Literatimommy

Thursday, December 27, 2007

Benazir Bhutto

Last year, I was privileged to hear Benazir Bhutto speak at UTA, and announce her return after years of exile to Pakistan, the country where her family's political destiny has ended eerily in untimely deaths for first her father, followed by her two brothers, and today, by her assasination outside of a rally. In her 1 hour long speech at UTA last Spring, she accused president Musharaff of harboring Al Qaida terrorists, like Osama bin Laden, pointing out astutely and bravely that if he really wasn't protected by Musharaff, he would have been caught. She detailed her personal experiences traveling in the treacherous region where he is supposedly hiding. She bravely addressed accusations of corruptions (which have since been somewhat substantiated, including the murder of her brother, a political rival who lead a terrorist organization in Pakistan) levelled at her by political adversaries, which she vehemently denied. Then, she outlined by it was in the US's best interest to support her return (which they did, President Bush had widely backed her opposition candidacy).

Perhaps saddest in all of this is that her immediate family, her children, are hardly addressed in online articles at the NY Times or CNN at all. In case you are wondering if such a powerful and influential world leader, and also the first female head of an Islamic Nation could have had time for family, she did. She had a son and two daughters: Bilawal,Bakhtawar and Asif. Bhutto was also the most beloved of her siblings by her father. He took her at a young age to political meetings with Henry Kissinger as well as negotiations with other leaders of the countries neighboring Pakistan. According to an article I read in Biography journal, it was her father who freed her from wearing a birka (head to toe coverings required under a fundamentalist interpretation of Islam) her whole life, it was her father who insisted she study politics and government at Radcliffe, and it was her father who she worked so hard to free before his hanging in 1979. Her father's execution was not the only hardship she was forced to endure.
After his murder, she was kept in a metal cage in which she suffered heat as high as 120 degrees, as well as roaches and rats crawling on her body. When she quit eating and almost died, the government that overthrew her father's government relented and let her go to London to live in exile. Later, she returned to Pakistan and was twice elected to the office of Prime Minister, and she was the FIRST EVER female head of an Islamic state. In one of the elections, she was even opposed by her own mother and brother (who later ended up murdered).
From everything I have read and understood about her, she was complex and multifaceted, at one time craving democracy, and at another, ruling with an iron fist to gain control of the unstable country. She and her family are alleged to have taken as much as 1.5 billion dollars from the country they wanted to help, yet at the same time she fought for rights for women and children in the oppressive country. She also stood up against jihadists, and she had as many as 40 fatwahs issued that authorized her murder. AT one time, she praised Al Qaida, at another, she condemned it. (Not unlike the USA, just think of Donald Rumsfeld's photo with Osama).
Perhaps most interesting is her relationship with her husband, with whom she shared an arranged marriage. They actually fell in love, and had three children together, although it is also her husband who is accused of stealing most of the money from the country while he was Minister of Finance or something like that.
To be sure, she was very brave to return to Pakistan, and by most accounts (including an op ed. in the Christian Science Monitor), she had returned to Pakistan because she loved the country, and because she wanted to bring democracy to the region. She was either loved or hated, most people who knew her were not ambivalent about her. Even in her speech at UTA, she acknowledged the extreme danger and risk her decision to return to Pakistan held. She said, though, that she would consider it an honor to die in pursuit of a better Pakistan. Not even a year later, her eerie acknowledgement has come true.
Most important about her now, I believe, she was one of a handful of world leaders who are women. (I believe that the world needs more women leaders for many reasons: not because women are innately better than men, but because I believe that women are equally as capable as men to lead regimes, countries and businesses.) Just by being a political leader who was a female, her life stood as a sharp argument against women who in some Islamic traditions are relagated to a shadowy life behind a think veil. She bravely fought for what she believed in, even if sometimes she was flat out wrong in her choices or even possibly dishonest and murderous. I do not know if her return to Pakistan was because she craved the power of leading a country with nuclear capabilities (It was in her tenure that the country gained these capabilities), or because she saw the poor and oppressed in Pakistan and longed to free them. I suspect, like most of us, her intentions were somewhere in between noble and selfish. She was extremely courageous, I know, and doggedly committed to Pakistan: if she wasn't, she would have been happy to live in Switzerland off the family fortune while she talked politics with expats on the ski slopes. I am so happy that I saw her speak, though, because I believe that however he does it, God uses political leaders for his own causes, if they know it or not, whether or not they acknowledge him. In the political arena, it is especially poignant now to note that there is not one candidate, much the same as Bhutto, who is all good or all evil. I will keep her husband and children in my prayers tonight: I know they have suffered a great loss. And, I will pray for Pakistan, too, an area that seems to be tumultuous and angry now, more than ever. I believe that Bhutto would have brought good to the country.

