Monday, December 17, 2012

Winter Break

Hi Everyone!

The Our Voices Blog will be going on Winter Break until the week of January 13th. Join us next semester for more thoughts from Creighton's wonderful women!

We will leave you with a few photos from the Lieben Center this semester:

Lieben Center Night Out at Defy Gravity



 
Tie Blanket Making for the Juan Diego Center






Thank you to all of our bloggers for a fantastic semester. We will see you in January!

Kindly,

Shayla Covington
Student Coordinator

Thursday, November 15, 2012

Bic Lady Pens


When thinking of what to write for this week’s blog, I looked at the top of the “Our voices” page and saw the image of the pen.  Then it came to me, the Bic Lady Pens!
If you haven’t heard about the “lady pens” allow me to catch you up.  Bic started marketing a new product called “Bic for Her” pens that come in stereotypical feminine colors.  If you look on the website, Bic tells us it’s a “ball pen essentially for women!” which doesn’t explain much to me, but when I continued to look at the website I found another pen just for women.  This one is “Bic Cristal for Women” and tells me that it has a “tinted barrel thinner for a better handling for women.” (Obviously that’s been a concern for us women all these years, don’t you find yourself complaining about how difficult it is to write with a normal pen?)
Bic started marketing these pens awhile back, without much buzz around the product, until they decided to approach a potential spokeswoman.  They asked Ellen DeGeneres if she would be interested and I’m guessing you can imagine how that went over.  If you can’t imagine, you can check it out online http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eCyw3prIWhc
While I think Ellen is hilarious and justified in mocking those pens, it made me think about other products that are marketed “for her” that don’t serve any special purpose.  For instance, pink tools.  Sure, I appreciate that some people want to buy tools that are pink because they like the color, but after doing a quick search online, all the pink tools I found are sold as “ladies tool set” or “tools for women.”  Interestingly enough, I also found a website for “Tomboy Tools” where you can host a tool party for your female friends and they can learn how to use tools and purchase items.  All in pink of course. 
I did a little research and it appears that many items that are marketed just for women also cost more than the regular product.  According to a 2010 Consumer Reports study, equivalent items in a drugstore (like shampoo and deodorant) cost more if they are specifically marketed to women.  The reason is often special packaging, different scents, etc.  But often the same product with a different look costs more.  This seems pretty ridiculous, yet people are obviously buying the products.
So what’s the solution?  I think it all comes down to choice.  If you haven’t seen the documentary Miss Representation (the Lieben Center has a copy!), there’s a part in the film that addresses women’s buying power.  According to the documentary,”86% of the purchasing power in this country is in the pockets of women.”  That’s a pretty large percentage, and it tells me that if women aren’t buying your product, it probably won’t succeed. 
I think there are plenty of products marketed toward women that I currently buy, including shampoo, body wash, and razors.  But that’s my choice as a consumer.  Just like I have the choice NOT to buy products that I don’t think are necessary, like lady pens. 
Is there a product out there that you think is ridiculous to have “for her?”  I’d love to hear it in the comment section!
Kindly,
Allison Taylor

Thursday, November 1, 2012

Many Voices, One Forum: CSW Fall Forum


“A feminist conceptual model of leadership ‘rests in the assumption that leadership manifests itself where this is an action to bring about change in an organization, an institution, of the social system-in other words, an action to make a positive difference in people’s lives.  Leadership, then, is conceived as a creative process that results in change’” –Helen Astin and Carol Leland

Leadership, as mentioned above, was exhibited on campus last week.  The Committee on the Status of Women (CSW) hosted its fourth annual event, the Fall Forum. 

Historically, the CSW has sought to hear the voices of the Creighton Community.  In 2010, the committee decided to assemble a group of women on campus and hear their concerns.  Professor Christine Wiseman and Sr. Maureen Fey helped facilitate the day.  Faculty, staff, students and administrators voiced their opinions on the culture of Creighton and how women played a role on campus.  They gathered and eight themes emerged as characteristic of Creighton in 2010:

·         Lack of Communication
·         Lack of Mentoring and Networking
·         Women are Not at the Table
·         No Central Location/Person/Advocate
·         Family Concerns
·         Need for Education
·         Work Life Imbalance
·         Lack of Role Modeling

From these themes, Summit attendees chose to sign their name to a report submitted to Fr. Schlegel and campus.  The CSW worked the following summer to create a strategic plan, or a way of proceeding, based on the needs identified.  They have been working diligently to address a culture shift on campus ever since.

