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| Justice.Radovan Karadzic is a murder.
He made himself a high official in Serbia in 1992, and decided, along with the former president of Yugoslavia (when it was Yugoslavia), Slobodan Milosevic ("mill-o-sev-itch") to oust everyone but Serbians from the country, enabling the former Yogoslavia to be one massive country of just Serbians. See, these two started telling everyone that Serbs were the greater race, and that all the other ones had to go. That meant Bosnians, Croats, and Muslims. Slobodan was particularly influential through the media and his speeches, portraying how great a country of Serbians they could be if they would just get rid of all the others.
What surprised me, aside from obvious inhumanity, was the fact that Karadzic used to be a psychiatrist.
Are you kidding me?
He took poetry classes at NYU.
He listened to people pour out their souls all day. Muslims, Bosnians, Croats... Surely they were part of the mix of people he saw on a daily basis. Did he hate them while they talked? Did he absolutely burn on the inside, watching the clock tick by? Or was there compassion inside of him?
What the heck happened?
And why couldn't he see that what he was suggesting was mass murder? Ethnic Cleansing? Did nothing inside of him, either scholastic or "Jimminy Cricket" tap him on the shoulder to help him realize what he was telling people to do? To kill?
I don't understand.
And so a war started. And soon neighbors shot each other--and that was that. Some ran away; fled to neighboring countries like Montenegro or further if they could. When the war ended, those who "ran away" faced rebuke for not standing up for their country. They're outcasts even today. The war ended more than a decade ago. But mostly, people fought.
I met a woman who lived in her kitchen for two years. She went out to get food when she could, but no other room in her house was safe- the whole place was shelled (this was in Sarajevo, one of the hardest hit areas of the entire country of what is now Bosnia-Hercegovina). So she just...Lived in her kitchen, crouched in the corner, for two whole years, until the fighting seemed to drift southwest to a city called Mostar.
I wonder what it sounded like...Movies don't depict how dreadfully loud even a handgun is, not to mention morter shells, grenades... And when it faded, when the bombing lessened, what could it have possibly sounded like?
Like when a train zooms past your face at an alarming speed, and as the whistle blows you wonder when it will stop, and all of a sudden the sound is slowly muted?
I wonder if they got used to hearing shots all the time. I wonder if most stayed in their kitchens and basements and empty hostiles for weeks and weeks even after the shooting ended.
I met a woman whose husband and son were both in the war- Serbians. The husband was killed by a Croat, and her son killed himself before an "enemy" could do it first. She was one of the first people I talked to. I cried that night. She wasn't so sure about heaven and what (who) it took to get there.
If you ask a Croat, the Serbians were the mass murders, if you ask a Bosnian it was the Croats, if you ask a Serbian, it was the Croats, and if you ask a Muslim, it was the Bosnians. It played with my mind...Like when you ask someone for directions and they stretch both their arms in opposite directions and say, "this way." I stood in the place where a man killed Franz Ferdinand, which prompted the starting of WW1. Who cares who started it- the point was, it may have been perpetuated by someone, but a second party got engaged and things went absolutely crazy.
Croats, Serbians and Bosnians are pretty much all the same. Of course, that's forbidden to say or acknowledge in any of those countries- Serbia, Montenegro, Croatia, BIH... Even weddings now have their own flags. You know when a Serbian couple is getting hitched. The language you speak in northern BIH is Bosnian, and Serbian in southern BIH. You speak Croatian in Croatia---but the dialect difference are mere nuances....like a New York accent and a Georgian accent. Some may argue those are oceans away, but really? They're not.
(I mean....Southerners do have their own way of say some things, but I think you get the point I'm trying to make.) One giant country decided to become three seperate countries in a power struggle to be king of the mountain.
Well...
The Serbians won.
There are more Serbians alive then Croats and Bosnians and Muslims.
I just don't understand how one day these people who were so similar could be convinced that they were so different. That their next-door neighbor dubbed himself a Croat, and needed to be extinguished if he lived in a Serb neighborhood.
This was a freaking civilized set of countries. They had an incredible economy before the war- could've been part of EU easily... These were not barbaric folk, killing each other with forks. These were doctors and teachers and construction workers who somehow got hold of weapons of mass destruction and destroyed entire buildings of people. They were convinced that a greater Serbia would be good for all peoples, so civilized doctors, teachers and construction workers found semi-automatic guns and began extinguishing.
