City to City Conference (Women): Flourishing Faith in Dangerous Places: A postlude Part 1

Today a few hundred women met at Angel Place Recital Hall for a girly chat. That’s right, I was very blessed to have attended the City-to-City Conference for Women with Kathy Keller as keynote speaker. I use the word “chat” intentionally because the subject and the tenor of our conversation was exactly that – intimate, personal, emotionally wrought. The guest speakers each spoke their personal life story – on work, on loss and suffering – their personal testimony was as much a part of the communicated message as well as the Bible teaching. So with hearts resonating with the sweet timber of Chelsea Moon’s voicings to the Lord, and under the warmly lit timber of this hall of refuge midst our city, we settled down to a program that consisted of:

- Bible talk on Romans 5 (Cathy Tucker)

- Work and faith (Kathryn Leary Alsdorf)

- The panel (on suffering)

- Suffering (and prosperity and comfort) (Kathy Keller)

Work and faith (Kathryn Leary Alsdorf)

I particularly wanted to jot down my thoughts Kathryn Leary Alsdorf’s talk (the second of the day) because her topic is one I have been thinking a lot about. What are the dangers of work, she asks. Her points were clearly set out:

Danger 1: We are incompetent or fruitless

Danger 2: The environment is hard

Danger 3: That it’s pointless

Danger 4: That it brings out our “ugly”

This seems to be a fairly comprehensive summary of the struggles of work. And the antidote to each of those dangers...

In response to danger 1: We can fail at our work. We don’t need to prove anything. Our failures do not define us. Therefore we are free to take much greater risks for Christ.

In response to danger 2: We should not be surprised if the work environment is hard because the world is broken. Our task is to go into that brokenness and to join in God’s work in redeeming it.

In response to danger 3: The gospel is the only and perfect antidote to meaninglessness. To be able to join in God’s work of redemption gives us meaning.

This is probably the one issue I struggled most with when I was in the paid workforce – not just the meaninglessness of the inconsequential task I’m made to slave away at 4am in the morning but the bigger task that my small task is connected with that is ultimately also meaningless. (Actually, I just realise that the situation reflects dangers 1, 2 and 3 all wrapped in one.) Kathryn said something quite applicable to me, which is that people often work to get something out of it for themselves – even if it is something as abstract and intangible as meaning – rather than enjoying the work itself.

Calling is something that is realised in retrospect. When you have lived each step of your life in faithfulness to God, you look back and realise that has been your calling. 

In response to danger 4, worship God. We are idol-making factories. If we are not worshipping God, we are worshiping something else. 

The gospel gives us a new story for work, a new vision for work, a new compass for work.

A new story for work. If we don’t know how the story ends, we don’t know how to interpret our present (e.g. missing Malaysian airline plane). But if we know how the story ends, then life is vastly different. And we do know how God’s story ends. That gives us hope, a confidence and assurance of our ending. She aptly used the example of her marriage at aged 58. She had no assurance she was going to get married but if she knew that she was going to get married at 58, that would make a difference to her earlier life wouldn’t it? 

 I like that she explains the bottom of the work issue as a story. Meaning is ephemeral; meaning demands answers. But story is the way God has revealed himself. It is a story that has been completed in Christ (and it’s a rollicking ride up till then) but it is a story that is continually being unfolded, retold, heard, loved, mined for its riches. So the story of work begins in Genesis 1, takes a dramatic turn for the worse in Genesis 3, and ends in Revelations 21.

A new vision for work

Kathryn says, let our imagination and creativity soar to see how we are part of God’s world.

A new compass for work

The difference the gospel makes to work is not just to make us more ethical. We need wisdom. In Matthew 11:28, Jesus says, "Come to me all you who are weary an burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon me and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls." Why then, isn't it easier? Kathryn challenges us to take off some of the burden of the task.

Flourishing faith is not grabbing the golden ring; it is not control; it is not escape. Flourishing faith is humble. Forgiving. Faithful. Joyful. Loving.

End of part 1.