Last year, CSW recognized the need to listen to the community once again.  With new university leadership, a paid parental leave policy adopted, a new office of Equity and Inclusion on campus unveiled, and a campus climate survey conducted, the CSW knew it was time to bring campus back together to take the pulse of our community.

The Committee sought to open the lines of communication by presenting climate survey results.  They aimed to empower participants with information as they learned about communication and gender.  They wanted to listen to concerns so that they can set the agenda for the CSW to do additional advocacy work on campus.  And they wanted participants (student, staff and faculty) to network informally at lunch and through optional book clubs.   Throughout the day, many voices came together in one forum!

As the day wrapped, additional themes gathered by listening to participants were shared.  Much work is yet to be done, as several themes appear strikingly similar to the 2010 report.  The CSW is compiling the data from the day and will issue a summary report to Father Lannon and campus.  This data will be used to set the future agendas for the committee.  I encourage you to visit the Committee’s website to review the fall 2012 report, once published: www.creighton.edu/women. 

As a Creighton community, we are called to be agents for change.  I pray that the Committee continues to collaborate with the Lieben Center, Women in Medicine and Science, Women and Gender Studies and many others throughout the community to engage in the “creative process” and advocate for the status of women at Creighton.
 

Kindly,
 
 
Michele Starzyk
Assistant Vice President for Student Life
CSW member

Thursday, October 25, 2012

Find That Place

I love being in nature.

When I was in college I discovered that my stress melts away when I’m not in the city. When I get stressed, angry or upset, nothing makes me feel better than getting in the car and driving out to a lonely highway or gravel road. I love sitting with a fishing pole in my hands, and thinking about nothing. For me, it offers time to think. To let go.

This summer as I climbed Mount Washburn in Yellowstone National Park, I suddenly realized why I find so much joy in nature.

I am able to experience the glory of God in a very tangible way.

His glory is made visible in the beauty of creation, and I see the tender care God gives to it. And Scripture says that God cares more for us than even the flowers and birds that he designed! I am reminded of his love for me, and in that, I find freedom.

Because I am a daughter of his, I am free to be me.

I don’t have to worry about impressing him – besides, what do I have to impress a perfect and eternal God? I am not worried about my performance at work. I am not concerned about how skinny or chubby I feel that day. I am not bothered by how messy my apartment is, and how many things I am supposed to accomplish.

All I do is put one foot in front of the other, praising God for the incredible view that falls below me as I climb higher. I am aware of my breath as the air gets thinner, and am thankful for the gift of life.

I believe that God speaks his love to everyone in different ways. Where do you hear him shouting his love for you? Find that place. Acknowledge your brokenness, and know that God is more than big enough for everything you carry with you. Rejoice in the daughter God made you to be.


With sisterly love,

 
Michaela Tallman
Director - Lieben Center for Women

Friday, October 19, 2012

"Real Men, Real Women"

Last month the Lieben Center for Women asked Creighton students/staff on the mall how they defined "real men" and "real women". The responses that we recieved were diverse and challenged the stereotypes of both men and women. Here are some of the responses our students/staff came up with!







Thank you to everyone who lent their voices to this event.

Kindly,

Shayla Covington
Student Coordinator - Lieben Center for Women

Thursday, October 4, 2012

Second Chances

“We all have big changes in our lives that are more or less second chances.” – Harrison Ford
 
 
Growing up, I was always terrified of change. My parents and I moved to a new house when I was 9, and I was devastated. It was less than a mile away from our old house. Ridiculous, right? Now that I’ve experienced a good number more changes in my life, my opinion of them has…well, changed. In the past couple of years, I’ve come to agree more and more with that quote from the (wait for it) legendary Mr. Ford. I’ve been given my fair share of second chances, probably more than I deserve. In order to get to this point, though – in order to see these big changes as second chances – I had to go all the way down to rock bottom and come all the way back up.

