Tag: If I ran the world

Context

Putting on my marketing hat for a few minutes, can I just say I’m sick of Facebook and its obsessive focus on making conversations as public as possible? As weird and unusable as Google+ is, it’s got one thing over Facebook: Google+ understands context. It lets you put your friends in circles.

Facebook makes it really, really hard to segment your friends. It runs the stalker feed on one side of the page so when you comment on something Friend B said that has nothing to do with Friend A, who doesn’t and never will know Friend B, it ticks across Friend A’s screen anyway. Why, Facebook? Why? Not every conversation should be public.

So maybe the kids like this, I don’t know. But I hate it. Especially during the political season, when I’m already sick to my stomach and then I have to listen to the craziness from my writer friends who see things differently than I do and who will never be swayed by me, nor I by them, and then we can’t even stand each other because we’ve seen inside each others’ Facebook minds when in real life we’d just not talk politics. We’d talk writing and business and grammar and could still be friends on that level and not want to punch each other out for voting the wrong way.

Then there’s all the insider-baseball Lutheran stuff. I love it. But when you’re conscious that another Christian or non-Christian might read what you’ve written that’s a perfectly acceptable thing to say to another die-hard Lutheran and read it the wrong way, you think twice about saying anything at all. And that’s a shame, because there’s nothing wrong with die-hard Lutherany remarks, especially if they’re funny or sarcastic or make fun of the other denominations, as long as you’re saying them among other people who get it and who get that you don’t really think there will only be LCMS Lutherans in heaven.

But Facebook thinks everything you say ever should be made known to friends and friends of friends and friends of friends of friends. So you end up sounding like an ass to half your friends, or you end up censoring yourself and sounding bland.

Because there is such a thing as context, and it’s important in real life, and it’s been flung aside in social media. At my new job, and in marketing in general, the biggest goal for a company is to segment. We divide people into commercial and residential cooks, because commercial cooks don’t want an offer for a $99 home knife set, and home chefs don’t care about the special financing on walk-in freezers. Hotel and motel owners need laundry carts, and schools need plastic cafeteria trays, but hospitals don’t need high-end ceramic cookware or wineglasses. And not only do they not need or want everything we have to offer, but they’ll unsubscribe from our email list altogether if we continually offer them irrelevant information.

I’m not saying we should all be marketing to our friends and only giving them what they want. But I’d suggest that people are complex and multifaceted, and we don’t want or need to put all of ourselves out there to everyone we know. The pieces we put out to people are the pieces that are relevant. It makes me sick to read my friend’s position on abortion even as I love other things about her and wouldn’t even know her in the context of her abortion activism except via Facebook. And sometimes, reading the inside baseball fine-point theological musings of my Lutheran friends, I wonder who else is peeking in on the conversation and how off-putting it must be.

Again, I’m not saying we shouldn’t have these conversations, but that the Facebook equivalent is a Lutheran party complete with informative, nuanced discussions (and good beer), and not realizing that hundreds of non-Lutherans are peeking in the windows and wondering why we’re so hateful.

One last thing before I end my Facebook rant: I will NEVER like Wal-Mart. Every time I get on there, Facebook tells me that such-and-such a friend liked Wal-Mart, and won’t I like it too? No. I won’t like it on social media and I won’t like it in real life. Show me a Target ad. Show me an Amazon ad. (At least give me a dislike option.)

The upside to this rant is that, given the speed of the rise and fall of tech (hello, MySpace), this post will probably be irrelevant in a few years. Take that, Facebook.

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October 21st, 2012
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Dog envy

I’ve never thought of myself as a dog person. We had a dog when I was in high school. My mom named her “Katie,” after Katie Luther. All these years later and I’m still fuzzy on the history of Katie, where she came from, and why we ever got her in the first place.

Sure, my little sister Trina was an animal freak (and that’s putting it mildly), with squirrels and snakes and gerbils and birds and turtles all finding homes in our home. Maybe my parents got Katie for her; I don’t know. Trina’s the one who trained her, and trained her well. Our Katie had a bag full of tricks.

