Note: Very interestingly, I said, when creating the blog, that I don't even like to write. I still do not think I do. However, at times I have felt so compelled to write, that it has been a surprise. So I actually have a good number of blog entries, all in my little notebook that I now carry everywhere. I hope to get them typed up soon. Evidently it is proving to be good therapy. But this one can't wait. It would have been nice if I could have posted some of those already written. It would be clear then, that on my journey I have read "Blood Done Sign My Name" and "The Help". There would be history I've learned that has impacted me. This entry, then, would make sense at this point in time, not just because it is Martin Luther King Day.
Last night we attended a community service in celebration of the Life, Ministry, Mission, and Legacy of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. It was held at a local Black church downtown. What an absolutely overwhelming and uplifting experience!
I don't know about anyone else who likes to read, but I've read some authors, who have such a talent with descriptive prose that I am right there, with the story's characters. I'm "in" the story. I'm part of it. If the story has comedic elements, I'm laughing right out loud.
Boy, do I wish I were a verbal artist! Just like those authors. Then anyone who reads this would be able to visualize and thus experience the MLK service without having been there. And I think they would be enriched.
First of all, the church itself was beautiful and a very fitting setting for the service. The woodwork and pews were a rich, dark wood. There was a pipe organ, and a wrap around balcony, and stained windows that were themselves works of art. There was an overall warmth to the place. It was a well-chosen setting for people trying to come together. And, it felt like a place you could envision Martin Luther King giving a sermon. In a word, it was perfect.
Next, the clergy involved was so inclusive that it somehow gave me a sense of hope, a sense of how things are supposed to be: "People, just people" (to quote a favorite song of mine) getting together. Not only were there various denominations represented, but there was a Rabbi and an Imam. And a woman minister gave the message! It was wonderful. They all came in during processional music and went out the same, a visual symbol of unity.
Then there was the music itself. Although there was a pipe organ (probably a rare thing these days) there was also a base drum that at times added a weight, a heaviness to the music. At other times it inspired spontaneous clapping, swaying and celebration. At the service's beginning we sang a hymn, Lift Every Voice and Sing, that was originally a poem written by a Black author and later, early in the 20th century, set to music by his brother. It speaks of the struggle of the past and expresses hope that God will continue to sustain His Black children. The music at the conclusion of the service was uplifting and powerful in its energy. The choir of the host Black church and that of a Presbyterian church combined for the service. From my perspective it was a perfect illustration of the ability of music and human talents and endeavors to bind us together. Those Black and White voices blended beautifully, to my ears.
Add to the setting and the music a powerful, intense, thought-provoking service, shared in by all those "different" clergy and individuals I mentioned. And you might have a sense of the experience itself. There was a reading of Dr. King's speech. "I Have Seen The Promised Land", delivered in Memphis on the eve of his assassination. It appeared to have a prophetic sense that he might not get to finish the struggle. He said the point was not to engage in negative argument, in negative protest. The point was to say they were God's children and they were determined to take their rightful place in God's world. I intend to read the speech in its entirety again.
The sermon, presented by the wife of a local Presbyterian minister, who is herself, also a reverend, drew a standing ovation from attendees, Black and White, men and women. It was particularly powerful because she looked back at Wilmington's history and talked about the future. Prior to 1898 Wilmington was a beacon of light, so to speak. Blacks were, for the most part, equal members of the community. The city government was biracial. Blacks were business owners and leaders. There was a daily newspaper, owned and run by members of the Black community. But, then, in November 1898, the political powers created an atmosphere of fear that resulted in the slaughter of Blacks, the burning of the building that housed the newspaper. As I understand it, the violence, killing, and change of political power is the only coup d'etat in US history. The sermon encouraged people to remember what was and certainly can be created again. It was said that while no individual there was responsible for what happened previously, we are responsible for how we treat one another now and in the future. We were reminded that Hispanics would have to be included in our concern for treating each other well. The minister reminded us that they are away from home and Jesus said we are to be hospitable.
This is a very poor summary of only a small part of the sermon text. But it hopefully gives at least a flavor of the fairness and the framework of the appeal for harmony, for creating a future like the one Dr. King envisioned and worked toward, and for which he was willing to die. (Just as an aside, I have to ask myself if I would be willing to die for the good of others? Especially if I were hated because of what I believed in and because of my life's work. Would I give up?)
At the conclusion of the service there were "Blessings from the Three Traditions". The Rabbi, the Imam, and the minister all asked for God's blessing. I didn't understand much except the minister's blessing and the prayer of another. But, you know what? I didn't need to understand the words. I understood the true meaning and intent behind the blessings. Kind of like the student who doesn't get the "technical" aspects of studying literature. S/he might miss the foreshadowing. Might not understand the symbolism. Might not be able to identify the dénouement. BUT, s/he got the message, the meaning intended.
I know this is long, but remember I am writing as therapy. So let me write just a little more. Let me write the prayer of one of the ministers, Rev. Richard Elliott. Allan had asked him for a copy. He promised to try and remember as much of what he said as possible. He had not prepared it ahead of time. He honored Allan's request and sent it via email this morning. Talk about perfect timing.
And lastly let me verbalize how I think this has helped me in my journey.
Here is the prayer of The Rev. Richard G. Elliott, exactly as written in his email.
Holy God:
We live in a world surrounded by voices; voices which try to tell us who we are.
They tell us that we are what we consume, and that the more we have, the better we are.
They tell us that we are individuals, isolated in our own homes; that our children are more important than other children.
They tell us that we are not our brother's keeper; that we are not our sister's keeper.
They tell us that what separates us from one another is more important than what draws us together.
The only time when we are free from these voices is when we sleep. Trouble our sleep, but not with nightmares. The voices of the world have created nightmares enough: poverty, hunger, division.
Trouble our sleep with dreams of hope; hope for the blessed community where we are our brother and sisters' keepers, where we realize that there is no child in our community that is not our child. Trouble our sleep with dreams of hope until your dream and our dreams become one.
And when we awake, put a fire under our feet, so that we cannot stand still, until in ways both small and great we have worked to make this place an outpost of that blessed community which is your dream for all.
His prayer gives a beautiful summary of the tone of the service, the encouragement and appeal to all of us who attended. That's a prayer I would like to live out.
On the way home Allan said that the service was overwhelming in a good way. He thought it was because it gave you an actual sense of exactly what the struggle of Blacks has been. And then it gave you the realization that they have kept going, in spite of it all. A concise, excellent description of the experience.
Now let me try and make sense, for myself, of where and how the service might fit into my journey. You know what I wanted by the end? I wanted to know more people like these who attended and like the clergy. The clergy belong to a Ministerial Roundtable of Wilmington. Their Statement of Purpose, part of which is below, resonates with me.
"The Ministerial Roundtable is committed to gathering together in order to forge friendships with one another, to seek a clearer understanding of God's will for human community, to encourage one another to engage our congregations in the struggle against racism, and to be faithful participants in the racial healing we believe God is carrying out in our nation.
We believe God calls us to repent of attitudes which demean others, to repent of institutional practices which foster homogeneous worship and religious life, and to repent of and correct injustices in our city and nation which deny life as God intended for all people.
We believe that peace eludes all members of a society wherever any are hated or oppressed. (Italics theirs.)
I think this appeals to me so strongly because it describes the kind of world I would want our sweet Natalia to live in. If the world were exactly as Rev. Elliott prayed for, it would be such a comfort, especially when I think of the point in time when I wouldn't be here to help lift her up and encourage her. I want a world in which there would be concern for her life; her life as a whole. From what I understand, that is exactly the kind of love Jesus told us to have for others.