I spent one month in Bosnia. I'm not an expert, but I believe this was a war between the Serbians and the rest of the ethnicities. Serbians were the most aggressive, with the most artillery help ( I told you the economy was good), and the most willing people. These bullies made their mark, that's for sure.
Slobodan was in the midst of being charged with war crimes (crimes against humanity) when he died a few years ago. He truly did convince people that playing king of the mountain would solve everyone's problem, if Serbia were the head of everything. I believe his passing was bittersweet for most of the residents of those countries.
Today Karadzic was found. He'd been hiding out for more than ten years. He will now also be tried for crimes against humanity , and genocide. Can you imagine?
"What are you in for?" someone nudges you.
"Ah. Mass genocide."
And I wonder if it feels like justice to the Croats, Muslims, Bosnians...maybe the Serbs who did not fight. Hatred was sewn into the fabric of generations of people. It doesn't matter if the leader has fallen, died, or been captured. Hatred is something that is difficult to extinguish--and it will take an influential leader who is in favor of loving people where they are at, no matter who they are, that will remove those stitches inside of the Balkan mind.
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| Sometimes...
Sometimes I don't pray the way you're "supposed" to. I simply start my prayer by talking about what I need from Him, like a genie.
I rattle of my check list of things I need Him to fix for me, without acknowleding the one who I'm actually addressing.
Sometimes I pray that way because I'm afraid that if I praise Him and I don't "feel" like doing that, it will be insincere.
This has got to change. What a selfish woman I am!..It is not His job to grant my wishes. He blesses me like a little kid, even though I keep wanting and wanting and wanting. (isn't there a Psalm somewhere, like maybe... 23 that says I shall not be in want?)
It is my job to give Him Glory, and talk to Him like I would a friend, but to also recognize that He is God Almighty, and the words that I say on His behalf and when I am speaking to Him directly should be weighty, significant, indicative of who I know I'm speaking about/to.
Press On.
Phil. 3:13-14
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| The Day I Met Some Mormons.I was online real late one night, and a banner appeared- you know, the ones that are flashing: You've won a million dollars! or the ones that are risk-a "wanna have some fun tonight?"
But this banner was different.
It was a banner advertising the Mormon Bible.
So I clicked, curiously. "Oh. You can order one. Well, I might as well order one for a friend instead of me."
I filled in an address for a little lady I thought might enjoy getting some literature (she's a big reader, you know), I ordered the text in German (just for the heck of it) and hit "send".
A window popped up and said, "Missionaries will be visiting you shortly. Thank you."
I gasped. And then laughed. "Did I really just mail missionaries?!"
I rubbed my hands together and laughed menacingly, looking around like Mr. Burns. Muhahaha.
I waited a few days, but then figured that I should inform her, in case Dave and Amy were the ones who curiously opened the door. We had a good laugh about it, but they never came. They got swept away off their little bikes in the floods of Iowa, so no visit for my friend.
She decided to extend the favor to me, and ordered a mormon bible for yours truly.
Stop.
Fast forward one month.
Two days ago, there was a knock at the door. I figured it was prospective buyers, so I didn't think too much of answering the door.
Standing before me were two boys with plastic nametags. Elder John and Elder Ricky. Ricky had acne and freckles. The perfect combination because it conceals bad skin fairly well (I knew being irish would be complementary someday!). They wore crisp white shirts and black trousers with black shoes and a black tie. They looked uncomfortably warm, and I thought they were Jehovah's Witness actually. I immediately started smiling. I knew what this was. The prank had come full circle on this Wisconsinite.
"Hi there. We're looking for a Becca Schneider?" Elder John clasped a blue Mormon bible in his armpit.
"Yeh, I'm Becca."
"Well hi there! I'm John, and this is Ricky. We have for you the Bible you requested."
As I tried to force my muscles to go limp in my face so that it didn't look like I was making fun of them, I said, "Uhmm... I didn't order one of those."
They both looked at one another, and the porch suddenly oozed awkwardness. You can feel awkwardness, you know. The boys got nervous and their awkwardness shot out of their mouths and armpits like a skunk's perfume.
