When I was young, my dad ruled all. My mama would often say, “I know, your dad is your favorite.” It wasn’t that I didn’t love my mama, but my papa cherished me in a way that she couldn’t. And as much as I still adore my father, my mama brings her own gifts that he could not hold a candle to.

He didn’t show me how to roll my hair with curlers for over an hour most mornings when he was already running late. He did not even attempt to sew my Halloween costumes. He didn’t stay up watching “The Golden Girls” erupting in laugher into the wee hours of the morning with me, and he didn’t use cookie cutters for my peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. My papa is wonderful, but he isn’t my mama.

Now that we live across the country from each other, I find myself calling my mama for her amazing Southern recipes, what I should wear to a wedding, how to get a stain out of my favorite sweater, if I should try the $1.99 wine at the market (she always vetoes that one), and sometimes just to hear her voice. There are some things that only mamas know. So, to the lady that thought I didn’t love her best, I saw everything that you did for me, and I love you better than best because that’s the only way that you ever loved me.

There is no preparation for what we find in life sometimes, and situations can find us in the most unusual ways. I try very hard to look at my past to determine choices for my future, but there are times that the past can lend no good advice.

Sometimes, life just does not make sense. Sometimes, you find yourself swept away and nothing can send you back. Sometimes, you know that maybe you should guard your heart a little better, but you fall anyway. Sometimes, you grasp onto a tiny glimmer of hope because something feels different. Something feels like snuggling with the windows open, Explosions in the Sky playing on the record player, and tracing the patterns and lines…Yes, this something feels very, very good.

For the longest time, I felt that I should be somewhere else. I felt that there was a life of mine somewhere that I should be living. I often thought that life was just a race. I would compare my life to the lives of others…their income, success in school, love lives, and a million other things. I determined my success by their success. It was not until I went home for a holiday a few years ago that I realized that I am exactly where I want to be. I love my home, but there is a giant world out there just waiting to be enjoyed and explored. I try to imagine my life somewhere besides L.A. at 25, living a studio apartment, working as much as I can just to simply pay the rent, going back to school for my English degree after studying acting and improv, working on several writing projects with some of my dearest friends, but I can’t. I find myself walking around my neighborhood with the Pacific Ocean glittering just down the hill and thinking to myself, “There is no where else that I would rather be.” And hopefully, you can look around and think the same thing too.

The voices of our friends were muffled as we shut the door behind us. The glaze of another Hollywood sunset tickled through the curtains and danced a slow waltz through the room. I sat on the cozy cream comforter and stayed close to the edge. As the video began to play, I found myself sighing with relief and feeling the overwhelming sense of home.

Without words, Susan Kemp’s (http://vimeo.com/susankemp) video for the band Owenstone captured a feeling, a moment, a time…life in Los Angeles. You can feel the conversations in the bars in Silverlake, hear the soft glimmer of the sunrise in Griffith Park, and know that wherever it is, there you are. Because only a true artist can evoke emotions and tell a story without the audience even realizing that that is happening, and Susan Kemp that is exactly what you are.

Tree leaves jingled against the clean April afternoon. Grass clippings were scattered throughout the sidewalk and smelled of home. Children were running down the smooth concrete from the school bus. Freshly painted bungalows dotted the streets and smiled hello. My favorite teapot garden shouted from the corner that I shouldn’t be such a stranger. And I felt a simple joy in it all.

I remember tiny moments that brought me joy-a friend leaving cupcakes on my doorstep, a sweet note from an old friend, the sweetest kiss just simply because I was walking his way. They all were simple and did not require any effort; I simply had to be open to receiving them. Sometimes, I think the hardest thing to do is to allow things to happen to you. I used to push and manipulate things into being, but they almost never ended how I expected.

However, the moments that were never forced, the loveliest moments that just happened upon me, the moments that will stay with me always-my best friend writing a song for me, strolling across the lawn of the Biltmore House with him and wanting to pinch myself, an unexpected plane ticket to go home for my Poppy’s funeral.