I loved Katie, and even had her at college with me for a semester when my parents were in Russia. (Did she get along with our cat, the Cookie Monster? Don’t ask. Did she get carsick on the way home and throw up all over my back seat? Don’t. Ask.) But she was a sweet and comforting dog, and she loved getting tummy rubs and looking at me with her limpid brown eyes while I brooded over the injustices of high school in a small town. It took our whole family to clip her nails: one to hold, one to clip, and the rest of us to distract her with tummy rubs and treats.

When she ran away and presumably died, I cried.

But I never had that pull for a dog. I’ve actually always thought of myself as a cat person. Back in college, when I was planning to go to med school and face the inevitable single life afterwards, when I made good on my scholarship by practicing medicine in an underserved population in rural South Dakota as an overeducated single female, I assumed it would be me and my cats.

And then, as these things do, everything changed. Like having a baby, like love at first site, I just knew the moment I laid eyes on this dog that I was meant to have a dog. Not just any dog, but a cockapoo.

Sure, laugh at the name, but check out this cuteness:

I mean, seriously.

I met my first cockapoo at a client’s office. The dog latched on to me and I spent the whole meeting surreptitiously petting him while acting totally focused on the client’s matters. Then the client said the magic words: “Cockapoos don’t shed.” Magic? Yes, because Derek says his objection to getting a dog is due to his allergies. Score!

In response to my serious and impassioned arguments over the merits of a dog and how much it will mean to the kids, Derek sent me this:

But…but…I’ve already found a breeder. How can you resist these puppies and these mommies?

To be continued….

 

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August 7th, 2012
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Things that can get you fired (by me)

 I’m not a prima donna, I swear. I work really, really hard on every story, every word, every piece of web copy, and I always try to turn in something that exceeds my client’s expectations. But we are in the business of communications, and clients who only care about external communications with our audience and not about internal communications with me drive me crazy. Here’s my list of fireable offenses:

1. Not knowing what you want, and deciding what you want after I’ve written the story.

2. Sitting on my copy for weeks, and then needing revisions over the weekend.

3. Saying what you want, and changing your mind sixteen times while I’m trying to do the actual work. Bonus points if your changing your mind sixteen times has to do with your bosses holding meetings about the project after assignments have already been made.

4. Patronizing me in a toneless email conversation, but refusing to pick up the phone to resolve everything in five minutes or less.

5. Sending an endless string of emails with requests instead of asking for everything at once.

6. Forcing a story out of its natural state into an ugly corporate box.

My kids get to be capricious because they’re cute. My clients are not (generally) cute, and so they don’t. That is all.

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July 16th, 2012
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What women want

Last week I did a webinar on how to earn a full-time income by writing part-time, based on my ebook. It was a weird experience, because I’ve done tons of public speaking and, though I always have nervous energy before the talk starts, it generally turns out well. The webinar is a whole new game, because there is zero audience feedback. It was just me, talking and trying not to cough, and at the pre-set times, the moderator introduced the second half of the talk and asked me questions the audience had typed into the chat form. I couldn’t see or hear the audience and had no idea if my words were inspiring them or dropping like lead balloons.

But afterwards, the feedback came rolling in in the form of book sales and tons of private emails from audience members who actually took the time to Google me, find my email address, and write. This is major because most people don’t bother to communicate with a presenter or writer or public figure unless they’re pissed off. I read a stat one time that the percentage of letters to the editor that are angry vs. complimentary is something like 75% to 25%.

In the talk I gave tons of tips on how to manage your time and set your rates so you can earn more in less time, but overwhelmingly, the subject people wrote to me about privately was how to not let your work hours balloon. I said something like, “I keep very strict hours, and they fluctuate. If my son naps for 45 minutes, that’s my work time. If he naps for 2 hours, that’s my work time. It can definitely be frustrating to quit when I hear that cry over the monitor and I’m in the middle of writing a brilliant sentence, but I always remind myself of why I work part-time in the first place. My kids. I chose this life because I want to spend as much time as I can with them, so letting my job bleed into our family life is not an option. There’s nothing to resent because I truly have it all. So when you feel frustrated that you don’t have enough time to work, remind yourself of the reason you’re part time in the first place.”