Why gender equity at work starts with gender equity at home (and not the other way round)

I was educated in a girls-only school from the age of six until I entered university. My husband was educated in a boys-only school from the age of eight until he entered university. He comes from what I call a “boy household” – two brothers. I come from a “girl household” – two older girls, then a much younger boy (8 years my junior).

I mention these personal facts to make the point that is at the heart of my argument – that our childhood experience of the different sexes is the most influential factor as to how we regard the sexes in adulthood. If we want to change discourse between the sexes in society, we need to start at age 5, not 35, or even 25.

When I entered the world of co-education aged 18, I was a champion of single sex education. I was brimming with confidence in the female ability (and statistically, girls are more academically able than boys). Girls from my school earned a negative reputation and I could not, for the life of me, understand why.

Fifteen years later, I can see the deficiencies in my understanding of the other sex and indeed, my own sex. So far as the actual study or work is concerned, perhaps I was not disadvantaged. But outside the classroom, where most of life occurs, I was terribly naïve.

From my observation, people from single sex upbringing can become either: over-developed in their sexual identity – identifying strongly and perhaps exclusively with the external characteristics of maleness (e.g. athleticism) or femaleness (e.g. beautification); or they can become under-developed in their sexual identity – that is, they do not appreciate the complex differences between the sexes or do not particularly enjoy their own gender, having developed their personhood in the absence of the opposite sex.

I belong to the latter category. I walked into my course expecting to be judged as a sexless human being but I could not negotiate the dance between the sexes. I admired my female peers who could be confident without being feminist, feminine without being a fading violet.

Project this to age 40, is it any wonder that aspiring women still complain of discrimination and objectification in the workplace? Could it not be due to the fact that the established majority, the men, have an overdeveloped maleness and naturally incline towards the all-boy culture that they knew in their formative years?

Perhaps one way to dismantle the old boys club is to rethink the old boys school. Of course, school is but one facet of childhood but for some, like myself with little socialisation outside of school, that was my entire world. I think boys too would find great relief in the company of girls. The all-male culture can be mercilessly aggressive and men, like women, occupy the whole spectrum of personality. They will find a space to be masculine without being macho, manly without being muscle-ly, a leader without being a jock.

When children from mixed-gender upbringing enter adulthood to interact with both men and women, they can be respectful and confident. Theirs is a confidence that comes from a deep understanding and acceptance of the other, and not an arrogance that comes from empowerment in the superiority of their own kind.   

And we would all get along better at age 45.

Two inconsequences of getting older

How long do you persist with a book before giving up? A while ago, I came across a handy rule of thumb that tells you how many pages you should read before deciding whether to stick with it or leave it:

(100 – your age) divided by 2

So for instance, if you’re 30, you would read 35 pages ((100-30) ÷2) before you guilt-freely give it the boot. And if you live to be 98, well, you can justifiably judge a book by its cover.

What is the basis of this rule? I’d like to think that the older we are, the better able we are to judge a book’s worthiness - to ourselves at least. But I suspect the simple reason is that we have less and less time. The stakes get higher with each passing year. There are only so many books, articles, blogposts you can fit in a lifetime. A sobering thought for those contemplating on doing the “100 books you must read before you die” challenge!

Da Vinci, a man of art and a man of science

Or perhaps we just have less stamina. I remember my adolescence when I would faithfully wait till the very last page of any Agatha Christie novel to find out whodunit. Plus I had good book hygiene. I would patiently go through one novel before starting another – why dilute the experience? But it all started to go awry came the HSC, when I never finished reading my English text, Emma. (Got up to the bit when Emma realised she loved Mr Knightley; Clueless and Cliff’s Notes filled in the rest. It’s very hard to keep the dramatic tension going once the sexual tension is resolved, isn’t it?)

Reading fatigue is not helped by the array of words plying for our attention. A friend used to say that we only have a certain amount of reading energy each day and if that is taken up by reading bullet points and legalese all day, there is precious little left for the important or pleasurable.

And so sadly I am putting this rule of thumb to good practice without intending to. Still, I can’t help feeling a pang of disappointment at not being able to finish what I started.

* * *

On a radio interview some time ago, a scientist made an interesting observation. He said that scientists usually do their groundbreaking work young, while musicians and artists continue producing into their old age.