And as much as I am tempted to write my own story, my attempt will greatly miss the mark. So, for now, I am truly okay with the tiny things…and letting them all happen to me.

It was seventh grade, and he was tall for the boys in our grade. His luscious hair glistened in the sunlight as I asked him, “What are you reading?” He gave me a look that those smart boys give and said, 1984, and just walked away. I went straight to the library and checked out that book the same day. And that’s when it started.

Somehow, I find myself attached to boys through literature. And yes, some of the books I have read in my life, some of my favorites, have been ones boys have loved themselves. And I dare to say there are a few bookshelves owned by men that have my favorites on them as well. Art connects people. And I’m sorry, but there is just something sexy about a man that reads. I have often found myself in some of the most wonderful conversations with guys about the books they have read. I remember seeing House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski sitting on the backseat as we made our way through the dazzling Northern California night. I remember long conversations and never-ending references to Blue Like Jazz by Donald Miller. I remember all of the tiny treasures of every gem on my bookshelf from The War of Art by Steven Pressfield to Improvise by Mick Napier.

And even when I’m eighty, I will hold of these memories close to my heart. And maybe, just maybe, I will find the strength to finish House of Leaves…Maybe.

Rachel Held Evans
March 13, 2012
RELEVANT Magazine

Examining the controversy behind the massively viral Invisible Children campaign.

It seemed so simple.

A ruthless child abductor on the run. A grassroots campaign to ensure his capture.

But within 48 hours of Invisible Children’s “Kony 2012” video going viral, the conversation surrounding Ugandan warlord Joseph Kony and the best way to help the people he has terrorized for more than eight years, had become anything but simple.

The same social networking momentum that propelled the Kony 2012 campaign to trending status on Twitter generated a wave of criticisms regarding Invisible Children’s messaging and tactics. Critics expressed concern that the video’s message was too emotional and simplistic, and that it failed to account for complex realities on the ground. IC’s financial practices were scrutinized, its ratings on Charity Watch and Charity Navigator brought to light. Soon, people around the world were locked in passionate debates about activism, aid, colonialism, violence, foreign policy and justice.

Perhaps accidentally, the leaders of Invisible Children had started an important conversation—one regarding how we think about and engage social justice, about how best to use our resources and time, about the finances and logistics behind humanitarian efforts, and, perhaps most importantly, about how we tell one another’s stories.

When I shared the “Kony 2012” video on my blog, I had no idea it would be so controversial. At first I was surprised, then frustrated, then—after hearing from readers— encouraged because we’re getting passionate about something that matters.

So we should be encouraged this conversation is happening. And, as it proceeds, we should be wary of veering to two extremes in our thinking: idealism and cynicism.

Idealism: It’s Not That Simple
In the “Kony 2012” video, the co-founder of IC, Jason Russell, explains to his young son that Kony is “the bad guy,” and to save the children.

But critics say it’s not that simple.

They note that Joseph Kony no longer lives in Uganda, that his power has dwindled significantly over the past few years and that the Ugandan army—which IC says should be supported by the United States to hunt down Kony—is itself guilty of violence, looting and rapes. Some say launching a major strike against Kony may cause more violence. In addition, Christians committed to non-violence have questioned Invisible Children’s militaristic approach on the grounds that Christians in particular should seek a peaceful resolution.

Also, because Invisible Children is primarily an advocacy and awareness organization, only 37 percent of the funds they raise directly impact the people of Uganda. Critics say donors should send their money to organizations that devote a larger percentage of their resources to empowering the people in this region to bring peace and prosperity to their communities, and to help former child soldiers assimilate back into society.

Furthermore, many are uncomfortable with what they see as a “savior complex,” reducing a complex socioeconomic and political conflict into a “good guys vs. bad guys” scenario. Some African writers have expressed concern that the video presents white, American college students as heroes to poor, helpless Africans—a storyline that has plagued African aid for decades.