(trigger warning: depression and suicidal ideation)

Last spring, I was the closest I’ve ever been to rock bottom. Really, I felt myself brushing up against the stone at the bottom of the pit while I was desperately grasping at the ropes holding me up. My fourth year of college/second year of pharmacy school was the longest and absolute worst episode of it. Most of the year is a blur, especially fall 2011. I had brief periods of feeling awake and alive, but soon I slipped right back into the fog that had surrounded me.

I spent the spring semester playing catch-up, trying to get back to a satisfactory point in all aspects of my life: school, relationships, responsibilities, etc. And I just couldn’t do it. I was about to be kicked out of school, probably should have been dismissed from my job, and felt more alone than ever before. I was spread so thin that I couldn’t fix even one area of my life adequately. So I hoped, wished, and wanted to end it. There were so many nights when I was so close, but I couldn’t. I had to keep going because of my friends, mentors, and peers, especially those at Creighton.

This summer, I started taking an antidepressant. If you’re at all familiar with antidepressants, you know that they take a good 6-8 weeks before they really kick in. I definitely noticed that difference after about 8 weeks. May, June, and early July 2012 were extraordinarily difficult months; I couldn’t have a conversation with my parents without someone ending up in tears or screaming, I lost the job that I’d only had for a couple months, and most of my friends moved away or were going to move soon. But things started changing mid-July. I got a new job, I figured out how my relationships were going to work, and the rift between my parents and me began to mend. Now I can say that, while I may not have everything figured out, I’m pretty dang satisfied with the life I’m currently living.

I was given a second chance at life this year. I know that I’m lucky to be able to say that. They were the ropes holding me up in that pit called rock bottom. I was (and still am) incredibly fortunate to be surrounded by people whom I love and who love me in return. Things are not perfect, and maybe they never will be. But I know that the community I’ve built for myself will always be here to support me.
 
Mental health is a topic not often brought up in polite conversation. It’s tender, unpleasant, and uncomfortable, so we as a society tend to avoid discussing it. The problem with that is that it’s something we need to talk about. Maybe you’ve had experiences similar to mine, or that you will in the future. And I want you to know that you are not alone, no matter how much it feels like it. There is and always will be someone who loves you. There is and always will be someone who can stand with you. I know it’s terrifying to reach out for help, but it’s worth it. And who knows…maybe it seems like the world is crashing down around you, but in the end you’ll find that life gives you a second chance.

As the 10th Doctor says, “The human race just keeps on going, keeps on changing. Life will out!” Find those changes, take those chances, and make your life what you want it to be. Only you can do that, but don’t forget – there are always going to be people to help you do it.

Kindly,


Ali G.

Friday, September 28, 2012

Duck Deal in the Park

With every passing year, I’m increasingly surprised by the things that come from practicing presence. Sometimes the most incredible things happen not because we’ve planned them out, but because our world can be full of grace that we get to receive. Recently a friend asked me to write this true story down. So I did. And, I am very grateful that she made me, because the story is very true and very beautiful. My grammar and syntax don’t begin to do it justice. Suffice it to say, this experience changed me, and however insufficient my communication of it is, some stories need to be told:
The word “Sabbath” always sounded pretty dull until the summer our teacher told us that resting was wrapped up with feasting and feasting wasn’t just about food—it was about all that brings life.
I was working in Denver for the Summer. So was my friend Alex. We were doing this program called “Denver Urban Semester.” We were taking spiritual formation classes and we both had internships. I was hanging out with homeless youth—“youth” loosely defined, and she was hanging out with women coming out of the sex trade—strippers, escorts, and what have you. Needless to say, it was a heavy summer. This was after our sophomore year of college. We would come home from work every day, bursting with stories and tears.
We needed more laughter—more moments with life in them. In response to our teacher’s charge to “Sabbath,” Alex told us that she needed a duck. This had been a dream, she said, for a while. Who was I to deny the girl the Sabbath of her choice? If ducks bring rest and life, by all means, don’t let me stand in the way. It turns out that ducks are considered exotic birds in Denver, Colorado and as such, are not sold in pet stores. So, we drove.
We found ourselves an hour outside of the city, in Conifer, in a mansion. The internet had directed us here, and it is here that we met a father and a son, avid duck breeders whose kitchen was full of kiddy pools and heat lamps. There was a sadness about the place, for some reason we all knew that mom had just left, probably for good. The ducks added an element of comedy that seemed appropriate for the somber house. They only charged us 5 dollars. Alex had forgotten her money and someone else paid. But, the 3 week old duck was hers. And ours. We all assumed roles in the family, as centered around the duck. Alex, of course, was the mom. Grant was the dad. Nathan and I were the strict Aunt and Uncle, and Rachel was the crazy, fun Aunt.