Tons and tons of emails. They were all–mostly from women, but one from a man–along the lines of, “Thank you for that reminder. I needed to hear that. I needed permission to put my family first. I needed someone to tell me that work isn’t everything and that it will always be waiting and my kids won’t.”

So, that felt good. But on a larger scale, it shows how many women crave flexibility–and the permission to create this kind of life. Maybe they want to work, but not all the time, and not to the detriment of their kids. And because they took the time to email and thank me for the reminder, it’s clear the world isn’t telling them the same thing.

Susanne Venker, an anti-feminist writer, talks about the concept of sequencing. My mom is a fan of that as well, although I’m not totally convinced yet. The idea is that you start a career, but then when you have kids, you raise them. And they grow up, too fast, and you still have way more years in the workforce than you could possibly want.

My grandmother was a piano teacher. She worked all the time, and particularly when my mom was home from school, because that’s when piano lessons are taught. My mom never saw her. Grandma worked because her father died when she was nine and as the eldest, she helped hold the family together. She worked because she was born in 1912 and was a child of the Great Depression. She worked because she loved her work.

When my mom grew up, all she wanted to be was a mother. She was good at it, too. She was that mom who sewed our clothes, made homemade, elaborately-decorated birthday cakes, wrote how-to books so we knew how to brush our teeth, taught us the right way to clean toilet bowls and had interesting hobbies like calligraphy.

And then my dad went to seminary, and my mom had to get a job to support our family. We girls were all in school, but she hated working full-time. She was tired, cranky, and all her hobbies were out the window. She eventually found a job and a balance that worked for her, doing desktop publishing (quite the new field at the time) for an educational company, part time. But she never wanted to work. She never wanted to be her mom.

I started freelance writing when Kate was a baby. At first it was sort of a lark. Hey! I can earn $100 here and there in my spare time! Then I got serious about it, but I totally bootstrapped it while Kate was napping and Derek was sweating over his vicarage sermons. When we moved back to Fort Wayne for Derek’s final year of seminary, I had to work part-time at Fort Wayne Magazine so we could pay the rent and all. We were determined to make it through sem without loans, and we did. But it was a hard year, and I vowed to never, ever again put my kid in daycare and work like that, with a rigid pre-determined schedule that was completely out of my control and flexibility.

Back to freelancing when we moved to Tennessee, because while we were thrilled, thrilled that Derek at last had a call, it didn’t include health insurance for Kate and me. I loved the flexibility, the fact that I could increasingly take on better and better jobs, say no whenever I wanted, and develop a skill set that was fascinating to me.

Mom and I had long, frequent conversations about my choice for a long time. She was concerned that my writing would get in the way of my number one vocation: motherhood. The truth is, that could have happened very easily. I’m just like my grandma: I love to work. But there’s a fundamental difference between us: I value being a mother even more.

So I won’t lie and say it’s not tempting to do just that one last thing before picking the kids up, or to sign them up for just one extra day of summer camp, or to stick them in front of the TV so I can make that one phone call. It is tempting. I love my work, and I’m driven and goal-oriented.

But through these challenging conversations with my mom, I’ve honed my values and priorities and set down rules for myself. In my webinar talk, I was just articulating these for everyone else.

I didn’t say this in my talk, but one way I look at my work is as kind of my hobby. In today’s world, women don’t have to hand-wash clothes and dishes. We have microwaves, washers and dryers, stoves and electricity and dishwashers and even robot vacuum cleaners and mops. Maybe that’s why women of the 50s got bored, and why women of the 70s went to work, and women of today have amazing and elaborate hobbies. I’m terribly uncrafty. I can’t sew or quilt or scrapbook, nor do I have any desire to. I hate shopping and I’m introverted so can only spend so much time on playdates without wanting to go hide in my cave. So my work is my “hobby.”

For two years now I’ve had my sights set on law school. But I didn’t get a big enough scholarship offer to go. Part of me is incredibly frustrated and sad about that. Part of me is relieved, because it would be really hard on my family for three years.