This morning I am wishing I could do something to gently encourage people to get to know others different from themselves; to see individuals, not groups of people; to do as Rev. Elliott's prayer said, see all children as our children. In my mind it would be like when we stand behind a baby who is learning to walk. We support and help them by letting them hang on to our hands. We clap and cheer them on. We nudge them forward when they are hesitant or afraid. I think that is what God does for us, or very much wants to. I don't know if we are even trying to hang on to His hands. I don't know if we are bothering to listen to His words of encouragement, urging us to look at things from the perspective of another and try to love him/her. But what could I do, exactly? How could I be that encourager? No idea. But somehow that thought is in my mind. Could that be a better use of whatever life is left me? I hope I get the answer.
I started out by wishing I were a verbal artist. After trying to write this, how much more I wish that!! I think the service would have moved even a heart hardened against people of color, at least to some small degree. And if I could verbally reproduce the service atmosphere and its impact, maybe I would be doing something. And I would do it in Natalia’s memory. She, like all babies, would not have seen skin color, body shape or size. They only see what matters. So, wouldn’t that be an especially touching, appropriate thing to do in her memory?
Monday, January 17, 2011
1,292 Stories
I realized I knew her "story". So I began to think about what motivated all of the others. I was wishing I knew a few of their "stories". Especially since there was such a variety of people. People of different ages and different body builds. People of different color. Of course there had to be all types of vocations and educational backgrounds represented. There were even soldiers in the mix. So many differences. But they shared this race.
Some probably did it simply because they love the sport. A few wore cancer tee shirts, so my assumption was that the race was being run to honor someone or in memory of someone. A few, way behind all the others and plugging along, were probably doing it for the health benefits. Although I didn't know for sure that was their story, it didn't really matter. I admired them and found them inspiring. I felt like I could almost literally see their focus and determination.
Some, I assume had stories like Trista's. They needed a distraction, a challenge, something at a painful time in life. Living life had been a task, one that sometimes felt useless. I found I wanted to yell something encouraging to each and every one.
I don't know how many started the race. 1,292 finished it. 1,292 people with their own individual stories, sharing the human experience of a challenge. I wish I knew a few of the other stories. Just seeing them meet the challenge was inspiring and uplifting. Imagine if I had an opportunity to get the stories! I wish we could see more of life this way: individual and unique stories, but bound together in the common struggle of trying to live life. Wonder how that would change things?
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
The Artist's Brush
NOTE: This one is long enough that I've indicated "Part I" and "Part II"
Part I
This one is going to be difficult to write. Not because I don't know what I want to say. But because what I am relating was so chaotic I need to try and remember all that was said. AND I need to recall at what points in time I got to respond and exactly what word I got in edgewise. Besides that, when something is so upsetting it is jumbled in my own mind. I'll see if I can make it clear.
Remember the "Adding Letters To My Life" post? Well, that same older woman about whom I wrote came to sit with "our" table again this week. (Darn, she must have liked us and our discussion! Now I had to be respectful and inclusive!) I had arrived first. As I was wondering where everyone was, literally, all of a sudden, the seat next to me was taken. I don't know if the woman (I'm going to call her "Mrs. Broad Brush") even said hello. I think she simply began talking.
She first wanted to know if I remembered a few years back when a Christian church was bombed in Istanbul (I think, but somewhere in Turkey). I did not. She was not surprised because the "media" only presented the story once. And they might not even report things like that. (Right now please imagine anyone and everyone you associate with the media in a Darth Vader or Devil costume. Whatever. As long as they portray the darkest evil. Absolutely no exceptions. Well, except maybe Pat Robertson and those good Christians, of course. Oh, and Rush and Glenn. They AREN'T media. A confession; she didn't say that last part. Totally my observation. Please see note at end of post.) Since I did not want her to misinterpret my silence as agreement, I responded. I said that I was not one who believed that all the media are universally bad and not to be trusted. I thought, just like in all professions, there were people who had integrity and who worked at doing their job well. No response from her. It wasn't, evidently, what she wanted to hear. So she just kept talking, almost as if I had not spoken.
She went back to Muslims, I think. Something was said about Muslims, anyway, in some context. I had no idea what was going on. All I knew was that one moment I was alone and the next I was in the deep middle of a conversation with someone I really didn't know. A conversation I did not want to have. It was like the Tasmanian Devil cartoon character had spun into the room and sat next to me. But, on the chance she wanted to do some Muslim bashing, I tried to head her off. I said that, of course, we were talking about extremists. That must not have satisfied her either. She went on to explain to me that she saw a picture on the Internet where Muslim men were having a mass wedding and all of these very young girls were dressed up. They were the brides.
I, very, very foolishly, thought she might take a another hint and understand that I was not going to have a "broad brush" discussion. So I told her that I rarely click on even "news" summaries on the Internet. But that I did know I would not trust any picture on the Internet. I would want to verify the true source and know the intent of the picture's publication. I went on to say that although I don't take pictures, I do know that they can easily be altered or combined to make one picture. I did not point out to her that she was trusting a form of media. I didn't think logic would appeal to her. However, I did also mention that, as I understand it, we have human trafficking in this country. So exploitation of girls is global.
She didn't take my hint. She would not be denied. She grabbed my mention of human trafficking and began to talk about a documentary that she saw about native American Indians. Those girls are the most abused. Something about a woman whose daughter was murdered and in general the women will not report abuse. In fact, they take these girls to some houses (empty?) on the reservation and/or just let them fend for themselves. But then finally the FBI came in. (If this sounds disjointed and you have no idea what the documentary was about, you are on track. This is literally all that I could get. She was talking so fast, trying to get to her real point. You'll see what I mean in a minute, I think.)
At the mention of the FBI, I jumped in, actually interrupted her, which I hate to do. I wondered how the FBI was involved? The Indian reservations are sovereign nations. Did the reservation invite the FBI in? It seemed to me that she jumped on that thought. (In my mind, it simply allowed her to get to the good part of the story. But that is conjecture on my part. So let me be fair and say that.) Yes, they had invited the FBI in.
At this point I realized I had no idea how to respond to this woman. So my internal struggle began. She was definitely a lot older than I. I didn't mind being straightforward, but how, exactly? Here I was at a church-sponsored function and I was completely aggravated and disgusted. And we hadn't even started!! I decided that with some people you need not bother to attempt discussion. And it seemed she had proven thus far that maybe that would be wise. So I began to simply shake my head back and forth, like I couldn't believe it, what a shame. And it was. Just not what she thought was such a shame.
So Mrs. Broad Brush plowed on. And my head continued to shake for what seemed like forever. Others had arrived but her diatribe continued. And did you know that the Indians won't parent their children? Of course, "they" are so busy drinking and gambling all day. That's why. My head started throbbing. A headache was coming on fast. And my stomach was in knots. (Slapping her was out of the question but for a split second it was SO tempting. Was it really out of the question? I was debating.)
This time I considered actually asking her why she trusted the documentary. It was media, after all. How did she decide which media presentation or output to believe and which to reject and scorn? Thought maybe I'd at least learn that from the "conversation". I rely on individual research and study; examining a source, questioning assumptions, talking to people whose perspective is different from mine, etc. I thought that's what education was supposed to do for us. Teach us to think for ourselves. And I taught for a good number of years!! I had it wrong. Our "Christian" America knows better. They have discernment about the media. They know which media is good and which is bad. As I said above, I do know who some of the good media are. But those are the obvious ones. Documentaries would be difficult for me. And I want to be a good Christian. So shouldn't I try and learn that? I passed on the opportunity. Instead, I just kept shaking my head. At least it was sincere. I was really thinking "What a shame!".
