I am a Christian. And I am a feminist. I am usually identified by one or the other, depending on what makes me the outlier; when I was in high school I was recognized more strongly by my Christian identity, but at Wheaton I am predominantly recognized by my feminism. And yet all along I have been, and still am, a Christian feminist; together and at once. Standing in the gap between the two is one of the hardest things I do, but I think it is also one of the most important.
I’ve been back to school after Spring Break for a week now, and have been ruminating over some thoughts from my time off. I spent the break at home, in an unusually rainy Southern California catching up with friends and family. Being home meant singing my usual, “The fun has arrived!” line (my best impersonation of Turk from Tarzan) as I saunter into Bible study. It meant cozying up with a good book and a big mug of Mexican hot chocolate on one of Zona Rosa’s upstairs couches. It meant In-N-Out and afternoons spent writing at Starbucks, Panera, Corner Bakery, or the floor of my best friend’s apartment. It also meant a lot of those questions – “What’s your major?” and “Do you have a job?” and “So, are you dating anyone?”