The Summer Everyone Thought I Was Liberal

Until I got married, my life had been blissfully dull. I was born in Lanett, AL, the rough equivalent of Mayberry, to a mom who was a dance teacher, then stay at home mom, then kindergarten teacher at the First Baptist Church. My dad owned the local hardware store.

I had an inkling that there were people “out there” who lived and thought very differently from me and my family. I knew there were people who went to high schools with more than 500 people and vacationed in Europe, but they lived in far off places like Montgomery or Minneapolis.

So, about my 2^nd year of college, I decided I needed to do something to bridge the gap between myself and the rest of the world. I looked at my church denomination's college programs and found a couple that sounded interesting. One possibility was working in Appalachia for the summer. The other was to be a Peace Intern. Peace Interns got to travel the country visiting church camps and talking with high schoolers. People who worked in Appalachia did hard, hot, dirty work.

So, I applied to be a Peace Intern.

I painstakingly researched and wrote an essay about what “peace” means to me. It was long with lots of references. Maybe not surprisingly, I didn't get it. So, I spent the summer after my sophomore year of college doing something just as meaningful and thought provoking: I taught high school majorettes.

The summer before my senior year I decided to give a peace internship one more try. This time I almost missed the deadline and ended up writing a one page paper about how Jesus Christ should be our peace. Know Jesus, know peace. No Jesus, no peace.

I sent it off not expecting much and not really concerned either way. I had met people who applied for this program and didn't get it, impressive and smart people like my sister and a great-great niece of Hemingway.

I was shocked when I received a letter not too long afterward telling me that I was selected to be a Peace Intern for the summer of 1992.

I knew I was an unlikely selection, but I didn't realize that I was the least likely choice ever, I mean EVER, until I arrived at training in Indianapolis.

When I arrived, and met the other interns, I realized they all had a “platform”, like Miss America contestants, and they were all kind of mad. There was a woman who had spent the previous summer in Africa and now refused to eat the seeds in tomatoes, another woman who called God a goddess. There was an army brat who was staunchly anti-military and a guy who thought I should leave the training immediately because I voted for Bush. One intern had a pony tail and planned to ride his motorcycle from camp to camp, another was proudly gay, but hadn't worked up the nerve to tell his parents. There was a sweet guy who was Puerto Rican and another who's strangest characteristic, as far as I could tell, was that he went to the University of Connecticut. 

Peace Intern Training 1992

And, then there was me – white, female, uninformed, conservative, southern, not mad about much and just voted for Bush. I became very quiet, considered going home and tried repeatedly to stop my head from spinning by suggesting we play silly games in the hallway of the offices of our General Assembly where the training was taking place.

You may be able to guess that this was a weird week for me. I loved learning about “peace with justice” issues and the people I was meeting were fascinating. But, I realized, probably for the first time, that I was different. I wanted to tell every kid I met at church camp that it didn't matter who they voted for, what their families looked like, or what their plans were for life after high school, if they didn't embrace Jesus Christ as their Savior there would be no peace in their hearts and lives. Without peace in your heart, there won't be peace in your home, your neighborhood, state, country or world. He is the only way.

After we've addressed the peace that you live in, we can talk about hunger and war and stereotypes. But, it just won't work before that.

After that week at training, I made some strange changes. I would never again consider peace to be solely the absence of war. I stopped drying my hands in public restrooms with the electric dryers or paper towels, instead I would run my hands through my hair. And, I would never look at bananas the same.

We read about the “just war” theory and why flying is bad. We talked about prejudice and hate. But somewhere in all the stories and statistics and letters, there was this one poem that stuck with me. It was in the “hunger” segment of our materials. The poem was written by someone visiting a desperately poor nation. In some of this travelers’ observations, he saw a small girl steal a banana. She took this one banana back to her even smaller brother and sister, giving each of them half. Then, the little thief sat down and licked the inside of the banana peel. The poem ended with the phrase “I swear I saw the face of God.” I wish I could find that poem to share with you now. Just the thought of it, the reality of it, moves me.

After that week of training, I knew I had a decision to make. I could become more informed and involved. I could get swept along and give in. I could get angry and condescending. I could embrace every issue that came along, even ones I didn't agree with. Or, I could figure out how to care about the world around me and still be true to who I am. I could learn to disagree with people who voted differently than I did, yet embrace them because we both want this world to be a better place.

The rest of that summer was good. It wasn't as trying as my week of training. I wasn't asked to go to any gay bars or think about whether flag burning should be ok. But, I was confronted with a retired military man who openly disliked me as soon as he heard the word “peace”. I was flattered by a camp director who said she had been really worried about having a Peace Intern and I made her feel better about the program all together. I met a man who became a dear friend, who respected me and my views and threatened to call Bobby, who would soon propose, to ask him a series of questions including “what are your intentions” and “will you really promise to take care of her?”

Camp in Montana

I visited camps around the country that I would never have seen and met people I would never have thought about meeting. I was forced to think through issues I had never given much brain power to and I learned how to present my views in a way that took others' perspectives and disagreements and backgrounds into account.

Mostly, I was confronted with my Savior. Jesus got me into that summer program and showed me that I was His. He called me out and asked me do and say stuff that was sometimes uncomfortable. He took me to places I had never really wanted to go and would never have planned on. And, it was all really, really good.

As I said before, I was the least likely Peace Intern ever. If there were a reunion, I'm sure someone would think I should leave. I mean, I'm a mom now. I cook dinner most nights and hardly ever protest anything. I drive a minivan, for goodness' sake, and freely use the paper towels in public restrooms. I have even given my Birkenstocks away.

But, I still care. I pray for our country and leaders while wondering exactly where we're going to end up. I want people to know that refugees are some of my favorite people ever and that slavery still exists. I help those around me and teach my kids to help out too.

So, whether you're crazy or sane, whether you get your news off your Yahoo homepage or listen to NPR, whether you refuse to shower until Tibet is free or shave your legs every single day, we're all really more alike than we are different. And if you don't believe that, you should at least believe that we all care deeply about something.

“For a while that worked fine
All the Zooks stayed away
and our country was safe.
Then one terrible day
a very rude Zook by the name of VanItch
snuck up and slingshotted
my Snick-Berry Switch!”

-Dr. Suess, The Butter Battle Book