Mrs. Broad Brush was persistent. She repeated a number of times how "they" don't parent. "And that's right here in our own country!" What a blight on our Christian nation. ( My sarcastic interjection. Not her thought. And I HATE sarcasm. Indicates just how stressful I found the situation. I thought about crying but I rarely cry in public, I've found. Mental sarcasm was helping me cope. Shame on me.)
The fact that America even has "reservations" to my way of thinking SHOUTS something. (Oh wait a minute, let me make that "Reservations".) SCREAMS it loud and clear. But that is my contrarian view. I wanted to throw that at her. But thankfully I got rescued. My friend Sue came by, said hello, and the night's presenter started the study. I believe in miracles. I really do. And I'm NOT being sarcastic about that.
Part II
Driving home I was thinking the nightmare over. My first thought was sarcastic. I was in that frame of mind. I thought about beginning to carry around a big, wide brush, one like maybe Tom Sawyer used to whitewash the fence. It would be my "Broad Strokes" award. I would hand it out to people like Mrs. B. I would explain to them, with excitement in my voice (just like the game show hosts) that s/he had won!!! S/he was the most narrow-minded person I had run into this week. And narrow-mindedness won you the "Broad Strokes" award. I loved the contradiction.
But those who know me well know I really do hate sarcasm. I like straightforward. So right behind that thought I was aggravated with myself. I should also be ashamed. First of all I was allowing someone's world view to make me respond in a nasty manner. Not so Christian, I'm thinking. And I should be ashamed because I wasn't even trying to look for something positive from the night. I was focusing on the negative, just like Mrs. Broad Brush. I was taking one person and one incident and reinforcing some general observations I had been noting for some time. And I don't mind general observation. It seems to me that we have to make and use them as we make decisions about how to live our lives. I don't mind them, if they are based on an attempt to be fair-minded. If they are based on a reasonable period of time with respect to the observations. If they are based on a large number of various people and different incidents. And, most importantly, if I keep in mind that I could be wrong and/or be willing to stay open to reason.
Can't say I felt too much better about the night or Mrs. Broad Brush. But I did let the sarcasm go. Instead, I began to think of how, if I were still teaching, I would present the concept. Here's what I decided.
I would have a painting or water color (I LOVE water color). It would be of an intricate subject matter, with lots of color and shading. I would have at least one medium sized artist's brush, one whose bristles could be used more broadly or, with skill, based on lots of practice, could be used to paint even the smallest dot on the painting. I would equate life and people to that painting. I would point out how alive and rich and interesting the painting was because of the variety of composition. Then I'd start a discussion about the choice of brushes and which could best produce that beautiful painting. How would the painting be different, depending on which brush is used? What joy would the resulting painting bring? Which painting would you like to represent your life? Etc. I would tell the story of my encounter with Mrs. B. I'd point out my own negativity and my need to have thought things through and question myself. I hope the students would get the point and would take it to heart. That's the kind of thing I hope I was trying to get across for lots of years.
NOTE: I mentioned Rush and Glenn. In the sense of "full and fair disclosure", let me tell you what I know about them. Very little, by choice. Let me explain. First Rush.
We had a very good friend with whom we worked for years. He would not miss Rush's radio show. I really liked him. Still do. But I never heard him say Rush could be wrong. I had never even heard the show, but I just didn't see how any of us can ALWAYS be right. Rush's program must have changed time slots because years later he was on the radio station Allan listened to while getting ready for work each morning. So for several mornings we didn't bother changing stations. Before long I complained that either I had to get ready in the other bathroom or Rush had to go. Several reasons: 1) The guy never told where he got his information so I could read / study it and decide for myself. 2) He mostly ranted. Rarely just talked and presented his case logically. 3) I HATED when he imitated people's voices. The very thing for which I would have spanked my child if she persisted in doing, this guy was getting famous and making millions! 4) I didn't want to start my day in an adversarial, negative way. I didn't like the unconscious attitude that could result in. Allan readily agreed. We should change stations. We did.
My next exposure to Rush was two years ago, I believe. I was watching the History channel while dusting the bedroom one Saturday morning. It was on Michael J Fox and his current efforts to support research on his disease. I did not know several things. First, I did not know the research was controversial. (Lots of time I don't know what's going on. I don't know that lots of things are political. I just don't see them that way.) Secondly, I did not know that they videotape or record radio shows. (Whichever. As my brother says, I am ATC; "Absolutely Technologically Challenged".)
The program was highlighting some of Michael J Fox's struggles with respect to research. They showed Rush, doing his radio show. To my way of thinking he was ranting and raving about the research and Michael J Fox. He began to throw his body around in his chair, I guess imitating Michael's lack of physical control over his body? He was repeating that it was all an act, "Folks". I simply could not believe it. I started to cry. That was my response. To think that one individual would make fun of another's illness and/or indicate that someone was basically trying to commit what would amount to fraud? With illness, real or faked?
Allan was on his way to practice for a concert to benefit Habitat for Humanity. I called his cell. When he answered I was crying so hard I could barely speak. I tried to say right away that nothing was wrong; not to get scared. Then I told him about the show, explaining I didn't understand how one human could make fun of and belittle another like that. If nothing else, I think I would be afraid. I got calmed down. But I've only been told a few things Rush has said since then. I tell Allan I don't want to know. I don't want him mentioned to me. I don't want that kind of hate anywhere "near" me.
Now Glenn. I did not know who he was until about 3 or 4 years ago. A woman asked me if I knew who he was. No. She said he was a "good Christian man" and that I should listen to him. I didn't watch FOX TV so I had to search for him. I found him. I listened for maybe 5-10 minutes before I had to turn him off. Another day I decided to try him again, just in case my first and very quick impression was off. He was talking about a building in NYC and the messages apparent in the frescoes (Right word? You know what I mean, probably.) It had to do with a conspiracy (?) of sorts and our country. He asked was he crazy? Was he the only one who saw this? Something like that, or almost exactly like that. I decided the man WAS crazy. The architecture, time frame and the associations he was making were, frankly, unsettling. It didn't appear sane, in any way. I now have the same philosophy that I use for Rush. Don't want to know anything about him. Of course, did see glimpse of his rally. But that was on the TV. Didn't mean to. And I had to change the channel.
Just so you know, I do not listen to any political radio shows. I know there are other radio personalities on the other side. Seems logical. Don't know who they are. Nor do I want to.
Part I
This one is going to be difficult to write. Not because I don't know what I want to say. But because what I am relating was so chaotic I need to try and remember all that was said. AND I need to recall at what points in time I got to respond and exactly what word I got in edgewise. Besides that, when something is so upsetting it is jumbled in my own mind. I'll see if I can make it clear.
Remember the "Adding Letters To My Life" post? Well, that same older woman about whom I wrote came to sit with "our" table again this week. (Darn, she must have liked us and our discussion! Now I had to be respectful and inclusive!) I had arrived first. As I was wondering where everyone was, literally, all of a sudden, the seat next to me was taken. I don't know if the woman (I'm going to call her "Mrs. Broad Brush") even said hello. I think she simply began talking.
She first wanted to know if I remembered a few years back when a Christian church was bombed in Istanbul (I think, but somewhere in Turkey). I did not. She was not surprised because the "media" only presented the story once. And they might not even report things like that. (Right now please imagine anyone and everyone you associate with the media in a Darth Vader or Devil costume. Whatever. As long as they portray the darkest evil. Absolutely no exceptions. Well, except maybe Pat Robertson and those good Christians, of course. Oh, and Rush and Glenn. They AREN'T media. A confession; she didn't say that last part. Totally my observation. Please see note at end of post.) Since I did not want her to misinterpret my silence as agreement, I responded. I said that I was not one who believed that all the media are universally bad and not to be trusted. I thought, just like in all professions, there were people who had integrity and who worked at doing their job well. No response from her. It wasn't, evidently, what she wanted to hear. So she just kept talking, almost as if I had not spoken.