* A lot of this information was obtained at EBSCO, at UTA, from this citation: Title:
From beloved to besieged. By: Harmon, Melissa Burdick, Biography, 10927891, Nov98, Vol. 2, Issue 11
Database:
Academic Search Complete

Tuesday, December 25, 2007

Merry Christmas:


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Saturday, December 22, 2007

Got Christmas?

Because I haven't. I admit it: I'm a grinch. I'm usually ready for it to be over about, like, Nov. 30th. :) How could a Christian not enjoy Christmas? There are many reasons. Initially, I was raised in a very conservative church where on the Sunday prior to Christmas, we usually got a 5 minute presermon lecture about why it wasn't okay to mention Christmas. It was a man made holiday, one centered around a pagan holiday. Really, in all honesty, these preachers would argue, we don't know the exact day of Christ's birth. God wanted it that way. IT was sinful to add anything to the Bible, so let's just skip it. To sum up: Christmas tree okay. Christmas in church, NOT okay.
Also, we were never at my home for Christmas. We usually traveled to the small town where my parents were raised, Stinnett, TX, and celebrated by dividing up the holiday in bittersweet fashion. Melba, my dad's mom, never got to see enough of our family. Jane, my stepmother, and Starkey, my grandpa, really seemed not to care if we were there or not, and especially if Jane's son, Noel, was in town, we could stop by for only a short visit so not to intrude on their time together. I got to see my favorite cousins every OTHER holiday, because there was a divorce in their family, and their father was estranged from our family, and wouldn't let me see my cousins. Usually, when we left Stinnett, we were traveling in the freezing cold or possibly a snow storm. By the time we reached Paradise or Bowie, the towns where I grew up, I was glad just to be home.
When my grandfather died in August of 93, we were freed from the tradition of traveling to the barren landscape of the Texas Panhandle. That year, in order to avoid all of the crap that surrounded Christmas, my family and my uncle, who suffered a nasty divorce that same year, traveled to Eagle's Pass New Mexico in the middle of a snowstorm, and stayed in a one star hotel room in the freezing cold next to honeymooners (that is what we all told ourselves, that they were honeymooners, and thus their noises were ordained and excused). Twice that year, my dad got caught up in the roll away fold out bed, and we were awakened to his screeches because he couldn't get out. My feet froze on the slopes, and there wasn't anything else to do but to run across the street to cook our turkey in a church kitchen. In other words, that first Christmas away from family was quirky and delightful. The next year, we were in Ruidoso, and Mike was with us. By the next year, we traveled to Santa Fe, NM, and we returned there for the subsequent 7 Christmases. We spent Christmas Eve in the casinos and Christmas Day on the slopes. We ate frozen lasagne and ham that had traveled in the back of our car from Post Texas. My granny Melba came with us, but none of us realized her cantankerous bewilderment was directly related to her dementia. We all laughed at tradition, laughed at the thought that sorrow was mixed with Christmas, laughed at the fools who gathered around a Christmas tree to pretend for one moment their families were functional and normal. We ignored anything related to Christ in Christmas, which is ironic, because we were all card carrying members of the Church of Christ. We didn't bother getting each other gifts, instead, we swapped cash for the casinos. Even granny Melba enjoyed the nickle slots and when we sat with her, her face would be smudged with darkness from the nickles she fed the slots. We trounced around Santa Fe, marveled at the closed stores, and ate black bean soup and green chicken enchiladas at the Blue Corn Tortilla. I LOVED CHRISTMAS in Santa Fe. Our last Christmas there, my uncle didn't join us. My granny Melba was living with him, and he didn't want to drive with her. That Christmas in Santa Fe, I was sick. I felt