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About Charlotte Getz

Charlotte Getz is a stay-at-home/work-from-home mom. She is the Editor-in-Chief at Rooted Ministry and an un-trained but making-it-work mother to Ford (4) and Margot (2). She and her sweet family currently reside in Long Beach, CA via Auburn, AL via Savannah, GA via Birmingham, AL. You can follow her on Twitter and Instagram @charlottebgetz

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Author Archive
    
    The Art of Memoir and a Divine Glimpse of Stefani in Gaga: Five Foot Two

    The Art of Memoir and a Divine Glimpse of Stefani in Gaga: Five Foot Two

    I spent the better part of my 20s working with teenagers in one form or another. Whether as a youth minister, a creative writing teacher, or a photography TA, one dazzling thread remained the same: Gaga. I spent time with kids who didn’t just adore her music, they worshiped her. They felt freed in some way by who she allowed them to be; she allowed them to be themselves (or whatever version of themselves they wanted to be) in all their average weirdness. In Gaga: Five Foot Two (a documentary released last month on Netflix), one of Lady Gaga’s fans…

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    "Jesus Take the Wheel" Is Not Enough

    “Jesus Take the Wheel” Is Not Enough

    Carrie Underwood has offered many the willy-nilly soul “spinning on a thin black sheet of glass” a sense of relief since her 2005 hit, “Jesus Take the Wheel.” There is an immediate comfort to the notion that when we’re “running low on faith and gasoline,” God might step in as if he were a sub, tagging us out of the game of life; as if to say, “Thanks for keeping us on the right track, soldier! You rest a while. I’ve got it from here.”

    Upon closer observation, this is a pretty flimsy picture of a God who “created the heavens…

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    When Deep Waters and Parking Lots Become Church

    When Deep Waters and Parking Lots Become Church

    In 2007, almost ten years after her death, it came into more public knowledge that Mother Teresa experienced a terrible sense of separation from God throughout the majority of her ministry. Less than three months before receiving the Nobel Peace Prize in 1979, she wrote in a letter to one of her spiritual confidants, “Jesus has a very special love for you. [But] as for me—The silence and the emptiness is so great—that I look and do not see,—Listen and do not hear.”

    Under the arresting weight of my own Dark Night tendencies, it gives me great comfort that although Mother…

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    Party of Five and the God of Party Poopers

    Party of Five and the God of Party Poopers

    When life gets tough, I like to watch other people’s lives get tougher. In Germany or Avenue Q, this is called shadenfreude; in America, this is called haphazardly engaging in political discourse on social media, or watching just about any popular TV drama. Forgoing the Covfefe hoo-ha, I recently committed instead to a teen soap opera — a precious genre rife with death and tragedy and youth pregnancy scares.

    Several episodes deep into a show like Party of Five (1994-2000) and my day-to-day seems pretty alright. The walls begin to lean blessedly outward instead of in. I can breathe, and I…

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    The Cure for Snakes on a Plane

    The Cure for Snakes on a Plane

    Last week, aboard a 747 bound from LAX to JFK, I almost stood up and asked the flight attendant to turn the plane around à la Kristen Wiig in Bridesmaids, “There is a colonial woman on the wing, I saw her! THERE IS SOMETHING THEY’RE NOT TELLING US!”

    In general, I am the sort of person who likes to at least appear to be in control, calm, composed, collected, and I don’t like to make a scene unless it’s a Broadway re-enactment. But on that morning, my panic had reached a fearsome boiling point of inner-hysteria, and I feared that if…

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    Beneath the Pelagian Surface of Moana: A Conference Breakout Preview

    Beneath the Pelagian Surface of Moana: A Conference Breakout Preview

    Allow me to channel SNL’s Bennett Brauer (Chris Farley):

    I don’t “read much” and I don’t
    “look the part” I’m not
    “seminary trained” or even
    “theologically inclined.”

    I don’t “know what ‘Pelagian’ means” and I
    “don’t look comfortable in front of an audience” I
    “sleep in my make-up” and
    “also with stuffed animals” I guess I
    “talk too much” and I
    “sweat when I’m nervous” and I
    “can’t remember names” because I’m
    “too concerned with myself” even though I
    “don’t bathe regularly” and I’ve
    “let myself go.”