She went back to Muslims, I think. Something was said about Muslims, anyway, in some context. I had no idea what was going on. All I knew was that one moment I was alone and the next I was in the deep middle of a conversation with someone I really didn't know. A conversation I did not want to have. It was like the Tasmanian Devil cartoon character had spun into the room and sat next to me. But, on the chance she wanted to do some Muslim bashing, I tried to head her off. I said that, of course, we were talking about extremists. That must not have satisfied her either. She went on to explain to me that she saw a picture on the Internet where Muslim men were having a mass wedding and all of these very young girls were dressed up. They were the brides.
I, very, very foolishly, thought she might take a another hint and understand that I was not going to have a "broad brush" discussion. So I told her that I rarely click on even "news" summaries on the Internet. But that I did know I would not trust any picture on the Internet. I would want to verify the true source and know the intent of the picture's publication. I went on to say that although I don't take pictures, I do know that they can easily be altered or combined to make one picture. I did not point out to her that she was trusting a form of media. I didn't think logic would appeal to her. However, I did also mention that, as I understand it, we have human trafficking in this country. So exploitation of girls is global.
She didn't take my hint. She would not be denied. She grabbed my mention of human trafficking and began to talk about a documentary that she saw about native American Indians. Those girls are the most abused. Something about a woman whose daughter was murdered and in general the women will not report abuse. In fact, they take these girls to some houses (empty?) on the reservation and/or just let them fend for themselves. But then finally the FBI came in. (If this sounds disjointed and you have no idea what the documentary was about, you are on track. This is literally all that I could get. She was talking so fast, trying to get to her real point. You'll see what I mean in a minute, I think.)
At the mention of the FBI, I jumped in, actually interrupted her, which I hate to do. I wondered how the FBI was involved? The Indian reservations are sovereign nations. Did the reservation invite the FBI in? It seemed to me that she jumped on that thought. (In my mind, it simply allowed her to get to the good part of the story. But that is conjecture on my part. So let me be fair and say that.) Yes, they had invited the FBI in.
At this point I realized I had no idea how to respond to this woman. So my internal struggle began. She was definitely a lot older than I. I didn't mind being straightforward, but how, exactly? Here I was at a church-sponsored function and I was completely aggravated and disgusted. And we hadn't even started!! I decided that with some people you need not bother to attempt discussion. And it seemed she had proven thus far that maybe that would be wise. So I began to simply shake my head back and forth, like I couldn't believe it, what a shame. And it was. Just not what she thought was such a shame.
So Mrs. Broad Brush plowed on. And my head continued to shake for what seemed like forever. Others had arrived but her diatribe continued. And did you know that the Indians won't parent their children? Of course, "they" are so busy drinking and gambling all day. That's why. My head started throbbing. A headache was coming on fast. And my stomach was in knots. (Slapping her was out of the question but for a split second it was SO tempting. Was it really out of the question? I was debating.)
This time I considered actually asking her why she trusted the documentary. It was media, after all. How did she decide which media presentation or output to believe and which to reject and scorn? Thought maybe I'd at least learn that from the "conversation". I rely on individual research and study; examining a source, questioning assumptions, talking to people whose perspective is different from mine, etc. I thought that's what education was supposed to do for us. Teach us to think for ourselves. And I taught for a good number of years!! I had it wrong. Our "Christian" America knows better. They have discernment about the media. They know which media is good and which is bad. As I said above, I do know who some of the good media are. But those are the obvious ones. Documentaries would be difficult for me. And I want to be a good Christian. So shouldn't I try and learn that? I passed on the opportunity. Instead, I just kept shaking my head. At least it was sincere. I was really thinking "What a shame!".
Mrs. Broad Brush was persistent. She repeated a number of times how "they" don't parent. "And that's right here in our own country!" What a blight on our Christian nation. ( My sarcastic interjection. Not her thought. And I HATE sarcasm. Indicates just how stressful I found the situation. I thought about crying but I rarely cry in public, I've found. Mental sarcasm was helping me cope. Shame on me.)
The fact that America even has "reservations" to my way of thinking SHOUTS something. (Oh wait a minute, let me make that "Reservations".) SCREAMS it loud and clear. But that is my contrarian view. I wanted to throw that at her. But thankfully I got rescued. My friend Sue came by, said hello, and the night's presenter started the study. I believe in miracles. I really do. And I'm NOT being sarcastic about that.
Part II
Driving home I was thinking the nightmare over. My first thought was sarcastic. I was in that frame of mind. I thought about beginning to carry around a big, wide brush, one like maybe Tom Sawyer used to whitewash the fence. It would be my "Broad Strokes" award. I would hand it out to people like Mrs. B. I would explain to them, with excitement in my voice (just like the game show hosts) that s/he had won!!! S/he was the most narrow-minded person I had run into this week. And narrow-mindedness won you the "Broad Strokes" award. I loved the contradiction.
But those who know me well know I really do hate sarcasm. I like straightforward. So right behind that thought I was aggravated with myself. I should also be ashamed. First of all I was allowing someone's world view to make me respond in a nasty manner. Not so Christian, I'm thinking. And I should be ashamed because I wasn't even trying to look for something positive from the night. I was focusing on the negative, just like Mrs. Broad Brush. I was taking one person and one incident and reinforcing some general observations I had been noting for some time. And I don't mind general observation. It seems to me that we have to make and use them as we make decisions about how to live our lives. I don't mind them, if they are based on an attempt to be fair-minded. If they are based on a reasonable period of time with respect to the observations. If they are based on a large number of various people and different incidents. And, most importantly, if I keep in mind that I could be wrong and/or be willing to stay open to reason.
Can't say I felt too much better about the night or Mrs. Broad Brush. But I did let the sarcasm go. Instead, I began to think of how, if I were still teaching, I would present the concept. Here's what I decided.
I would have a painting or water color (I LOVE water color). It would be of an intricate subject matter, with lots of color and shading. I would have at least one medium sized artist's brush, one whose bristles could be used more broadly or, with skill, based on lots of practice, could be used to paint even the smallest dot on the painting. I would equate life and people to that painting. I would point out how alive and rich and interesting the painting was because of the variety of composition. Then I'd start a discussion about the choice of brushes and which could best produce that beautiful painting. How would the painting be different, depending on which brush is used? What joy would the resulting painting bring? Which painting would you like to represent your life? Etc. I would tell the story of my encounter with Mrs. B. I'd point out my own negativity and my need to have thought things through and question myself. I hope the students would get the point and would take it to heart. That's the kind of thing I hope I was trying to get across for lots of years.
NOTE: I mentioned Rush and Glenn. In the sense of "full and fair disclosure", let me tell you what I know about them. Very little, by choice. Let me explain. First Rush.
We had a very good friend with whom we worked for years. He would not miss Rush's radio show. I really liked him. Still do. But I never heard him say Rush could be wrong. I had never even heard the show, but I just didn't see how any of us can ALWAYS be right. Rush's program must have changed time slots because years later he was on the radio station Allan listened to while getting ready for work each morning. So for several mornings we didn't bother changing stations. Before long I complained that either I had to get ready in the other bathroom or Rush had to go. Several reasons: 1) The guy never told where he got his information so I could read / study it and decide for myself. 2) He mostly ranted. Rarely just talked and presented his case logically. 3) I HATED when he imitated people's voices. The very thing for which I would have spanked my child if she persisted in doing, this guy was getting famous and making millions! 4) I didn't want to start my day in an adversarial, negative way. I didn't like the unconscious attitude that could result in. Allan readily agreed. We should change stations. We did.