like I had the flu. I had to pee incessantly. On the way back on Christmas Day, we stopped by Mike's grandmother's house (Doris's last Christmas, actually), and she asked us if we ever planned to have children. She sensed that her days were waning, and wanted to know if she would see an heir. I honestly, and somewhat annoyingly told her the truth: God was in charge of that. By the time we got to Arlington, I realized that my period was officially late. I took a pregnancy test on Christmas Day: I was pregnant. Christmases were never the same again. (Being pregnant was an amazing Christmas Gift, I realize now, but at the time, I was really scared silly). That next Christmas, Jack's first, Doris died on the 23rd. We traveled to Winters on Christmas Day to say goodbye. It was a bittersweet Christmas. Subsequent Christmases have been bittersweet and odd, too. Molly Ann's first Christmas, we were in Houston and went to church where they barely mentioned it was Christmas Day. I know if the 25th hadn't fallen on Sunday, we wouldn't have been at church at all.
This Christmas, Mike and I decided to try something new: Christmas at home, and Christmas Eve at our new church, Highland Meadows Christian Church. We are actually keeping the nursery, having sandwich dinner afterwards, and Santa is coming to our house on the 24th. When we wake up, we will (God willing) be surrounded by my family, Mike's family, and I'll even get to see my first nephew's first Christmas! I am cooking (read: I bought a Christmas dinner from Central Market that should feed us) dinner here on Christmas night.
This Christmas, in order to honor the tradition of Christmas, I am focusing (or trying to) on the miracle of Christmas: That Jesus Christ came in human form to save us from Satan. That he, the prince of heaven who commanded the earth's seas and winds and mountains, was once a baby who was cared for by a girl named Mary, who was, until after he was born, a virgin. I am praying that God will make me understand Christmas and that I won't feel so alienated from the Christian holiday that the whole word acknowledges. I am praying I will be hospitable, and not overwhelmed by having so much company. I am praying that I will see my blessings, and that when I see my children on Christmas morning, the desire I have to head for the hills of Santa Fe and to hit the casinos dissipates. (Evidently Jack and Molly are too young for the slots?)
My wish for you this Christmas is that you will feel it, too. That you will smell the hay, and see the simple pink skin of our savior, swaddled tight in his mother Mary's arms, safe from Herrod's murderous schemes. I wish for you that you will understand what I've somehow managed for 33 years to miss: Christmas is about a miraculous plan. That heaven's most brilliant son would humble himself to come into a world of darkness to save me (and all men). That, as I'm sure you've already known for many years, is what I hope to learn this holiday. Christmas is about Christ's servant heart. I hope by going to church on Christmas Eve, and helping in the nursery, God will let me feel the joy that surrounds this fact. I am glad God has been patient with me while I focus on the real spirit of Christmas. I pray that he will accept my humble thanksgiving for my many blessings, for Jack and Molly, happy and healthy children who acknowledge him. That I can be thankful that my parents are alive and healthy, and still adore my whole family. That they are still together and have been since 1969. That my husband still loves me and shares the holidays with me. That Mike's family will be here to watch Jack and Molly at Christmas time. That we have enough to eat and a place to live while we are here: and that because of that Christmas in Bethlehem 2000 years ago, we have a place to live in the future, too, when we die. My prayer, I am afraid, symbolizes my spiritual immaturity. Surely, someone who was baptized at 12 would have picked up on all of this by now. And, still, for me this feels like the first Christmas to stop and consider it all.
Merry Christmas. I hope you enjoy the many blessings of your lives this year.