    I haven’t “learned my lesson” my
    “coffee hasn’t kicked in yet” I haven’t
    “kept calm” or
    “found my bliss” but I’m
    “talking at this conference anyway.”

    On the surface of things, Moana (Disney)…

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    Sin + Grace + Sin + Grace = Holiness?

    Sin + Grace + Sin + Grace = Holiness?

    Sarah Bessey, author of Jesus Feminist and Out of Sorts, recently published this article about her conviction to give up wine cold turkey. When I read it, I immediately experienced two conflicting emotions:

    Glad it’s her who gave up the hooch and not me.
    It is possible I should give this article a second read.

    Bessey reveals in So I Quit Drinking that she had been a lover and consumer of wine throughout adulthood, and it “never bothered [her] in the least,” until it did.

    …when it comes to conviction, I have found the Spirit to be gentle but relentless.

    Change and transformation is an ongoing…

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    The Eternal Solution of Vampirism or, "If I Were a Vampire"

    The Eternal Solution of Vampirism or, “If I Were a Vampire”

    Last weekend I made what I should publically refer to as a “shame-purchase.” When nobody was looking, I bought the entire movie collection of The Twilight Saga. Don’t make it a thing, but modern teen vampire stories are my kryptonite, and they almost always follow the same plot structure:

    Awkward, fragile human (female) falls in love with strapping, obsessive vampire (male). Love between them is so sexy and intense that only way for the human to survive and thrive — to live — is for her to become vampire. Needs more blood.

    This script hits really close to home. Mortality is so…

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    Autoimmunity and the Heart Curved Inward

    Autoimmunity and the Heart Curved Inward

    I am sick. That’s pretty much all I can tell you about it with any real confidence. For two years, a harvest of strange and debilitating medical maladies have continued to hurl wrenches into the functioning of my poor and puzzled body (I’ve detailed some of that elegant saga here and here). In my time not writing about being sick on Mockingbird, I slug from one doctor to the next, submit myself to pokes, prods, needles, and indelicate personal questions. Everyone agrees things aren’t right. Yet I am still without a clear diagnosis. There have been rabbit-hole-suspicions by many-a-medical professional,…

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    How to be a Cow in the "Lowly Cattle Shed"

    How to be a Cow in the “Lowly Cattle Shed”

    “The time came for the baby to be born, and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in clothes and placed him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn” (Luke 2:7).

    Ever since our August move to Southern California, the Getz family has been taking names. We’ve made great friends, my husband has crushed at his job, and I have balanced part-time work and parenthood like a damn Huggies commercial. Then, in the weeks before Thanksgiving, we hit a stumbling block that completely threw us out of the rat race. Without…

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    Violent Ends in the Season 1 Finale of Westworld

    Violent Ends in the Season 1 Finale of Westworld

    Spoilers abound.

    In the opening episode of HBO’s Westworld, Dolores Abernathy (played by Evan Rachel Wood), in a state of robotic semi-unconsciousness, says this: “Some people choose to see the ugliness in this world, the disarray. I choose to see the beauty, to believe there is an order to our days, a purpose…the newcomers are just looking for the same thing we are…a place to be free.”

    Dolores (Spanish for “sorrows”) is a humanoid robot, and this is her script.

    David Peterson wrote a wonderful article for Mockingbird last month reviewing the initial episodes of Westworld. As he noted, the show is loosely…

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    To Step Off the Turntable

    To Step Off the Turntable

    One chilly fall day when I was in the fourth grade, I decided to run laps around the driveway. I had obsessed about it all the way home from the rear-facing bench-seat of Mrs. Miller’s Volvo station wagon. It was penance. I had eaten a really unhealthy lunch involving bacon cheeseburgers and deviled eggs. Even in the fourth grade, I knew I couldn’t eat like that without paying the piper one way or another.

    It was a crisp, deep-yellow late afternoon. The brown-orange leaves crunch-crunch-crunched under the frantic and determined steps of my dirty white Keds. I hadn’t changed out of…

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