18 Months Ago

Natalia died 18 months ago today.  I can usually comprehend what I read.  But even in print, I cannot grasp these words. 

I’ve written quite a bit about the grief of losing a child, just very recently.  But I have not yet decided whether or not to post those attempts at description.  But I can say here that I have not experienced that sudden nausea today.  The one that comes on instantaneously and without warning, the same way a flash flood does.  My body has not shuddered involuntarily today.  But I have no ambition, no self-discipline.  Allan is helping our son-in-law build a fence.  So I am alone.  And I think that is good.  I need some thinking time.  Some time of almost complete quiet.

It is a gorgeous day.  It is at least 70 degrees.  The sun is at its absolute brightest.  There is a mild breeze.  I can call it gentle.  It seems appropriate that I can do so.  I abandon all work, and even the pretense of being interested.  I go sit outside on the deck with a book.  Our back is relatively isolated and affords mostly privacy.  I don’t see the big heron in the creek, but he was probably here earlier this morning, standing at attention in the creek’s middle.  

Trista sends me a text from work.  She is hanging in there and wants me to assure her I will get some fresh air.  I send a reply text telling her where I am and what I am doing.  She responds, saying she is glad.  I pick my book up.  My usual habit is to read two books at a time, one fiction, and one non-fiction.  I pick up the fiction.  Probably a better choice for today.  I don’t care if I learn anything.  The plot has just taken a twist.  But I soon lose concentration and just sit for a while. 

At the end of last week, I started the book “Same Kind Of Different As Me”.  By page 17 I have felt a hot anger in my stomach and then cried.  My passion, if I have one right now, is how we treat each other.  Or, to my way of thinking, it is more accurate to say how we are alienating each other.  I’ve been thinking a LOT about that lately. 

I wrote something, most likely suggested subconsciously to me by my current reading selections.  But before I share it, I should tell you that I found several new cookie cutters, ones having to do with Spring, and I purchased them.  When I got home, I found my purchases resulted in a duplication of one cutter and gave me cookie cutters for two different kinds of flowers.  I set the new ones aside, ready to return them to the store.  But I kept thinking about those cookie cutters.  I decided I wanted two of the same one, even if I never use them.  And having the cutters for two different flowers seems necessary.  Yes, necessary.  I love the symbolism.  I need the symbolism, I think.  Eventually I began to think about grandmothers and little granddaughters making cookies together:

Across the world, how many little granddaughters are in the kitchen with Grandma? I envision it.  The cookies they are making may not be chocolate chip, our American favorite.  Or they may not be making cookies at all.  But that doesn’t matter.  Because everything else I see is identical in the various kitchens.  I see some form of flour or meal all over the place.  I see another ingredient falling to the floor.  Probably an egg, of course.  And/or something spilling.  I can hear each and every grandma saying that is OKAY!  I notice that the giggles I hear sound exactly the same.  Two little girls from opposite ends of the globe could trade places and there would be no recognizable difference in the giggles at all.   And you know what else?  I see each Grandma looking at those little faces, faces that might be different shapes.  And either darker or lighter in color.   Maybe the eyes are different.  But each and every Grandma is pausing and kissing the happy little faces, loving them with all her heart.  Kind of sounds like that idea, “same kind of different as me”.

As I paint these pictures in my mind, I have to ask, “If we could, whether we be mommies or daddies, or grandfathers or grandmothers, remember to look for the MAJOR similarities, how could it NOT change our approach to many, many issues?  Knowing what is happening in each other’s kitchens.  Wouldn’t that force us to live with more appreciation for each other? 

I’m just saying. 

Comments

Note:  This post is a result of two very nice people I do not know at all, Grace and Hayden. I assume since they both left comments it is okay to mention names.  If not, please let me apologize and ask you both to forgive me.  But if you keep reading, I hope you’ll see this blog is, in reality, a testimony to people like yourselves.  

Okay.  I’m afraid.  I admit it.  I’m afraid of comments.  But not at all for the reason you might think. Let me try and explain.  But, as with all things emotional, it might be difficult to make others understand.  And to attempt to share and make others understand something I, myself, do not understand in any way?  How do I do that?  I’m absolutely clueless, but here goes.