My next exposure to Rush was two years ago, I believe. I was watching the History channel while dusting the bedroom one Saturday morning. It was on Michael J Fox and his current efforts to support research on his disease. I did not know several things. First, I did not know the research was controversial. (Lots of time I don't know what's going on. I don't know that lots of things are political. I just don't see them that way.) Secondly, I did not know that they videotape or record radio shows. (Whichever. As my brother says, I am ATC; "Absolutely Technologically Challenged".)
The program was highlighting some of Michael J Fox's struggles with respect to research. They showed Rush, doing his radio show. To my way of thinking he was ranting and raving about the research and Michael J Fox. He began to throw his body around in his chair, I guess imitating Michael's lack of physical control over his body? He was repeating that it was all an act, "Folks". I simply could not believe it. I started to cry. That was my response. To think that one individual would make fun of another's illness and/or indicate that someone was basically trying to commit what would amount to fraud? With illness, real or faked?
Allan was on his way to practice for a concert to benefit Habitat for Humanity. I called his cell. When he answered I was crying so hard I could barely speak. I tried to say right away that nothing was wrong; not to get scared. Then I told him about the show, explaining I didn't understand how one human could make fun of and belittle another like that. If nothing else, I think I would be afraid. I got calmed down. But I've only been told a few things Rush has said since then. I tell Allan I don't want to know. I don't want him mentioned to me. I don't want that kind of hate anywhere "near" me.
Now Glenn. I did not know who he was until about 3 or 4 years ago. A woman asked me if I knew who he was. No. She said he was a "good Christian man" and that I should listen to him. I didn't watch FOX TV so I had to search for him. I found him. I listened for maybe 5-10 minutes before I had to turn him off. Another day I decided to try him again, just in case my first and very quick impression was off. He was talking about a building in NYC and the messages apparent in the frescoes (Right word? You know what I mean, probably.) It had to do with a conspiracy (?) of sorts and our country. He asked was he crazy? Was he the only one who saw this? Something like that, or almost exactly like that. I decided the man WAS crazy. The architecture, time frame and the associations he was making were, frankly, unsettling. It didn't appear sane, in any way. I now have the same philosophy that I use for Rush. Don't want to know anything about him. Of course, did see glimpse of his rally. But that was on the TV. Didn't mean to. And I had to change the channel.
Just so you know, I do not listen to any political radio shows. I know there are other radio personalities on the other side. Seems logical. Don't know who they are. Nor do I want to.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
"Adding Letters To My Life"
Since starting my blog I've been really busy with work. New functions of a data base that will be time-saving and efficient. But at the outset, a LOT of work to learn. So I have worked long hours AND been sitting at the computer most of the time. Obviously, I've not wanted to sit and type for my blog. But I've been writing.
I never go any place without a book. Traffic jam, doctor or hair stylist running behind (Not my dentist. He's always on time), I l LIKE it. I just sit and read. Now I take a little notebook. I have written several things I'll get around to posting. And I have a good list of things I want to write about. It's the end of the weekend. I haven't had to sit at the computer for several days. I'm posting a few things. So, if you're wondering why several posts all on the same day, that explains it.
I previously wrote about our 4 week inter-racial Bible study. Well, Kathy and I are becoming friends. I've wanted to join a book discussion group, but could not find one. I asked Kathy if she liked to read. She LOVES to read. So we're going to eventually try and start a book discussion club. We want different races and ethnic groups of women involved. For now, we're content to get to know each other. (We really "clicked", so that is going to be easy.) And we're going to read books and discuss them. She's already lent me the book "Blood Done Sign My Name". WOW!! (I'm sure I'll write a lot about that book!)
Last Tuesday night she brought a book, asked me to read the paragraph next to which was written "Ask Regenia". The book, "The Warmth Of Other Suns", by Isabel Wilkerson, is about the migration of black citizens from the South to the North and West between 1915 and 1970. Almost 6 million! The page she wanted my input on was describing the situation as it was, even in 1958. Naming various southern cities, the author explained the reality of everyday life, as it related to skin color. Doctors' offices had different waiting rooms for Blacks and Whites. Some post offices had separate windows. There were different phone booths, depending on the color of your skin. There were taxicabs for "colored" people. (Wonder if that meant only "Black" or skin of any color? Asian, Hispanic?) And taxi cabs for non-coloreds. Among the other descriptions, the one that most took me by surprise was different ambulances! There were white ambulances. And there were black ambulances.
I read that sentence again. I couldn't say anything for a few minutes. The lump in my throat wouldn't let me. My mind was trying to absorb that. What if, at a given point in time, there weren't enough black ambulances? Let's say, for example, there were an explosion at a plant that employed mostly blacks. (Or more to the point, what if different parts of black community had been set on fire by the KKK?) Would the white ambulances be "allowed" to be put into use? Would neighboring fire stations come to help, the way we see happens today? The residents of the black community paid taxes. Would they not be entitled to any and all public services during a crisis?
I don't remember what I said to Kathy. But she could see my reaction. Although she said she has, of course, experienced prejudice, she was not brought up in the South. She had not even known about the things listed on that page. She wondered if I, being white, had known that reality. Or had ever learned about it. You know the answer. (Although, maybe I got a hint but have forgotten the specifics. As a teenager I read "Black Like Me". I remember not understanding. Not at all. I'm going to see if I can find a copy and read that book again.)
I was glad that the night's study was over. Some really quite nice older woman had all of a sudden been at our table. At some point in time the Taliban was brought up. One point led to another. And she tapped the table repeating what I had been hearing non-stop. We're a country founded on Christian principles. I was tired and I don't have my normal patience. (Grief counselor said that is very normal. Hope she's right and I get it back.) I had to speak up. I explained that I had been hearing that a lot. I understood the basic "message". But, that very, very respectfully, as a woman, I didn't see where the founding fathers would have been Christian towards me. And of course, they weren't towards blacks. We weren't really considered equal. As women we could not have held property. It was, for the most part, considered unnecessary and ridiculous to educate us. If I thought about the women and blacks, not too many of us benefited from that "Christian" foundation. Maybe most of us. Something to that effect. The man next to me spoke up. "Actually, if you were a white male landowner things worked for you, right?" I could have kissed him. (Totally inappropriate at a Christian function, don't you think? Somebody might have fainted!)
I don't remember what the lady said. I didn't care. I had been respectful. But saying something; jumping on a bandwagon without any thought and examination was just too much for me right then. Jesus had taught both men AND women. He spoke with the Samaritan woman. He loved the Gentiles, not just the Jews. (Read that as "He loved the Blacks and women, not just the white males, especially the wealthy ones.") You see why I was really glad I talked to Kathy after the study, not before.
Anyway, to get to the title of this blog. From Netflix we got "Who's The Boss". Ale and Trista have been watching the re-runs and he wanted to see the first show; see how Tony came to be Angela's housekeeper. So we've been watching them too. In one episode Angela and her mother have a fight over decorating the apartment they are building for Mona over the garage. Towards the end of the show Tony gets them together and leaves them alone.
Mona explains that Angela is always dependable; always responsible. Angela adds her own self-descriptive words: practical, pedantic, predictable. Mona chimes in (I think she said it) with plodding and poky. Angela ends with "pedestrian". Mona drinks to all of that. Then Angela tells her mother, "That's why I need you Mother. You add other letters to my life." I thought of Kathy. She's already adding other letters to my life. Letters that only a new black friend could add.
I don't know, but to me, our new friendship looks a lot more "Christian" than the societal relationships at the time our founding fathers established our nation.