Case in point: John Nash famously came up with his most important contribution to game theory in his 20s; whilst Picasso painted great works into his 80s.

Why is that? The same scientist postulates this is because in science, you need to be constantly interacting with new information in order to come up with a novel idea. An aging scientist is ill-suited to do this, not least because he or she is taken up by administrative tasks like running departments and applying for grants. Whereas in the arts, the information you need to create and keep creating is acquired in youth, and growth occurs internally.

Interesting. We don't choose our vocation based on its longevity – how a businessman might last longer than a barrister, who might last longer than a surgeon, who might last longer than a footballer. And at this rate of increasing life expectancy, we might all need second or third careers to round out our working lives. So it is natural that many people turn to writing and teaching in their retirement.

There’s a saying in Chinese tradition, “if you read ten thousand books, you might as well walk ten thousand miles” – meaning – it is better to step out, travel and experience the world firsthand than to read about it in books.

But when reading ability is in decline, and the wanderlust is gone, it’s good to know that the final and most thrilling journey happens inside.

Confessions of a spoilt brat

Recently, I had the occasion to live under my father’s roof again, for a few days, whilst on a short trip to Hong Kong.

My father lives on his own most of the time. So he employs a domestic helper to come once or twice a week to do the laundry, clean the apartment, and generally put things in order. I know very little about this lady, "Ah Jee" except that she is originally from China, has a son, and lives nearby. Whenever the “kids” (me and my siblings) stay, she would come a little more frequently, perhaps three times a week because, as you can imagine, the domestic workload explodes. During past stays, I, perhaps too embarrassed to be served, would try to clean up after myself as much as possible. But this time, time-poor and with a full house, we became lazier and lazier. It got so bad that at the end of the night, we wouldn’t even wash the three dirty dishes in the sink because alas, in the morning, Ah Jee would come and wash them! To the saying “many hands make light work”, should be added, “too many hands cause no work.” A phenomenon observed in every shared house in the country. But that’s a topic for another day.

Back in normality land, where the laundry basket is forever a work-in-progress, and the kitchen gets dirtier faster than it gets cleaned, I wonder why it has always been the case the wealthy (and increasingly, the middling rich) outsource their domestic duties to others. The arrangement takes many forms but inevitably, the master or mistress of the house will not be the ones dusting the photo frames, scrubbing down the shower recess, or replenishing the fridge with groceries. Is it because we feel compelled to free ourselves from manual work so that we can devote ourselves to “higher pursuits”, like being a professional, or running a business, or bettering society; something more "meaningful"?

So I surmise that therein the household unit is a microcosm of our international economies. Rich nations export jobs that are low-tech, labour-intensive (in domestic terms, housework) and aspire to jobs that are high-tech, value-added (in domestic terms, anything else really). So, in this market for domestic services, who are the Chinas and the Indias of the world who will offer their labour for a pittance? Sadly, they are often the elite from developing countries, attracted by the relatively higher wage. A job as a maid in a wealthy country pays better than being an unemployed university graduate in South East Asia, and feeds many more mouths back home. So go figure.

Growing up in Hong Kong, our family, like many others, employed live-in Filipino maids whilst my mum worked a full time job. Our maids would go back to their home country once a year to visit their family. One of them has a daughter who is my sister’s age. That maid stayed with us for at least 6 or 7 years. It is hard to miss the irony: a mother leaves her child - in order to look after someone else’s. If you are familiar with the film, Je t’aime Paris (Paris, I love you), you might remember this situation captured poignantly in one of the twelve vignettes. The phenomenon is spreading in Europe where Eastern European migrant workers are leaving behind a generation of “Euro-orphans” to be looked after by grandparents and extended family, for better paid work in Western Europe. Even in Scandinavia, where gender equality is one of the world's highest, and where it is socially taboo to leave your own children, there is a hidden underclass of migrant workers for whom, it seems, none of these social standards apply.

Will the invisible scissor-hands of market forces always win? I have heard arguments about how repatriated moneys from domestic workers stimulate the developing economies and help those countries lift themselves out of poverty. That might be so. But I cannot overlook the moral quandary in all of this. Are we, in innocently trawling the classifieds for domestic services, complicit in the larger phenomenon that is breaking up families? Because that is what will happen when someone, somewhere down the food chain, makes family togetherness secondary to economic survival.