Remember my second blog post, “Yearning”?  I explained that my blog is the record of a personal journey.  A journey to figure out what seems to me a Twilight Zone-like world.  (Actually, at times I think the Twilight Zone would be easier to understand.)   I said that comments would not help me at this point in time.  I really thought that was true.  And, maybe to a certain degree, I still feel that way.  Because since starting the blog I have found I feel so much better after I have written something.  It is helping me.  I’m finding it therapeutic.  I don’t want that spoiled.  I need it. 

But here’s another reason for wanting to avoid comments.  I’m afraid that what I feel about individual people might be shattered.  And I desperately do not want that!  People could not have been more considerate, more compassionate, more loving than what we experienced.  They were everything good we humans can be.  It’s amazing.  It doesn’t matter that people couldn’t take our pain away.  Or even lessen it.  But, there is something about knowing people care and they would do so, if at all possible.  I don’t understand it.  I just know it is a truth. 

Although I am naïve, I do know there are hate-filled voices out there.  A lot of them.  But, I don’t experience them individually.  I hear them often (not always) as the collective voice of various groups, organizations, etc.  In fact, that is part of what is so confusing to me now.  How is it that the sum of a number of individual voices can bear no resemblance to the voices on their own?   I don’t get that.

So, to hear a number of individual voices that are different from what we experienced would bother me tremendously.  I don’t know if I have the emotional energy to remind myself that several voices make the extreme exception.   I want to be able to defend the individual voices I’ve experienced for as long as I live.  Truly.

But... (There’s always that “but”, isn’t there?)   Not knowing what I am doing, I must have inadvertently allowed comments at some point in time.  And I received two comments, from two people whose individual voices were exactly what we experienced.   They were open, honest, encouraging, uplifting.  And that makes me more afraid.  Now I don’t want their voices sullied by any nasty ones. 

Here’s what’s happened.  Saturday night when I couldn’t sleep I kept thinking that I wanted to at least write one post and thank those two people.  I appreciated them and wanted them to know that.   I was seriously considering that possibility.  When I checked my email on Sunday my brother had sent me a message to allow comments; that I was missing out on some wonderful online friendships.  The conclusion I thought I was arriving at was echoed by his assertion.     

And here’s what I’ve decided.  How about I move slowly and cautiously?  (I did, right up front, admit to being a wimp, in “Yearning”.)  I’m going to take Grace’s suggestion and sometimes allow comments.  I know someone can then comment on any blog post whatsoever.  But it might be easier if I only occasionally have to think about anything negative.  And hopefully if anyone gets nasty it will be easily offset by some new online friendships.  I think my brother might be right about that.  (Wow, hate to have to put that in writing!  He’ll never let me forget it!!  But, you know what?  I think people like Grace and Hayden are going to be worth it!)

Thanksgiving Wish List

No.  I’m not crazy.  At least, to my knowledge, I’m not.  I know it is January.  I know Thanksgiving is in November.  But bear with me.  Maybe, just maybe I’ll be able to explain. 

If you’ve read “Why Don’t I Know The Answer To That?” you’ll know I was wondering a lot about what we’re thankful for, individually and collectively.  Then Christmas was coming.  And it seems we can switch pretty quickly from focusing on gratitude to what we want.   We hear about the wish list.  Commercials for jewelry stores tell men what their female loved ones are wishing for.  They tell children what dads really want.  Etc.  Etc.  And because I would have loved to be buying toys (educational, of course!) and a little “party” dress, I started thinking about how our Thanksgiving list (“The Personal List”) and our Christmas wish list should be a lot more related to one another.   Maybe really considering what we can be thankful for would change the wish list and/or make it a whole lot shorter.  

Christmas passed.  Then New Year’s was coming.  I gave resolutions up years ago, so no pressure here.  But, evidently people still make them.  For at least the first two weeks in January Pilates and Yoga class was really, really full!  Now…not so much.  I kind of wondered how many people look back at last year’s resolutions to see how things went.  If they do, does that have any impact on what they resolve to do this year?   

All of that “thinking” (I obviously use the term loosely.) somehow led me to mentally combine all three ideas:  a wish list that really would be my Thanksgiving list.  And since I would be making this wish list for next Thanksgiving, some things would require a resolve on my part.  A resolve to make sure I could, on Thanksgiving Day 2011, look back and say I was thankful for the things on my already created list.

See how I linked the three?  (If you do, you actually follow how my mind goes on these tangents, you might want to consider getting help.  Seriously.)  Well, doesn’t really matter, anyway, does it?  This is my personal journey.  And besides, wasn’t there a book years ago, something about “I’m Okay.  You’re Okay”?  Let’s go with that. 