Maybe instead of insisting on what our founding fathers "intended", I'll just worry about trying to be "Christian" now. I'll ask Kathy. I think she'll like the idea.
I never go any place without a book. Traffic jam, doctor or hair stylist running behind (Not my dentist. He's always on time), I l LIKE it. I just sit and read. Now I take a little notebook. I have written several things I'll get around to posting. And I have a good list of things I want to write about. It's the end of the weekend. I haven't had to sit at the computer for several days. I'm posting a few things. So, if you're wondering why several posts all on the same day, that explains it.
I previously wrote about our 4 week inter-racial Bible study. Well, Kathy and I are becoming friends. I've wanted to join a book discussion group, but could not find one. I asked Kathy if she liked to read. She LOVES to read. So we're going to eventually try and start a book discussion club. We want different races and ethnic groups of women involved. For now, we're content to get to know each other. (We really "clicked", so that is going to be easy.) And we're going to read books and discuss them. She's already lent me the book "Blood Done Sign My Name". WOW!! (I'm sure I'll write a lot about that book!)
Last Tuesday night she brought a book, asked me to read the paragraph next to which was written "Ask Regenia". The book, "The Warmth Of Other Suns", by Isabel Wilkerson, is about the migration of black citizens from the South to the North and West between 1915 and 1970. Almost 6 million! The page she wanted my input on was describing the situation as it was, even in 1958. Naming various southern cities, the author explained the reality of everyday life, as it related to skin color. Doctors' offices had different waiting rooms for Blacks and Whites. Some post offices had separate windows. There were different phone booths, depending on the color of your skin. There were taxicabs for "colored" people. (Wonder if that meant only "Black" or skin of any color? Asian, Hispanic?) And taxi cabs for non-coloreds. Among the other descriptions, the one that most took me by surprise was different ambulances! There were white ambulances. And there were black ambulances.
I read that sentence again. I couldn't say anything for a few minutes. The lump in my throat wouldn't let me. My mind was trying to absorb that. What if, at a given point in time, there weren't enough black ambulances? Let's say, for example, there were an explosion at a plant that employed mostly blacks. (Or more to the point, what if different parts of black community had been set on fire by the KKK?) Would the white ambulances be "allowed" to be put into use? Would neighboring fire stations come to help, the way we see happens today? The residents of the black community paid taxes. Would they not be entitled to any and all public services during a crisis?
I don't remember what I said to Kathy. But she could see my reaction. Although she said she has, of course, experienced prejudice, she was not brought up in the South. She had not even known about the things listed on that page. She wondered if I, being white, had known that reality. Or had ever learned about it. You know the answer. (Although, maybe I got a hint but have forgotten the specifics. As a teenager I read "Black Like Me". I remember not understanding. Not at all. I'm going to see if I can find a copy and read that book again.)
I was glad that the night's study was over. Some really quite nice older woman had all of a sudden been at our table. At some point in time the Taliban was brought up. One point led to another. And she tapped the table repeating what I had been hearing non-stop. We're a country founded on Christian principles. I was tired and I don't have my normal patience. (Grief counselor said that is very normal. Hope she's right and I get it back.) I had to speak up. I explained that I had been hearing that a lot. I understood the basic "message". But, that very, very respectfully, as a woman, I didn't see where the founding fathers would have been Christian towards me. And of course, they weren't towards blacks. We weren't really considered equal. As women we could not have held property. It was, for the most part, considered unnecessary and ridiculous to educate us. If I thought about the women and blacks, not too many of us benefited from that "Christian" foundation. Maybe most of us. Something to that effect. The man next to me spoke up. "Actually, if you were a white male landowner things worked for you, right?" I could have kissed him. (Totally inappropriate at a Christian function, don't you think? Somebody might have fainted!)
I don't remember what the lady said. I didn't care. I had been respectful. But saying something; jumping on a bandwagon without any thought and examination was just too much for me right then. Jesus had taught both men AND women. He spoke with the Samaritan woman. He loved the Gentiles, not just the Jews. (Read that as "He loved the Blacks and women, not just the white males, especially the wealthy ones.") You see why I was really glad I talked to Kathy after the study, not before.
Anyway, to get to the title of this blog. From Netflix we got "Who's The Boss". Ale and Trista have been watching the re-runs and he wanted to see the first show; see how Tony came to be Angela's housekeeper. So we've been watching them too. In one episode Angela and her mother have a fight over decorating the apartment they are building for Mona over the garage. Towards the end of the show Tony gets them together and leaves them alone.
Mona explains that Angela is always dependable; always responsible. Angela adds her own self-descriptive words: practical, pedantic, predictable. Mona chimes in (I think she said it) with plodding and poky. Angela ends with "pedestrian". Mona drinks to all of that. Then Angela tells her mother, "That's why I need you Mother. You add other letters to my life." I thought of Kathy. She's already adding other letters to my life. Letters that only a new black friend could add.
I don't know, but to me, our new friendship looks a lot more "Christian" than the societal relationships at the time our founding fathers established our nation.
Maybe instead of insisting on what our founding fathers "intended", I'll just worry about trying to be "Christian" now. I'll ask Kathy. I think she'll like the idea.
The Color of My Skin, As It Is In Heaven
Four white ministers and four black ministers in Wilmington have been getting together at least once a month for 3 years. They say it was uncomfortable at first, but they were committed to racial reconciliation. It is something our pastor is very passionate about. They have described how over time they became friends. Just friends. No color attached to the friendships. Just friends. And they wanted that for their congregations.
Their first effort at involving the congregations was last year. They hosted a joint, 8 week Bible study. A huge room with round tables was provided. A person from each of the eight churches was to be represented at each table. The pastors took turns leading the group. The topic: the Lord's Prayer. Absolutely uplifting and enlightening. And lots of substance, which is what I liked. I don't like scratching the surface of a topic.
As a result of that effort a number of us have been getting together once a month to pray. We call our group "WilPray" for Wilmington will pray. Not my idea. I'm not that clever. But a great name, don't you think? A pretty touching thing, getting together with others just like you, but not just like you. And praying, as if we were already in heaven together. Imagine!
Tonight the second joint Bible study started. It will be four weeks. The Sunday night after the study concludes we will be worshiping together. A first, I would think. This year's topic is "The Church On Earth, As It Is In Heaven". The Bible reference was John 4: 1-9, Jesus talking to the Samaritan woman. Jesus, a Jew, daring to talk to someone from a different (and questionable) lifestyle; someone with a whole different perspective on religion and how to worship; and a woman, no less!
So the first question for discussion had to do with Martin Luther King Jr's statement that "Eleven o'clock Sunday morning is the most segregated hour in America." The question itself, "Why is this statement still true, over 50 years later?" The last question suggested we dicuss creative outreaches and innovative approaches our churches can take to make church on earth look as it will be in heaven.
Heavy stuff. Excellent sharing of thoughts and ideas. My take away? Just what I have been thinking for quite a long time. We Christians (myself included, I am sure) are not careful enough about our psychological diet. There are so many hate-filled voices in our country. Many are idolized. They earn millions and millions of dollars a year. And we listen. These voices want us to be villianize anyone with a different perspective/opinion. These voices don't want us to reach out and have discussion. These voices encourage us to paint others with broad, totally un-Biblical brush strokes.
But not all Whites are evil. Not all Blacks are evil. Not all attorneys are "crooked" and evil. Not all Democrats are without morals. Not all of certain human organizations, like unions, are evil. The Bible says that "All" have sinned and come short of God's glory. Period. The word "All" does not qualify or modify a particular group. The "All", then, refers to all races, all peoples of any political persuasion, all vocational groups, and of course, necessarily, all institutions made up of humans. So these voices are anything but Christlike. And yet they are a staple in our psychological diet, if we are not very careful.