These are valid concerns, but many IC supporters reacted defensively when they were raised, because it disrupted the narrative they had already embraced. As difficult as these questions may be though, they are important ones to ask. For if we hope to move from mere awareness to long-term activism, we have to confront some realities we don’t like or understand, and accept that not every question has an easy answer.

Cynicism: It’s Not That Simple Either
However, as the furor grew, I began to encounter attitudes from Christians and non-Christians alike that disturbed me. Some people seemed more upset by IC’s policies and practices than by the cruel actions of Joseph Kony and the LRA.

These folks dismissed out-of-hand all of Invisible Children’s efforts to help bring safety to children in the region. They cast the leaders of Invisible Children as good-for-nothing hipsters more concerned with imposing their naïve, colonial idealism than their fellow human beings. They took to Facebook and Twitter to show off their humanitarian expertise and shoot down any idealistic IC supporter who stood in their way.

In doing so, these cynics became guilty of the same oversimplification of which they accused IC. Just as the lives of Ugandans affected by the LRA cannot be reduced to a single storyline, so the hearts and minds of IC leaders and supporters cannot be reduced to a single characterization. When we categorically vilify Invisible Children, we run the risk of forever alienating thousands of young people whose hearts for humanitarianism were first touched by an IC film or campaign.

No one becomes an informed activist overnight. We have to leave room for people to grow. It is in piquing the interest and imagination of young people that Invisible Children truly thrives, and in that sense, they play an important role in the world. Sure, IC is in need of some reform. But it is precisely because they are so effective at raising awareness that so many have joined the conversation about better practices in activism and aid.

So what do we do next?

When I shared a long list of resources about this controversy on my blog, I was surprised to hear from a reader who wanted to know what he was supposed to conclude from them. I’d presented books and articles from various sides of the debate, and, confronted with so many choices, he wanted me to tell him what to think.

I saw the same thing happen across the blogosphere, as pastors in particular seemed compelled to issue either blanket endorsements or condemnations of Invisible Children and Kony 2012.

This, in my opinion, is just about the worst way to respond to the controversy. The upside to all this fallout from Kony 2012 is that it has challenged a lot of us to do our homework and begin thinking more critically about how we talk about and pursue justice. The first step in turning this controversy into something that benefits the Kingdom is to embark on the uncomfortable but rewarding journey of becoming more curious, more informed and more passionate about justice.

This is not something we can do exclusively on Facebook and Twitter. It’s going to require hard work and time. We’ve got to learn how to read financial reports and track progress indicators. We’ve got to study history and engage public policy. We’ve got to move beyond the dichotomies of victim and savior, good and evil. We’ve got to listen more and speak less. We’ve got to avoid the danger of hearing and telling single stories.

The wisest people I know are neither naïve nor cynical. They are, as Jesus put it, wise as serpents but harmless as doves.

What Christians can bring to this conversation is an extra-large heaping of grace.

Grace for the idealists.

Grace for the cynics.

Grace for the amateurs.

Grace for the experts.

Grace for our brothers and sisters from Eugene to Uganda, South Carolina to Sudan.

Grace for hipsters and aid workers and peacemakers and child soldiers.

And, if we are truly radical, grace even for Joseph Kony himself.

Rachel Held Evans is the author of Evolving in Monkey Town: How A Girl Who Knew All the Answers Learned to Ask the Questions (Zondervan, 2010). She blogs at RachelHeldEvans.com and has compiled a list of resources to learn more about the Kony 2012 campaign.

It’s the moments of silence. It’s when you can look across the table, and it just takes a smile. It’s talking in a parking lot until 3am. It’s laughing so hard that you forget what you’re even laughing about. It’s just feeling better when you’re in the same room. It’s midnight snacks and people watching. It’s finishing my story before it even begins because you know it well. It’s packs of gum and bad Blue Moon. It’s an unexpected change of plans. It’s a two hour drive. It’s that aha moment. It’s you, and it’s home.