Book Review: Educated by Tara Westover

In just under a week I finished my most recent book: Educated by Tara Westover. As Bill Gates said, "Educated is even better than you've heard." He's not wrong.

Westover's memoir recounts her unique upbringing at the hands of paranoid survivalist parents who denounce traditional medical care and government institutions, like that of public education. As the youngest of seven children, Westover provides equal accounts of wonderful, happy moments from her childhood spent in the mountains of Idaho as well as the physical and emotional abuse at the hands of her family members. While she doesn't deny the love her parents had for her, her story questions the manner in which they choose to show it. Encouraged by her older brother, Westover eventually overcomes the absence of a formal education by preparing herself well enough to score a 28 on the ACT and enroll in Brigham Young University. Westover, clearly a gifted student, excelled in academia, eventually earning a PhD from Cambridge University in addition to receiving other prestigious awards. She still doesn't hold a high school diploma. 

While her academic accolades are impressive, they are not what I keep thinking about after I put the book down. My mind wanders back to the transformation she encountered when she stepped away from her familiar, secluded childhood and into the vast world of college and beyond. Westover, as we all do at some point in our lives, came to the junction where she was forced to determine whether or not her identity was the young, secluded girl from the mountain sides of Idaho or the educated and independent woman who blossomed and matured once separated from the subordinate and vulnerable role she played within her family. Most of us aren't faced with that drastic of a dichotomy and we often emerge as some blended concoction of our past and newly enlightened present. Westover didn't have that luxury. Her family made her choose. In the end, she didn't choose them. 

It is Westover's bravery to recognize the error in her family's ways, despite her fierce love for them, and remove herself from it that speaks to me. It's awe-inspiring, really. It's not always easy when you know better, in any situation, to do better. Westover did that. During a time when we are all rethinking education, Westover's closing paragraph reminds us of its power, "You could call this selfhood many things. Transformation, Metamorphosis. Falsity. Betrayal. I call it an education." 

Happy Mother's Day, Mom.

Tomorrow is Mother’s Day, and I’m trying to wrap my mind around the heaviness of not having my mother here to celebrate.

These days, when I think of my mother, the first thing I remember is her last breath. She was lying on the bed we set up in the dining room, facing me. I would often sit and watch her chest rise and fall. This simple act became increasingly labored with every passing day. Though a short time, it felt like an eternity during which I lived in fear that the footsteps I heard coming down various hallways in the house were destined to bring me the news I knew would eventually come. She slipped into a coma on Tuesday, slept the entire following day– my birthday – and exhaled, the last time, right as the old living room clock struck noon on Thursday, January 19.

By now, most of you probably know that her fatal battle was fought against pancreatic cancer. It’s the most merciless opponent that sneaks up on its victims, leaving them little to no time to even understand how near the end really is.

I miss her terribly.

The doctors told us my mother had cancer on December 23. As expected, we sat in disbelief. We cried while trying to remain hopeful and rally around my mother and her impending battle. Then, when all had fallen out of earshot except me, she posed the most unexpected question. “Are you pregnant?” my mother asked. Stunned at the timing, I assured her I was not.

A week later, while in the hospital, she asked me again. I remember being perplexed as to why she was asking for the second time if I was pregnant. Yes, I was crying, but grief was the great provider of tears not pregnancy hormones. Again, I assured her I was not.

The third time she asked me was just a few days before her death. She was home and under hospice care. I was sitting by her side, holding her hand, when she asked me if I was pregnant. I, again, assured her I was not. She followed her question with, “It’s okay, honey. When you’re ready, it’ll be okay. It’ll all be just fine.”

When Chad and I discovered that we were pregnant with a third child, there was excitement but also some worry. Sure we were, and are, completely overjoyed knowing we are again being entrusted with one of life’s greatest blessings, but, let’s be real; three small children with two working parents (and a dog) squeezing into a two bedroom house is a lot to take in, emotionally, logistically, financially. As expected, there is a large part of my heart that is saddened that my mother won’t see, hold, and get to know this child. She won’t be able to make this baby a quilt or sew together more dresses or Halloween costumes.

It wasn’t until a few weeks later that I remembered my mother’s questions. Her seemingly ridiculous speculation didn’t see so silly anymore. Maybe, just maybe, my mother was telling me, before any of us even knew, that it will all work out in the end.  While she’s no longer here on this earth, she still managed to bring me comfort in her death.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom. 

Mama Mary

Ever since having children of my own, my heart has been drawn toward that of Mary's. She may have lived long ago, but I think of her often. Y'all! I can't even begin to wrap my mind around what this woman experienced. The birth of any child is miraculous, but that of Jesus? The savior of the human race? I've experienced an unmedicated birth - thanks for that Eve - since Finley arrived before I  had time to even pop an Advil, but I choose to believe Mary's labor was painless. Of course I have no biblical backing on this, but she did birth Jesus after all. 

I promise this post has greater depth than my misguided assumptions on Mary's labor, so let's back track a bit. 

Mary was betrothed to Joseph, a carpenter. Then, as Luke 1 reads, Mary is visited by the angel Gabriel who tells her that the Holy Spirit will come upon her and that she, a virgin, will be with child. [Can I digress for a quick moment? You know those "Parking for Customer 'with Child'" signs at the grocery store? Do these signs throw anyone else into a spin of rhetorical inquiry? Do they mean "with child" as in Mary "with child" or "with child" as in the two full carseats in my back seat will suffice? Okay, done.]  Back to Mary. While an angel informs her that she is favored, he still shares news that she will become pregnant with the "Son of the Most High" (Luke 1: 32). Her response? "And Mary said, 'Behold, I am the servant of the Lord; let it be to me according to your word'" (Luke 1: 38). 

What would my response have been? This really isn't a good time for me right now. Pregnant?! You know, Joseph might not love this idea. No one will believe I'm a virgin. I'll be shamed. I'll be judged. This isn't in my five-year life plan. Epidural? Ummm...NO!

Apparently I'm not the only one who wonders what it might have been like to be Mary. My pastor, Bobby Conway, recently spoke on Mary as part of Life Fellowship's current biography series titled "6 Men and 6 Women". After sharing the biblical context of each character's life, Bobby goes on to offer a summative take away in the form of advice from each respective character.

Mary's advice? There's no way of knowing or fulfilling God's kingdom will for our lives until we follow his mortal will for our lives. Mary likely had no clue how her virgin pregnancy, and the resulting babe, would be used to bring restoration, hope, and amazing and saving grace to you and to me thousands of years following her lifetime. What she did know was that she would have a child who "will be great" (Luke 1:32). And to that calling - to the ridiculous and uncomfortable - she boldly said yes without hesitation or excuses. Mary had no idea of the responsibilities and consequences that would come with her yes, but she said yes anyway! Her trust in the Lord was greater than her fear of man's reaction to her obedience. We may never see the results of our small, or big, yeses, but let's say them anyway.

Mary, you're pretty dang awesome. Jesus, thank you for salvation. 

Lord, help me live a life that says: Behold, I am the servant of the Lord; let it be to me according to your word. Yes!