This, to me, is how the world needs to change. In my ideal world, I could go to law school part time, during the day while my kids are in school. (Some schools offer a part-time evening program, but that doesn’t work for me. UT doesn’t offer part time at all, and no schools offer part-time during the day.) Then, I could work at a firm that offered part time hours. (It’s currently almost unheard-of for a new lawyer to be able to work part time. Hours are more like 70+ a week at the big firms.)

So I’m extremely interested in studying the law, but the way the profession is set up is in direct conflict with my family goals and ideals. It’s a hard pill to swallow. And I just keep coming back to the fact that what I do now is so perfectly ideal for our lifestyle and for maximizing the time I have with our kids and for keeping me interested and engaged with the world on a high level but reduced hours.

Maybe I do believe in sequencing. But somehow, when I think about the future when my kids are gone and I’ll “finally” have time to work full time, the prospect seems dull and depressing–and my true values come into sharp focus. I adore my kids and their unique personalities and the excitement and joy they bring to our household. The day they leave–any of them–will not be a day of celebration, except on their behalf. The day they’re gone and I can (have to?) work full time doesn’t seem at all like a declaration of independence, but one of drudgery.

“Finally” having time to work is not a good tradeoff for what I have now, which is limited time to work but tons of time with my kids. Sure, some of it’s mundane: breaking up fights, getting snacks, changing diapers and doing endless loads of laundry. But much of it is pure joy, and the hard work of it is rewarding.

My grandma and mom were each a generation ahead of themselves. Grandma would have made a good 70s feminist (not really–she wasn’t much of a feminist, but her work habits were). Mom was born to be one of the new stay-at-home mom breed of my generation, whose mothers worked and who led a backlash against being a latchkey or daycare kid. I suppose I’m striking the middle ground between my desire to work and my desire to raise my kids.

It’s a lonely place. I don’t fit in with stay-at-home moms or working moms. Trying to straddle both worlds means you don’t inhabit either.

And yet, I wouldn’t have it any other way. The work is on my terms. My hours, my choice. Judging by the response to my webinar, to the numerous “work at home” job boards, ebay and etsy sellers, “mompreneurs” et al, it’s what a lot of women want. (Even the woman in Proverbs 31 was an entrepreneur.) It’s too bad the feminists screwed it up by insisting all women (should) want demanding full-time jobs.

I think the tide is turning, and it makes me happy. But we have a long way to go. I sometimes wonder how the world will be when my girls are mothers. Sophia says, when asked what she wants to be when she grows up, “A mommy!” I love that. She’s an incredibly bright child who could no doubt be anything she wanted to be, but I hope she has the same ideal at 25 that she does at 5.

I also wonder what my girls will think about my choices while they were growing up. My hope is that they look back and say some version of, “My mom was a writer, but that didn’t really affect my childhood. She was always around and she made dinner for us every night and we talked about everything.”

(Of course, that’s my wishful thinking. With my luck, one of my daughters will grow up to be a writer, and she’ll go see some bogus therapist who will convince her that her childhood sucked and it was my fault, and she will write public articles about how my parenting choices screwed her up forever. Gosh, I hope not.)

Meanwhile, I’m going to put my head down and try to make my time with the kids both quality and quantity. It’s not easy. In fact, I’d say it’s a lot more work than…work. But it’s worth it. Oh, yes, it is.

 

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July 2nd, 2012
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If I ran the world, part District

I’ve been thinking about this for a long time, but in light of what’s happening in the Minnesota South District–specifically, the travesty that is the sale of the church building that houses University Lutheran Chapel, my husband’s college church and where he cemented his Lutheran faith along with countless other students–I’ve come to the conclusion that our LCMS districts in large part need a big fat overhaul.

Not that it’s a subject of table conversation for most people, or even a source of worry for most pastors going about their everyday business, but Districts, once a useful mode of organization within the Synod when geography was an issue, have cleverly immunized themselves from redundancy by becoming a fount of programs and resources and ministry tools for their pastors. In the process, some of them have morphed into powerful, corporate-type structures that lose sight of how to serve their pastors and congregations humbly, in good faith, always letting the Gospel prevail.