Saturday, December 15, 2007

Crazy Week Is Over

In a strange convergence of events, this last week was the busiest I have had in a long time. On Saturday and Sunday, Mike and I kept the nursery at our church. On Monday, my paper was due, and Jack and I went to a Mommy and Me Christmas party. Tuesday, Jack and Molly had school, and I was able to study for my final on Thursday night. On Wednesday, I had to transmit my grades for TCC and turn in my keys, but I found out I am going to get to teach a developmental English class at night next semester. On Thursday, I took a three hour final on Utopian Literature, and got my paper back. On Friday morning at 8:30, I went to a dentist appt. where I thought I would get a crown (I had a root canal on another tooth before Thanksgiving). Terry, my cousin in law, agreed to look at my teeth and see if he thought I needed a crown, and it didn't! YEAH! Literally, Praise God! So, cavity filled and my crazy semester ended up with probably the happiest patient Terry ever worked on. I am glad that next semester will be my last to take classes at UTA, but I have been doing it so long, it is hard not to look at the schedule and want to take more classes. I am also anxious to meet people who teach in the English dept. at TCC, because it is good for part time work. I have enjoyed being with students this semester, and I do feel at home in the classroom. I find many of the students at TCC so inspiring. They overcome so many obstacles to pursue their education. I enjoy feeling that I am helping them.
Also, Jack has been saying to sweetest things about his relationship with God, and he has been musing over what he learns at his preschool and our church. On Tuesday morning, he asked me if I knew God was coming back to this earth. I replied yes. I asked him how he felt when he heard that news, and he said "I was SHOCKED! JUST SHOCKED!" I guess it is shocking news, and somehow, if you've been a Christian as long as I have, it is easy to forget what an amazing promise we have in Jesus's second coming. Also, Molly Ann has been as sweet and onery as she normally is. The other day, she asked Nana to smell her bobo! She also addresses Mike and I like this "What's up, guys?" Or if it is just one of us, "What's up, babe?" At a party she went to last Sunday, she told her friends Jacob and Ely "What's up, Buddyboys?" Jacob's dad looked at me and asked where on earth she learned that. I had no answer. Last Saturday, our church had breakfast with Jesus, and we sang Christmas carols acapella. Jackson said, "Oh, mommy, that music is so sweet, I think my heart will melt." Though, lest you think he is angelic, he has also assured me if he doesn't get to open his presents early, he will "spank my butt!"
If you haven't seen it, Jack Mike and Molly are on Mike's blog dancing to HSM2, Bet on it. IT is pretty cute: http://butthesegoto11.blogspot.com.

Saturday, December 01, 2007

A Quiet House

One main reason why I take classes at UTA is because I love to read, and I knew that if I wasn't accountable for it, I wouldn't take the time for myself to do something I love. Unfortunately, I think all women do this to some degree; neglect themselves to take care of others. I don't know why we do this, but it is true. (Although, in the sense of gender equality, maybe men do it to. I know I have seen Mike skip many Astros games to help me with the kids.) Today is a prime example of how I love to take classes at UTA. I am working on my paper about The Giver today, and the house is empty, quiet, free of coughing, sneezing, crying, laughing, tv noises, telephone calls (I unplugged it!) music, any sound except for my own breath and the sound my fingers make as I type this. I can THINK again. I am so thankful for this time. Alone time. As much as I adore my children, and find them so special and wonderful gifts from God, as a mother it is often the quiet time alone that I crave most. I am well aware that in the not so distant future, I will have a silent home and all the time I care to take to think. Then, I am sure my thoughts will drive me insane. I will long for voices, crying, tvs, and coughing and sneezing. But for now, I am cherishing the few hours I have alone to think about books.