We named the Duck “Mugatu Skiddly Bop Bagova Na Na Na,” a conglomeration of jokes, mostly centered around the movie ZOOLANDER, which we had watched the night before. And rightly the question was posed, who doesn’t want to scat in the middle of their pet’s name?

Alex and I lived in a loft apartment. There were tiny stairs that led up to a tiny room where our bed was. You couldn’t stand up straight, you just had to hunch over until you were lying down. So, clearly, we moved our bed downstairs to the living room, and Mugatu got our vacated bedroom. Things went smoothly for a while. We weren’t really supposed to have pets in our apartment, but exotic ducks aren’t really supposed to be pets, so we were breaking the implicit and explicit rules about pet ownership.
The duck would make repetitive cheeping noises when we came in the door from work until someone, most probably Alex, went upstairs to get it. Evenings would be passed with the duck accompanying us no matter the activity. Alex was frequently seen laying on her back, Mugatu on her stomach, stroking her head and neck and overall communicating “You are my duck and I love you.”
There were two major problems, however, that we were reminded of daily. First, it smelled worse and worse with every passing minute. Our apartment was hot, and if there was air conditioning, this was not the kind of conditioning we had asked for. Second, the duck was growing with absurd rapidity. Boxes felt like a cruel way to confine our beloved duck. Release into the wild was a viable option until Alex googled the plight of domesticated ducks set free into the world—gang rape and then probable death. Every website said it. We were at an impasse. The duck had grown out of our small apartment, and the local lake looked like a possible crime scene.
We put off dealing with it until one morning before work. A somber discussion decided that today we figure out what to do with Mugatu. There would be no rest until we found a home.
My day at work was pretty normal. I hung out on the streets with my new friends, which was, I suppose, akin to spending time in their kitchens, living rooms, bathrooms, and bedrooms. I heard stories that so few others got to hear—crazy stories. I watched my new friends get spat on and avoided by the people in suits coming out of big tall buildings. I watched as people tried to engineer my new friends out of the only place they had to call home. I went to the park after lunch to see what people were up to—the shade from the trees was a welcome relief from the hot Denver sun. I saw a new guy that day, a guy I’d never seen on the streets before. His name was Paul.
We must’ve talked for an hour. He was a traveler. So, unlike a lot of the kids living on the streets, he wasn’t a part of a group—he went it alone. Denver was one stop on his uncertain trek around the country. He’d been messed with a lot because he didn’t have a street family. He was recounting his most recent journey for me in great detail. It was hard to hear and broke my heart and then he finished his sentence with the wonderful words I have in my recent memory—“And then the fuckin’ cops took my duck away.”
“I’m sorry—what?” I said.
“Yeah, my duck, Lucky, the fuckin’ pigs took her away.”
All too casually for what had just been revealed to me, I
replied, “Are you in the market for a new duck, Paul?”
“What do you mean?”

“I have one, I have a duck and I need to give it to
someone. I mean, I really can’t take care of it anymore

and actually my roommate and I decided this morning

that we had to find a way to get rid of it today, and now

you are telling me you had one and it was your best friend

and I just thought that that maybe you might want one?”

He stared blankly at me for a moment. Without responding to my question he began telling me all the ways to care for a duck. He told me that Lucky loved Lettuce. He told me that Lucky came when he called her after a bit of training. He told me that the best way to train Mugatu would be to carry it around with me all day—like he did Lucky, and then it would know it was mine and that I would protect it. I told him that it wasn’t possible to carry it around all the time with me and that also I maybe was a little allergic to it, although I didn’t want my roommate to know just how allergic. And that actually, he knew much more about duck care than I ever would—not that I didn’t want to learn. So, I offered again.