Districts have become bloated and bureaucratic over the years. They used to consist of a pastor, in a congregation, ministering to other pastors and congregations. Now we have huge District headquarters housing lots of staff who create programs and “ministries” that channel corporate marketing principles instead of the Gospel.

I wouldn’t dispute the idea that most District staff work very hard and consider their work on behalf of the District to be important and vital. That said….

Here’s my vision for Districts. It’s simple, financially and theologically. Perhaps it doesn’t comply with bylaws; I haven’t researched enough to know. But it does reduce the responsibilities of Districts down to the essentials: supporting the work of pastors and congregations, pastorally and using principles of good stewardship.

1. Pare staff down to the District President and a single secretary.

The DP will have a Divine Call as an associate pastor in a congregation, and he can perform his DP duties from that office if there’s space, eliminating the need for a district building (and reinforcing the idea that he is serving a body of churches). He will occasionally preach and teach at his church when his district duties allow, and the senior pastor will be his ecclesiastical supervisor, and he in turn is the ecclesiastical supervisor of all the pastors in the district. He supports and encourages pastors and helps them to thrive in their congregations.

2. Overhaul the budget to focus on putting grant money back into congregations, schools, mission projects, and human care within the District and around the world.

Funds contributed by congregations to District are allocated as follows: A small percent for overhead (DP and secretary salary and expenses, plus contract workers and their expenses like a newsletter editor, webmaster, and part-time accountant). Another percent for Synod. And two more percentages allocated to district-wide missions and projects, and national and international missions and projects. All budgets are freely available and the District is committed to financial transparency.

For the last two items (district and national/international missions and human care), congregations, schools, and missionaries would be invited to submit grant proposals. The district secretary would sort and catalog these, and a volunteer committee (elected at the convention) would chose the top proposals to be voted on at the district convention by voting delegates. This eliminates small, secretive boards (or even the hint of such) delegating funds to their pet projects or making closed-door decisions that ignore the desires of and feedback from their congregations.

I stole this grant idea from LWML. It’s a fabulous way to give out funds to deserving projects, and the process is fairly democratic instead of autocratic or bureaucratic or commiteecratic (yeah, I made that last one up).

Right now, most Districts allocate a majority of their funds to their own overhead. Obviously Districts aren’t nonprofit charity organizations that need to comply with standards set by organizations like Charity Navigator, but here are a few concrete example of how funds could be better spent.

  • Let’s say a District employs a school outreach coordinator. You have a school. Would you rather receive monthly newsletters from the coordinator, plus a site visit every other year in which the coordinator suggests implementing things you know won’t work in your particular situation, plus invitations to attend programs at the district office, or would you rather there be no coordinator and instead have the ability to apply for a grant to purchase iPads for your middle school students, which would keep you competitive in the private school environment, which would attract non-Lutheran students who are then educated with a Lutheran Christian worldview? Talk about a mission project!
  • You’re operating a fledgling campus ministry at your church several miles from school. With a grant, you could rent space right on campus, join the campus ministers’ association, and increase your visibility to students in a crucial time in their lives.
  • Your cousin is raising funds to serve as a missionary in Asia. Because of your connection in the District, you could help him apply for a grant to help fund his work over there.
  • A disaster has occurred somewhere–perhaps overseas, in another area of the U.S., or within your own District. Your congregation has volunteers who want to go help. The District coordinates a relief effort and funds travel expenses and supplies for volunteers.

One might argue that Districts create jobs, but I’d say you can’t measure the effect of putting money back into your own congregations and schools and throughout the world by supporting international missions and human care.

You also can’t measure the effect of simplifying the office of District President. Boil it down to the essentials, and the District office should exist to serve its congregations and pastors and help them conduct their business. Programs and coordinators and corporate structures don’t meet that goal. Biblically-minded pastoral care, compassion, and a servant’s heart do.

 

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September 30th, 2011
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