I want my words and the "meditations of my heart" to be acceptable to God Himself. I want my psychological diet to be rich in love towards others, discussion, in accepting others just where they are. I want the main staple in my psychological diet to be the actions, examples, and words of Jesus. Any words or actions that do not match His, I want to eliminate from my diet.
My additional take away? Watching our pshychological diet is not enough. We Christians need to focus on Jesus's second great command, to love one another as we love ourselves. I was thinking the other day that I sometimes wish I could write. I was imagining myself sitting with God, discussing how I had lived my life. I imagined Him asking me only a couple of key questions. One would be if I had loved others as I love myself.
But before I could answer He went on to ask the question more specifically. He asked me if I loved those who had been particularly unkind to me or my family. He asked me if I loved people who were nothing like me. He asked me if I loved those with whom I disagreed on a lot of things. He asked me if I loved people who were in a bad spot in life, even if through their own bad choices. He asked me if I loved others enough to live with less. He asked me if loved them enough to want exactly the same things for them that I wanted for myself, material and more importantly, non-material things. You get the picture. Someone who could write could give the actual dialog. S/he could make that really thought provoking and interesting. And s/he could write it in such a way so as to generate some soul searching.
If I could answer that, yes, I had tried to love everyone else as I loved myself, I would be able to also say that I had done my part to make church on earth look closer to what it will be like in heaven.
I want to take this lesson to heart. Rob, tonight's pastor/presenter, asked us to consider if we are willing to embrace the idea of our two races living and learning together, or will we only tolerate the idea? Embrace or tolerate. A great question. I want to remember my take aways. And I want to learn more. I want to embrace. Church on earth as it will be in heaven doesn't seem to describe us yet. But I would like to think we are willing to work towards it. Maybe we'll change our diet.
Their first effort at involving the congregations was last year. They hosted a joint, 8 week Bible study. A huge room with round tables was provided. A person from each of the eight churches was to be represented at each table. The pastors took turns leading the group. The topic: the Lord's Prayer. Absolutely uplifting and enlightening. And lots of substance, which is what I liked. I don't like scratching the surface of a topic.
As a result of that effort a number of us have been getting together once a month to pray. We call our group "WilPray" for Wilmington will pray. Not my idea. I'm not that clever. But a great name, don't you think? A pretty touching thing, getting together with others just like you, but not just like you. And praying, as if we were already in heaven together. Imagine!
Tonight the second joint Bible study started. It will be four weeks. The Sunday night after the study concludes we will be worshiping together. A first, I would think. This year's topic is "The Church On Earth, As It Is In Heaven". The Bible reference was John 4: 1-9, Jesus talking to the Samaritan woman. Jesus, a Jew, daring to talk to someone from a different (and questionable) lifestyle; someone with a whole different perspective on religion and how to worship; and a woman, no less!
So the first question for discussion had to do with Martin Luther King Jr's statement that "Eleven o'clock Sunday morning is the most segregated hour in America." The question itself, "Why is this statement still true, over 50 years later?" The last question suggested we dicuss creative outreaches and innovative approaches our churches can take to make church on earth look as it will be in heaven.
Heavy stuff. Excellent sharing of thoughts and ideas. My take away? Just what I have been thinking for quite a long time. We Christians (myself included, I am sure) are not careful enough about our psychological diet. There are so many hate-filled voices in our country. Many are idolized. They earn millions and millions of dollars a year. And we listen. These voices want us to be villianize anyone with a different perspective/opinion. These voices don't want us to reach out and have discussion. These voices encourage us to paint others with broad, totally un-Biblical brush strokes.
But not all Whites are evil. Not all Blacks are evil. Not all attorneys are "crooked" and evil. Not all Democrats are without morals. Not all of certain human organizations, like unions, are evil. The Bible says that "All" have sinned and come short of God's glory. Period. The word "All" does not qualify or modify a particular group. The "All", then, refers to all races, all peoples of any political persuasion, all vocational groups, and of course, necessarily, all institutions made up of humans. So these voices are anything but Christlike. And yet they are a staple in our psychological diet, if we are not very careful.
I want my words and the "meditations of my heart" to be acceptable to God Himself. I want my psychological diet to be rich in love towards others, discussion, in accepting others just where they are. I want the main staple in my psychological diet to be the actions, examples, and words of Jesus. Any words or actions that do not match His, I want to eliminate from my diet.
My additional take away? Watching our pshychological diet is not enough. We Christians need to focus on Jesus's second great command, to love one another as we love ourselves. I was thinking the other day that I sometimes wish I could write. I was imagining myself sitting with God, discussing how I had lived my life. I imagined Him asking me only a couple of key questions. One would be if I had loved others as I love myself.
But before I could answer He went on to ask the question more specifically. He asked me if I loved those who had been particularly unkind to me or my family. He asked me if I loved people who were nothing like me. He asked me if I loved those with whom I disagreed on a lot of things. He asked me if I loved people who were in a bad spot in life, even if through their own bad choices. He asked me if I loved others enough to live with less. He asked me if loved them enough to want exactly the same things for them that I wanted for myself, material and more importantly, non-material things. You get the picture. Someone who could write could give the actual dialog. S/he could make that really thought provoking and interesting. And s/he could write it in such a way so as to generate some soul searching.
If I could answer that, yes, I had tried to love everyone else as I loved myself, I would be able to also say that I had done my part to make church on earth look closer to what it will be like in heaven.
I want to take this lesson to heart. Rob, tonight's pastor/presenter, asked us to consider if we are willing to embrace the idea of our two races living and learning together, or will we only tolerate the idea? Embrace or tolerate. A great question. I want to remember my take aways. And I want to learn more. I want to embrace. Church on earth as it will be in heaven doesn't seem to describe us yet. But I would like to think we are willing to work towards it. Maybe we'll change our diet.
Yoga, What A Sin!!!
Trista and I are going to Pilate's classes once a week. This is our second session of classes. Of course she has new material for her comedy skits that have anything to do with me. She actually thought that, after the very first class, I was going to be dumb enough to let her be behind me ever again. NOT going to happen. But It's been good for us both. And we enjoy going together.
If we miss a class we can make it up. One night I could not go to our normal 6:00 class. So I attended the one right after, a yoga class, with the same instructor Ellen.
Within a day or two of my attending the yoga class, Allan gently explained to me that if you're Christian, it's a sin to do yoga. That's what a Christian "leader" said. What a dilemma that presented for me! Didn't know if I would be able to sleep. I had unknowingly sinned, thinking I was just getting physically stronger, getting more flexibility, and improving my balance. And Ellen, my really nice, kind, generous instructor must have really brainwashed me. I LIKED IT!! A LOT!
I told my small group at church. Don't remember if I asked for prayer or just felt the need to "confess". One of our friends, Brett, wants to get me a bumper sticker that says "Went to yoga class. And became a Buddhist." I now think of him as an encourager. The wise Christian leader would probably view him as an enabler.
But you know what? I actually plan on sinning again!! PLAN on it!! Trista and I are going to go to two classes a week after the new year. One Pilate's. One yoga. I figure I'll try to make up for this sin by trying to love others as I love myself. I sort of remember or think that is a main Biblical principal. At least I know that's what Jesus said to do.
If we miss a class we can make it up. One night I could not go to our normal 6:00 class. So I attended the one right after, a yoga class, with the same instructor Ellen.
Within a day or two of my attending the yoga class, Allan gently explained to me that if you're Christian, it's a sin to do yoga. That's what a Christian "leader" said. What a dilemma that presented for me! Didn't know if I would be able to sleep. I had unknowingly sinned, thinking I was just getting physically stronger, getting more flexibility, and improving my balance. And Ellen, my really nice, kind, generous instructor must have really brainwashed me. I LIKED IT!! A LOT!