“Paul, can you please take my duck? I won’t charge you anything
for it and I think it would be the best way to care for it. You know

more about it than I do.”
“When can I get it?” He asked.
“I’ll bring it to the park around 4ish. Meet me back here?”
“Yeah. Just call me,” He said, “I’ll probably be down under the
bridge drinkin’ some juice but if you call three times I’ll know

it’s you and I’ll come find you. You know, I believe in God.”
“Yeah? Me too.” I said. “Why do you say that?”
“Every time I ask Him for something, I get it. I’ve never asked for
something I needed and not gotten it. I needed a duck, and here

God is, bringing me a duck.”

“That’s beautiful, Paul. Keep askin’, my friend. Obviously
God loves you a lot.”

What happened that afternoon is now affectionately referred to by my family as “the day I did a DUCK DEAL” in the park. My grandpa makes my parents tell the story at parties and he cries every time. Mugatu is happy and living in Laramie, Wyoming with Paul. They live near a river. Not long after moving there I got a message from Paul telling me that Mugatu is a girl—you can’t find those things out until they molt. He now calls her Mugat-a, and they will call me occasionally to check in.
 
 
 
 
 
Kindly,
Annie Dimond
 
 
 
 
 
 

Thursday, September 20, 2012

Serendipity


When I was in college I was determined about two things: I was not going to have children and I was not going to be teacher. That’s it. I had countless discussions with my friends about my decision. And, actually, sometimes I did not discuss it at all, the decision was taken and nothing would change it! On the other hand, I really did not have a “plan” for my career, I had “thoughts”: I was curious about working in R&D at a big tech company, most likely a pharmaceutical company as I thought of after I started graduate school. Fast forward to today, things have flipped by 180o: I have three little kids that are my greatest joy and I am physics teacher (and have not done yet R&D). Wow! Did things change!!! Even more, I never imagined I will be leaving in, Omaha, NE, the heartland of America!

 

A series of decisions in my life threaded the path that brought me to Creighton and I feel so glad about it; well, I feel glad only 99.9% of the days as I always have room for doubts in my life. When I started college, back in my home country, the goal of anyone majoring in physics was to leave the country to pursue graduate studies.  So, that is what I did. And among the options I had, I applied to a university in the Netherlands where I was accepted. I, of course, had never thought in my life about living the Dutch adventure but the door was open and I could not miss that one. My husband and I embarked into our new life and together we enjoyed fietsen naar de stad om haring met ui te eten and also the Dutch way to live a life. When I was finishing graduate school I was looking for R&D positions in the Netherlands (plan A) but nothing came up so I shifted to look for research positions in the USA (plan B, I also had plan C, plan D, plan E…).

 

Coming to the United States of America. Not really the country I had at the greatest esteem at that time. But I interviewed at few universities and people were so nice to me, the options to do research were concrete and feasible and even though the geography was all new to me I got the feeling I could handle it. I got the impression that somehow I could be part of the landscape. So I accepted a postdoctoral position in Santa Barbara, CA. That was beautiful, even though the beach actually did not compare to the nicest beaches I had visited before, the mountains did not compare to those that I loved the most, the architecture was not as impressive as real Spanish colonial style. Nonetheless, the magic of the town reached out deeply my heart: I now can evoke the smells, the pleasant atmosphere, the music, the sounds, the scenic views. Back then, out of nothing, one day at the beach it came to my mind for the first time in many years that I could perhaps have a child. And that happened. And, with my baby in my belly, a new feeling arose: I needed to settle down and, for that, I needed a more stable job.

 

I was, therefore, in the job hunting race. I was undecided on which way to go until I attended a workshop on teaching and research at primarily undergraduate institutions. I swear I attended the workshop out of curiosity, without any other purpose. And the whole perspective just clicked on me: In the US, I could work at a college, similar to mine in my home country, doing teaching (yes, after years of introspection I had to admit my soul was that of a teacher) and doing research (fills me with the greatest intellectual joy). And have time for my family. Fantastic! It looked so appealing and seemed to fit on me. So I did my homework on getting to know the world of academia in the US and how to get a job there. When I received the phone call from Creighton for a one-year faculty position I first needed to think, where is Omaha in the US map? And then, together with my husband, we thought one year in the Midwest would not hurt, the position would give me good job experience and then we could relocate (again). So, we came to Omaha. Well, five years and two more kids later, we are still here. And I feel content.

