing with cancer in her childhood led her to a closer relationship with God, gave her purpose and strength. All three, and many other Christian writers, use their experiences to bring the Word of God to others.

But the other day as I was reading about Gutherie's pain and her growing closeness with God I couldn't help what perspective she might have taken had she not been so fortunate in other aspects of her life. By no means do I want to discredit any of these individuals' experiences or the wisdom they received because of it. As a culture, we attribute spiritual ethos to individuals who have experienced great losses and those who have come close to death and I believe that's deserved. The lens through which you see the world would be dramatically and divinely altered by such an experience. And by no means am I challenging the truths and lessons included in such devotionals.

But all of these authors were white, heterosexual, cis, middle class women. They were blessed with supportive families, external opportunities, and at the time their tragedies struck they were already living Christian lives.

If I were to throw in my "witnessing" story it would be the same. I went through a great deal of emotional pain throughout high school with depression, anxiety, loneliness, and insomnia. And I felt God with me. And all that pain did strengthen my faith in God. But, I too am a middle class white woman with a supportive family. And I had years of Sunday School lessons telling me which direction to turn my pain towards.

Certainly none of that diminishes their experiences. But in this lies my question.

What would the story look like if the mother whose child was suffering from an incurable disease had to spend most of her child's life working two minimum wage jobs, stacking up debts from hospital bills, and still barely able to keep food on the table? What would the story look like if the eleven year old girl battling cancer was born to impoverished parents and faced racial discrimination on the playground. And what if the story was about a young girl who was suffering from an eating disorder and feelings of isolation prior to losing a limb? What would those women have to say about God?

And that's ultimately the problem of pain, isn't it? We may be able to assign meaning to individual cases. Particularly when they're our experiences of pain. But I have trouble looking at areas of poverty with high rates of crime and violence. Thinking of people dealing with self-hate, being persecuted and assaulted. And then thinking, "God has a plan for all this pain."

It's certainly easier to see God in new life, rekindled friendships, beautiful scenery, moments of forgiveness, and the relief at the end of the week.

...This lacked resolution. But that's life, right?

The Facts of Life... Or Advice I'd Give High School Freshman

1. You cannot control how other people treat you. You can control how you treat them. I see this thing happen a lot: A kid gets treated like a "freak" or an "outsider" by his/her peers. And then s/he decides to embrace that label, and, rather than just being comfortable with who they are, they distance themselves from others. The number of times I've seen a kid with stringy hair, wiry glasses, and anime shirt treat a blonde girl with a short, floral skirt and an Abercrombie jacket like crap, just because he assumes she's already labeled him a certain way, is remarkable.
2. On a related note: be nice to people. I know that it's super hard to be nice to some people sometimes. But life is hard for everyone. So make it a little tiny bit easier on yourself and the people who are around you and just be nice. Almost everyone likes nice people.
3. Don't feel guilty about your "guilty pleasures." I unironically watch soap operas. I have a lot of affection for the boys in One Direction--I might only know two of their songs, but I like them. I love ABC Family Original Holiday Movies. I probably know all of the words to all of the songs on Hilary Duff's first album. Same goes for the first JoBros album. And I don't feel guilty about any of that shit. You know why? Because those are all things that make me happy. Yes. Belting out, "I TOOK A TRIP TO THE YEAR 3000 THIS SONG HAD GONE MULTIPLATINUM EVERYBODY BOUGHT OUR SEVENTH ALBUM WE OUTSOLD KELLY CLARKSON" makes me happy. You should only feel guilty about pleasures if they hurt someone. Which means stop feeling guilty about and/or denying that you like pop music or Disney Channel shows or styles that went out of style two decades ago or whatever.
4. Think about what you say before you say it. I know, everybody and their mother gives that bit of advice, but people still say really ignorant, sexist, and racist comments all the time. So, I figure it's advice everyone still needs to hear. 
5. Keep at least three spare feminine hygiene products in your bag. If you don't have any spare tampons, you'll inevitably get surprise attacked by menstruation at a Starbucks. If you only keep two spare tampons, they will inevitably unwrap themselves in your bag rendering them useless. Plus, if you have extra feminine hygiene products, you will get to save the day when your friend got surprised attacked by menstruation at a Starbucks. Or you will get to befriend other women who frantically run out of the stall, look around, see you standing there, ask timidly if you have a spare tampon, and then look at you like you're the answer to a prayer when you hand one over. 
6. Hang out with people who you like who you are when you're hanging out with them. Do not spend your time with people who bring out mean or catty or gossipy sides to you if you don't like being mean or catty or gossipy. 
7. Hang out with people who don't want to change you. Personally, I've never been much interested in spending my time with people who say, "I'd like to see you drunk." You want to know why? I wouldn't like to see me drunk. I wouldn't like to be drunk. So I'd like to spend my time with people who want to see me sober.
8. Don't ever catcall people. People don't like getting catcalled. It's intimidating and nerve wracking. Also: that's not going anywhere. Seriously, could you imagine talking to a couple and asking, "Where'd you guys meet?" And then have them say, "Well, it's a funny story, actually. I was walking to the store and he drove by and saw me. So he rolled down his window and called out, 'that's a fine pair of legs you got there'." It was love at first harassment.
9. Do your work. Getting around doing your work requires a lot more effort than it's worth. If you're supposed to read a book: read the book. If you watch the movie, you have to worry about the differences between the book and the movie. If you get the Sparknotes chances are you'll be missing important information. Just read the book. Muddle through. It'll be fine. If you're supposed to write a paper: write the paper. I'm serious, all the weird techniques people use to not do the assignment are obvious and dull and require too much effort. 
10. Don't be too hard on yourself. Making a mistake every now and then won't bring down the foundation of the world. You can fail a quiz or show up late or forget about your family dinner and everything will be fine. You just have to take responsibility and move forward. Everything will be okay.