Disclaimer: even though I mention in here some of the things I disagreed with that happened at Word of Life Bible Institute in Argentina, this is in no way is meant to insinuate that I harbor any ill will towards anyone there. I am grateful to God for the experiences I had there. I do, however, fundamentally disagree with much of the doctrine that I learned and that is all I am trying to communicate. Thank you for allowing me to voice this opinion.
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Before I picked up Dreams from My Father, I thought I knew who Barack Obama was: a suave, all-American black man whose life experiences probably weren’t very different from the average male born into middle-class, American society. I am ashamed to admit how little I knew about the president of my country. We have much to learn from an individual who has faced such great challenges.
In Dreams from My Father, Obama writes about his life with relatable and refreshing honesty. During his college years, he wrestled with his past and his future—wondering about what had shaped him and who he would become. As a young college student, I too have battled these questions, feeling the conflict between where I am and where I have come from; yet even though there are similarities between his struggle with identity and mine, there are also stark differences. Not only are his experiences unique to mine, but they are powerfully singular. His father returned to his home country (Kenya) when Barack was only two years old. While he was in elementary school, his mother (a white woman from Kansas) remarried an Indonesian Muslim and the family relocated to Indonesia.
When he was a bit older, he moved back to Hawaii where he was born and lived with his mother’s parents. He dealt with the same discrimination that other black teens did, yet he came home to a white family. He had experienced discrimination elsewhere, but his grandparents had always treated him with love and respect. Thus, when his peers would express the negativity that they had for “white folks” he related to it, while at the same time wrestled with the terminology. “Sometimes I would find myself talking to [my friends] about white folks this or white folks that, and I would suddenly remember my mother’s smile, and the words that I spoke would seem awkward and false” (Obama 81). When I read Dreams from My Father, I was struck by this inner struggle and gained a new found appreciate for Obama as an individual. The honesty with which he describes his struggle with identity is breathtaking.
As I read, I became more aware of a strong sense of personal connection to this struggle. It can be said that my childhood experiences are not as unique as President Obama's. And while this is true—more people have grown up in white, protestant families in the southeast United States in the 90s than have grown up in biracial, multi-religious families in Indonesia in the 60s-- my childhood was full of very unique experiences.
In my freshman year of high school, I went on a mission trip with my church to Buenos Aires, Argentina. I remember calling my mom on a pay phone from the airport (this was back before kids had cell phones in elementary school). “Mom,” I said as I inserted my last nickel into the phone. “I can't believe I'm doing this. All of these people have been praying about this trip for months. I just wanted to travel, Mom.” I started to cry. “What am I doing here?” She told me what she would tell me a thousand times in the next few years, “Anna, God knows what He is doing.” And He sure did. On that trip I began to find out who I was. I stopped believing in things just because my parents did and I started “loving Jesus” on my own. It was a milestone.
The next time I made that trip, I had just turned 17. I remember my dad giving me a tearful good-bye at the airport after we had lunch at Houlihan's. He said, “I can't believe I'm doing this.” And neither can I, I thought. I couldn't believe he was letting me go and spend a year at a Bible Institute in South America. I had hoped against hope that they would let me go—even though I was barely seventeen, couldn’t get a student visa or sign any of the legal documents on my own. Yet even harder than dealing with bureaucratic red-tape was being a woman at this Bible institute. If I prayed aloud in mixed company it was considered disobedient to Scripture. I was required to meet once a week with a mentor who consistently reminded me that I ought to have a “gentle and quiet spirit” (I Peter 3:4) which, according to her, meant that my outgoing and boisterous personality stood in direct violation to what the Bible had to say about my womanhood.
When I came to Gordon, my eyes were opened to a new world. I was no longer considered subordinate to others because of something I could not control (my femininity) and I was allowed to think for myself. I really struggled with my identity during that time. Having so much freedom made me think about things in a new light, and it was a kind of shock. I was a woman, and with the same value and intelligence as my male counterparts, I entered the world of Biblical scholarship. During my time at Gordon, I changed. I studied Scripture to learn whether or not homosexuality was wrong. I chose a career path (albeit a bit late). I went to counseling, was diagnosed with Generalized Anxiety Disorder and started taking anti-anxiety medication. I experienced a break-up. I made friends that would last a lifetime. I started dating my best friend. In the past, my identity has been centered on these things. Obama grew to understand that his race was not his sole defining characteristic. I am learning that whatever I do, or however I change, my sole, defining characteristic will remain the same. I am and will always be defined by the God in whom I hope. And now, my identity is secure.
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