 

How long are we going to stay here? Who knows, forever maybe. Have I changed my perception of the US? Yes, and now I have it at a great, but critical, esteem. Am I part of the landscape? Most of the time, but not always. Do I handle the geography? Much better now, with room for improvement. I keep myself as competitive as I can in the midst of the daily struggles of a teacher-scientist mom. As long as I can see the smile of my kids without looking at them and I can appreciate the progress of my students without using metrics, I know this is my place. Still, I hope to see if a door opens and I expect to have the wisdom to decide whether I will go through it.


Kindly,



Dr. Patricia Soto
Assistant Professor of Physics

Thursday, September 13, 2012

To Love a Migrant


This comes to you from Nogales, Mexico.  This comes to you from a small room overlooking a line of division, overlooking las cicatrizes en la Tierra – the scars on the Earth.  I’m not entirely sure how it happened but as the sounds of life floated up from the bustling streets below, my empty page filled itself with words… 


To Love a Migrant

An ever changing, never-ending cycle is the tide

 

So come and go the migrants

In and out in endless quantities

 

To love something you can never hold

 

A moments exchange is all there is


To love the migrant is to love in the moment

 

As quick as it came, so it will go

 

In the day

In the night

Every night

Every day

 

The moments come and the moments go

And so it is to love the migrant

 

So it is to love the tide


Every day, every night I listened to stories.  There was, of course, physical work that I did but in reality I was a listener.  Each day I would look into hundreds of eyes.  Eyes that I would learn to love, eyes that I would learn to let go, eyes that I would never see again but each time, they were eyes that were nothing more than purely human.  These eyes were invitations for the stranger to enter into their reality and into their life. 
 

Staring into the eyes of fellow migrants were moments of true vulnerability.  They were moments in which neither of us could hide or suppress our brokenness, moments in which we could be nothing more than painfully vulnerable with the other, as strangers and as wanderers.  In those moments, I began to understand humanity. 

There was no way to run from our brokenness, much like we were able in the other sectors of life, but not here.  I began to understand humanity because I began to embrace their brokenness as they embraced mine and understand it as part of the human journey but not its definition.  Brokenness and imperfections are part of our human context but they are not what we are defined by, they are neither our start nor our end, they are simply threads woven into the greater scheme of our human life.
 

And that is how I learned to love.  To love in entirety, to love because we are human. To love in the moment because for the migrant, it is all we have. 
 
Kindly,
Kara Luebbering
 

Friday, September 7, 2012

Reflections

Body Image. How we look, how we feel. As women, these are common issues we’ve at least faced before, if not every day. In a society so focused on a certain look, the ideal beauty, it can sometimes be hard to feel even pretty at all.

I know I’ve been there before. I’d heard the pep talks, the whole spiel that “You’re beautiful just the way you are”. And of course, while that’s all true, for some reason it never really stuck. I might’ve gone a few days telling myself “I’m beautiful just as myself” but after awhile, being surrounded by our society’s view of beauty, I’d find myself back in that familiar place of not always feeling so pretty.

Now while I have experienced a wonderful turn of events, I can’t say that that was the old me, because this is a continuing issue that we as women face every day. Instead, I found a way to make myself, but most importantly other women, develop a better body image.

It all started with Tri Delta. I was initiated into our chapter here at Creighton last spring. Not long after initiation, I heard about a program called the Reflections Body Image program. I had only heard good things about the program, and since it was just a two week commitment, I figured I’d give it a try. At first I saw it mainly as a chance to get closer to some of my new sisters; I never thought then it would have such an impact on my life.

The program first grabbed my attention because it seemed different that most body image based programs. Instead of being like a pep talk, Reflections took a more assertive approach. We talked about why society has this view of “ideal beauty” and how it negatively affects us. While it was more personally based, it still presented more of a challenge to me than just telling myself I was “beautiful no matter what”. It was this approach that intrigued me, and what led me to my next big move.

I noticed one day on our website that our Executive Office was looking for 5 women to be the “faces” or ambassadors for Tri Delta’s new body image program to be launched this fall. The process seemed simple, and it was open to all chapters nationwide. After going through the Reflections program and seeing how different it was, and the effect it could have, I figured why not go for it?