"Really? Wow. That's.....Well gee, that's peculiar." They waited for the other to jump in and save the day, but neither of them knew how to handle the fact that they had the right name, but the person wasn't expecting a visit, and was smiling and laughing on the inside.
"Do you know who might have requested this for you?" Elder John took out a pamphlet and started scribbling a number in black ink.
I waited a few moments to answer. "naw. I have no idea."
(YOU OWE ME.)
While he continued to write eight numbers as slow as humanly possible (that was his way of covering up the awkwardness he spewed out moments before), I asked, "So how old are you guys?"
Elder Ricky thought very hard about this. I mean hard.
"Uhhmm......................................................... Well, I'm about twenty. And Elder John here is twenty-three."
Elder John didn't look up.
Finally, he handed me the book and the pamphlet and asked what I thought about it all. I mentioned that I was a christian, and wasn't interested in converting, but found it interesting. He rambled a bit about it being a book just like the bible, and I asked a question about the translation of it. He told me Joseph Smith wrote it originally in ancient Egyptian. (I thought he was from America? Hmm...)
He told me the pamphlet would make the bible more understandable, and if I had any questions, to give them a call. On the back he'd written, The Elders- with an eight-digit number that took him forever to write.
I wanted to ask them what made them elders. But I didn't. I was too busy trying to tell my body to stop laughing because it appeared as though I was making fun of them. They shook my hand, thanked me by name (which I thought impressive) and left.
I texted Alece, "You will never guess who just came to the door."
Well done, friend. Well done.
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| Wedding Thoughts.The wedding was beautiful.
Though I've never really witnessed an ugly one, or an ugly bride for that matter.
Love exceeds outer beauty. You know why?
Because love is all-encompassing; it deals with somebody's heart, the history (however brief or long) of what they've done with their life (and I don't mean medals or degrees) as well as their face.
And so when a bride walks down that aisle, you don't think, "man is she ugly." You think, "There has never been a more beautiful woman."
And I am convinced this is because a woman's heart is exposed in those moments when a significant man walks her down a narrow path (only to give her away). It's not that she's been tanning, running, highlighting her hair, or slapping paint on her nails. A Brides' love for her husband practically spills out of her as she walks and stares at him. That is what makes her beautiful.
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| I'm Learning...
That things we hoard, we typically never use.
It's like when you're rummaging through your drawer that has all the lids in it, and you realize that you had 26 that didn't have bottoms. Or that you have shirts that are way too small that you shoved in a corner, in case you ever shrank.
Even for a self-proclaimed minimalist, I think I secretly have a lot of stuff. The garage is an endless supply of wood and spare windows, in case we ever need them, you know.
It sounds like an oxymoron to keep a window, complete with the sill: "I'll keep this in case I ever need it." And I got to thinking about all the things I deemed treasures over the years in case I'd ever look back on them and smile, or need them.
I used to collect rocks because of the crystallized design inside of them. But they weren't going to defeat Superman, or save me if I were drowning. They wouldn't win me money, and they wouldn't be easy to pack. So I decidedly tossed my rocks (as opposed to my cookies, thankfully). All the millions of shampoos I took from every hotel I've ever been in? Gone.
Clunky winter boots I was always too cool to don but somehow they still stayed in the house? Chucked into the garbagio.
Turtle necks? ....shudders.
Now, I'm not saying throw everything away that isn't "useful" because it may hold sentimental value. But none of those things did for me, and I've been finding that we have tons of things in our house that were always there "just in case"...but all that does is heap our fake treasure higher, I think.
And when I think about leaving and meeting Jesus in heaven, with nothing in my hands, it does not disappoint me. What I will have is testimony of lives changed. Jesus does not care about our rock collection, our extra windows, or that Frank Sanatra signed album that we listen to everyday. He cares about those who did not know they could escape the darkness to understand, those who did not care but were taught, and those who accepted. He cares about people.
And I will leave this earth without my extraordinarily large collection of notes that have love on them. But it will not matter then- what will matter is whether I taught and exemplified what I was supposed to.
So, I wouldn't worry about those "just in case" items for too long...Because before you know it, you've got a mountain in your backyard of things you might need one day.
Press On.
Phil. 3:13-14
-Becca
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