I told my small group at church. Don't remember if I asked for prayer or just felt the need to "confess". One of our friends, Brett, wants to get me a bumper sticker that says "Went to yoga class. And became a Buddhist." I now think of him as an encourager. The wise Christian leader would probably view him as an enabler.
But you know what? I actually plan on sinning again!! PLAN on it!! Trista and I are going to go to two classes a week after the new year. One Pilate's. One yoga. I figure I'll try to make up for this sin by trying to love others as I love myself. I sort of remember or think that is a main Biblical principal. At least I know that's what Jesus said to do.
Yearning
This I'm going to call my "Disclaimer". Keep reading. I'll get to that part eventually. I mention it here only so a reader can recognize it and see it is important to me when I get there....Now, the real blog:
A blog. Me. Can't believe it. I really don't like to write very much. But here I am. So why? Several reasons, I guess.
First and foremost, I have to thank my cousin Tom's son, Eric. He is taking a circuitous route to Denver, Colorado. He stopped and spent a night with us. We could not have enjoyed it more. Great conversation. Before he left that Friday morning he said I needed "to get that out", referring to all that we had discussed and I had indicated confused me. I had written some things in the last few years to a few close friends via email and found I always felt better. So I decided Eric was right and that this might be good therapy.
Secondly, I am a wimp, capital "W". I hate conflict and controversy. So I'm going to write my questions and thoughts; express my confusion. Say what I would if I could talk to someone without concern s/he would get passionately aggravated because we don't agree. If I wouldn't have to be concerned that a relationship would be damaged. I told my friend Donna that I might not even tell anyone I'm doing this; that I just knew some of what I have to say would be taken as political. EVERYTHING seems to be viewed through the political lens these days. Seems to me, anyway. And for me, it really isn't. It's actually anti-politics. It's a response to the world around me and a yearning. Yearning for what, exactly, I don't know yet. (I'll explain that next.) Donna responded that if anyone REALLY knew me, s/he would know it was just that, responding and thinking (out loud, so to speak). Donna, very true and wonderful friend that she is, was really quite indignant to think anyone wouldn't understand that this is what I do, try to understand things. I want to understand. I need to understand. If things make no sense to me, they drive me crazy.
Another reason, I'm trying to figure out how to live out the remainder of my life. Our family suffered a tragedy last year. I'm trying to figure out what purpose there could be for me to be here. Why did God take our baby granddaughter Natalia and leave me? When she died, I already had 60 years. And I would have willingly given my life so my daughter and son-in-law could have their baby. I'm totally convinced I'm here for a reason. No idea what that could be. But I'm still convinced there's a reason. Maybe writing out my observations about the world will help me find the answer. Who knows. If not, as I said, it seems to comfort me. I feel better after I write and express myself.
Only one other reason I can think of that I'm starting a blog. Once you've held a dead child, life is altered. Period. Once you've held that child's ashes, life is altered. Once you've experienced kindness and compassion to the degree our family did, life is altered. So how could I expect most people to understand why I view things as I do? I don't. Thank God I could expect that most would not. I think I'm unsettled and fearful that if politics doesn't stop being an idol; if we don't denounce the hate-filled voices, we won't want to reach out to others when they most need it. Not unless they agree with us, anyway. And I'm yearning for a world where a world view different from our own doesn't equate to disdain. I want to appreciate that everyone has a different "story". I'm yearning for a world where we're willing to examine what we think and change our minds. A world where we are more than willing to say "Great idea!" to someone else. A world where we are all happy to see our balloons rise together, so to speak. I'm yearning for a world where everyone who needs compassion and kindness and consideration (like we experienced) will get it. And it will be heartfelt.
So I'm going to journal how life looks to me. It will be a real struggle. And I won't do it well. (Certainly not punctuation. I HATE punctuation. Always have.) Not even going to try. Not the point. But, if nothing else, it will be a legacy to my child, my Trista.
Back to the disclaimer part. You can probably guess. This blog is a journal. I don't want to know if anyone disagrees with me. Respectfully, it won't help me. At least not at this point in my journey. (And maybe I can ask my brother if there is a way to request no comments.)
And so it begins. Don't know for how long. We'll see.
A blog. Me. Can't believe it. I really don't like to write very much. But here I am. So why? Several reasons, I guess.
First and foremost, I have to thank my cousin Tom's son, Eric. He is taking a circuitous route to Denver, Colorado. He stopped and spent a night with us. We could not have enjoyed it more. Great conversation. Before he left that Friday morning he said I needed "to get that out", referring to all that we had discussed and I had indicated confused me. I had written some things in the last few years to a few close friends via email and found I always felt better. So I decided Eric was right and that this might be good therapy.
Secondly, I am a wimp, capital "W". I hate conflict and controversy. So I'm going to write my questions and thoughts; express my confusion. Say what I would if I could talk to someone without concern s/he would get passionately aggravated because we don't agree. If I wouldn't have to be concerned that a relationship would be damaged. I told my friend Donna that I might not even tell anyone I'm doing this; that I just knew some of what I have to say would be taken as political. EVERYTHING seems to be viewed through the political lens these days. Seems to me, anyway. And for me, it really isn't. It's actually anti-politics. It's a response to the world around me and a yearning. Yearning for what, exactly, I don't know yet. (I'll explain that next.) Donna responded that if anyone REALLY knew me, s/he would know it was just that, responding and thinking (out loud, so to speak). Donna, very true and wonderful friend that she is, was really quite indignant to think anyone wouldn't understand that this is what I do, try to understand things. I want to understand. I need to understand. If things make no sense to me, they drive me crazy.
Another reason, I'm trying to figure out how to live out the remainder of my life. Our family suffered a tragedy last year. I'm trying to figure out what purpose there could be for me to be here. Why did God take our baby granddaughter Natalia and leave me? When she died, I already had 60 years. And I would have willingly given my life so my daughter and son-in-law could have their baby. I'm totally convinced I'm here for a reason. No idea what that could be. But I'm still convinced there's a reason. Maybe writing out my observations about the world will help me find the answer. Who knows. If not, as I said, it seems to comfort me. I feel better after I write and express myself.
Only one other reason I can think of that I'm starting a blog. Once you've held a dead child, life is altered. Period. Once you've held that child's ashes, life is altered. Once you've experienced kindness and compassion to the degree our family did, life is altered. So how could I expect most people to understand why I view things as I do? I don't. Thank God I could expect that most would not. I think I'm unsettled and fearful that if politics doesn't stop being an idol; if we don't denounce the hate-filled voices, we won't want to reach out to others when they most need it. Not unless they agree with us, anyway. And I'm yearning for a world where a world view different from our own doesn't equate to disdain. I want to appreciate that everyone has a different "story". I'm yearning for a world where we're willing to examine what we think and change our minds. A world where we are more than willing to say "Great idea!" to someone else. A world where we are all happy to see our balloons rise together, so to speak. I'm yearning for a world where everyone who needs compassion and kindness and consideration (like we experienced) will get it. And it will be heartfelt.
So I'm going to journal how life looks to me. It will be a real struggle. And I won't do it well. (Certainly not punctuation. I HATE punctuation. Always have.) Not even going to try. Not the point. But, if nothing else, it will be a legacy to my child, my Trista.
Back to the disclaimer part. You can probably guess. This blog is a journal. I don't want to know if anyone disagrees with me. Respectfully, it won't help me. At least not at this point in my journey. (And maybe I can ask my brother if there is a way to request no comments.)
And so it begins. Don't know for how long. We'll see.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)