Little did I know that decision would change my life. In April, I got an email offering me a position as one of the 5 national ambassadors for this new program. So since then, I’ve been working with the other four Ambassadors and our Executive Officers getting ready for the launch of the new program. This new program, Body Image 3D, takes body image to an even deeper level. It challenges us as women to keep a healthy body image by keeping up with body image’s 3 basic components: a healthy mind, body and spirit, a 3-demesinal view.

Now, I know I’m not always perfect when it comes to my body image, but I’m learning, through myself and through this program. My new hope for this program, however, is that maybe somehow through me, I can help someone else see the beauty in themselves. Because everyone deserves to feel beautiful as who they are. And while changing society’s views of beauty may take time, the real place to start is changing the views of our own beauty.

Seeing beauty in 3D.
 
Kindly,
Leah Renauld
 
 

Thursday, August 30, 2012

Perfect Joy


This afternoon around 3:28 P.M., I snagged a seat near the door in a humanities classroom for my weekly Senior Seminar course. It was an average “fly by the seat of my pants” kind of day, running from class, to meeting, to class again and about that time I was praying that I had read the right material. It was theology, so if anything was going to help me, I figured it would be prayer.

 I had no idea that my mind was about to be blown.

We were discussing the difference between happiness and joy in regard to holiness (theology mumbo jumbo, I know) when my professor brought up Francis of Assisi and his idea of perfect joy. She scanned the classroom, surely one of the fifteen theology majors present had heard of perfect joy -- crickets. After that Bueller moment, she gave up and told us. According to St. Francis, perfect joy is when you are cold, starving, and wandering about when you come to an inn. Someone opens the door, takes one look at you and says, “Go away.” Perfect joy happens when suffering and being shut out no longer bothers you.

Now, I don’t know about you, but suffering does not equal joy in my book and it took me a few minutes to really process what she said. When I finally applied it to myself, the light bulb went off. Allow me to explain.

I have always identified as an ally and an activist. Growing up in a same-sex household will do that to you, especially if you are a protective daughter like I am. Throughout high school, if anyone had a negative thing to say about my family, a fire lit under me and I raised hell. That hasn’t changed one bit, but over the years I have learned to channel that passion – that frustration - into advocacy and involvement.

This summer I had the honor of marching in the LGBT Pride Parade in my hometown of Denver, Colorado. In that moment, when I was walking down Colfax Street with 250,000 of my closest friends and allies, I felt an overwhelming sense of joy. Joy that so many people would come out to support our cause, joy that I was an important part of a major movement and joy that the change we have been fighting for seemed certain to come. It is easy though, to feel that joy and in that moment forget that the struggle still exists.

Class today helped me remember why we fight for social change. We fight for what we believe in because we empathize with and/or experience oppression. The struggle for human dignity in poverty, disability, disease, racial and cultural discrimination, as well as sex and gender discrimination should motivate us. Perhaps in this way I disagree with St. Francis in that perfect joy shouldn’t be about being unbothered by cruelty and suffering even if it is our own. That’s not to say he wasn’t motivated by suffering, he obviously was. In this day and age however, I think we should absolutely be bothered by suffering, whether it is social, civil or economic in nature. My perfect joy would be feeling that tension, frustration, anger, hurt and resentment for myself or others and being ignited by it.

No matter your cause, let it be a comfort that you have everything you need to be an agent of change. Things that are hard for us to witness and experience are often the things that shape us, but it is up to us whether that change is positive or negative. Francis of Assisi is a Saint for a reason. It is not in our nature to be unbothered – so be bothered and “go forth and set the world on fire.”
 
Kindly,
Shayla Covington
President - Gender & Sexuality Alliance
 

Thursday, August 23, 2012

Welcome Back


Dear readers,

The “Our Voices” blog is happy to be returning from our summer hiatus to continue providing you with inspiring reflections from Creighton’s wisest women. This year the Lieben Center for Women will be hosting multiple programs that can be found here on the Lieben Center website. For starters, the LC will be holding an Open House on August 29th from 6:00 P.M. until 8:30 P.M. that is open to all students, teachers and staff. We hope to see you there and we look forward to another year of “Women’s Words of Wisdom” at Creighton!

Kindly,

Shayla Covington
Student Coordinator, Eileen B. Lieben Center for Women