I know too little about anything really to speak on every industry that uses foreign labour, but there is perhaps one partial antidote to the domestic help industry. Is it possible, just possible, that we are giving our best jobs away? Isn’t cleaning our home and cooking our food a core and intimate part of our life? Doesn’t doing it make us whole, authentic and consistent people? Isn’t it a joy to serve those you love? You might not get a pay rise, accolades, or even appreciation, but isn’t it fulfilling to make a home – not as large, clean or tasteful as the one next door, but a home you built with your personality and hard work. In economics, everything has a price and everything can be traded. But you can't trade your home and family away.

There is a happy irony in my case. As children, we hardly lifted a finger to make our own beds. Now, in my household, the buck stops with me. I am very blessed to have family members who make no complaints about my standards of tidiness and culinary ability. They are the ones whom I gladly work for. In fact, I have one last daggy confession to make. It is when my husband is at his busiest, most stressed, and least “useful” around the house, that I find a reinvigorated purpose and vigour to my homemaking.

And I hope, wherever they are, our dear maids, Vita and Gloria, you are happily reunited with your families now. At the tender age of thirty, I can finally manage to look after myself.

Resigned

I surprised myself with the quiver in my lip and the thumping of my chest when it came time to say goodbye. Desmond seemed distracted; Rowie warm but unfazed. I walked down the corridor, past faces I had lied to only minutes before, still busily oblivious to what has just occurred. “When are you coming back?” I responded, “My leave runs out in August but still not sure”, with the casual smile of someone who says goodbye expecting to say hello again soon. I thought, bemusedly and sadly, so this is what it feels like to leave secretly, without saying goodbye. I wish I could and I believe that they, in a different place, would wish too.

As I sat in the foyer feeding Karsten, gathering my belongings and my thoughts, I lingered a little longer than necessary just to catch a glimpse of faces, for sentimental reasons. I caught sight of Michael, the registration clerk, walking off to Court to file documents. I called out “Michael!” I had probably the longest personal conversation with him in my four years in litigation. Our past relationship has been limited to, “Can you please file this before the registry closes? ... It’s urgent... oh wait, I just noticed a mistake, can you hang on?” I found out today he arrived in Australia ten years ago, got this one-week contract through an agency and ended up staying on account of a massive case. I felt pathetic. I felt like the lonesome soul about to jump in front of a train and the last conversation he has is with the poor unsuspecting station attendant. And for once, the roles were reversed. He was in a rush, and I had all the time in the world.

I walked down King Street. I toyed with the idea of buying something from that ridiculously overpriced gift shop as a souvenir. Past that little lane where Kirby has picked me up countless times. It is funny how the MLC tower, by all counts and certainly, in my mind, the best location in town, had first been unknown to me (as a student), then intimidating to me (as a wannabe), then inviting to me (as a clerk), then wearisome to me (after KLC), then amusing to me (as others clamour to be here), at times repulsive to me (at 2:00am in the morning), at times my respite (en route to the domain for my lunchtime walks). I owned these steps, I belonged to them, and they to me; I was entitled to them, they felt natural to me. But I have to relinquish them now. No longer can I say, “This is my part of town” or from some trendy bar “I work just up the road”.

The Simon and Garfunkel song “Overs” play in my head. It’s over before it’s over, but the overing is not over. And then the end came so suddenly. I hadn’t even planned to do it today. I fool myself with the thought that they're acting cool to cover their disappointment. More soberly, I’m relieved I can move on. I made this decision years ago, but in some ways I am not yet ready to end it. I had never got my one day to pray over it, cry over it, gloat over it, wash my hands of it, talk about it, make peace with it. But the time is right. I had left it just long enough. As it were, I am creeping out just before the crack of dawn to savour alone the sweetness and forget the sadness of, in a way, my first love. It will always be my first job, with all its titillating hopes and youthful regrets. A job well done. Goodbye.

Listen to the song: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ho8BHetNuZA

Originally posted on our family website, May 2010