You know what’s coming.  Surely, you do.  My list.  My Thanksgiving Wish List.  But first, a reminder, just like in the previous blog.  This is NOT political commentary.  It is simply my sincere attempt to understand a world that is dramatically altered.  And figure out, if possible, what do I do in that world?  I repeat the reminder because my list does, in my opinion, reflect “The Personal List” and elements of what I’d like to see on  “The Corporate List”, if we had one.  It was difficult to make my list concise but inclusive of all that is important to me.  But I tried. 

So, as we say, God willing I be here, the following is at least part of my Thanksgiving Wish List for November 24, 2011, in no particular order:

• A family that is healing. 
• Friends who will tell me what I need to hear, not what they think I want to hear.
• A new sense of purpose, whether a completely new purpose, or an additional purpose to what I already do.  Whatever.  But, clearly defined. 
• If the above is not entirely possible, at least some strong indications about my purpose; some framework or outline I feel sure about.
• That someone or several might be thankful I’m on the planet.  Not for any sad reason.  I pray that’s not the case.  But simply because I’ve lifted them up, encouraged them, made them feel good because they know I appreciate who they are.  (Totally convinced people need more of that.)
• That we love all children as we do our own.  So much so they we care about the entirety of their childhood:  hungry little tummies, excellent and equal education, and healthy, safe environments.
• To be as healthy as I’ve always been.  And to know I’ve continued to try to do more to help keep and even improve my health.   Physically and mentally.
• That I’ve loved others as I love myself.  So much so that anyone who needs health care of any kind but does not have the resources gets it.  Some examples to illustrate why I feel so strongly about this:

ü     Anyone who needs hearing aids, like I do, but can’t write the check, gets them.  And consequently their everyday life, and that of those around them, is drastically improved and enriched. 

ü     Anyone who needs cataract surgery on both eyes, as I did, has medical insurance that covers it.  S/he doesn’t have to write a $10,000 check (cost several years ago).  That those individuals will be as shocked and thrilled at such improved vision.  (Note: it always seemed to me that cataract surgery was for old people.  My friend agreed with me.  But, as she pointed out, there are exceptions to the rule.  And I was not only that exception, she said.  I was the youngest person to ever have the surgery.  She’s very knowledgeable.  I take her word for it.)

ü     Anyone who needs back surgery has medical insurance to cover the bill.  (2003 cost was $19,000)

ü     That anyone who has had a tragedy doesn’t end up with a bill that will take years and years and years to pay off.  (One friend has a bill for $25,000 she might pay off by the time she retires.  But there is a good chance that won’t happen.  Wish that were the only example I could give for people I know.  But I have way more than I like to think about.)  

• That we have learned to agree to disagree.  And thereby we have continued friendships and relationships and discussion.  (At the end I’ll share what has always worked well for me personally.  Might not for anyone else, but works great for me!)
• That “All or Nothing” thinking is not the general rule of thumb; but rather reserved for those instances and situations for which we can not, without violating our very core principles.  Religious, ethical, etc.  (I’ve learned that for me there are about eight.  Everything else I can go way more than halfway.) 
• I’ll include all the “givens”, like jobs, the end to the wars, etc.  I’m most certainly not minimizing these things in any way.  It just feels like they are already included, so to speak.    How?  It seems to me if I get the other things on my wish list, these things will be on their way to resolution.  There would at least be a start. 

If I’m still blogging in November 2011, I’ll come back and take a look.  This is one wish list of things I really, really want.

I promised to share what has worked for me to keep friendships going if and when discussion could lead to failed relationships.  I have a friend who, I suspect, might actually be on the opposite side of where I stand on a lot of issues.  Although we have been friends for years, I really can’t say, at all.  That’s because that friend tends to be more “excitable” (translation:  gets hot pretty quickly) in certain types of conversations.  Since this person has a booming voice, I’ll call said friend “Voice”.   My solution when conversation threatened to get heated in any way?  I would always say, “Voice!  Voice! Whoa!  Whoa!   Let’s just skip to the part where I’m right, you’re wrong; and let’s find another topic of discussion.”  Voice would burst out laughing, right in mid sentence.  I’d laugh.  And we’d move on.  Result?  We became good friends.  And therefore, I think, if we had to work on a serious issue on which we held pretty opposite points of view, we could do it.  And do it well.  I would say to myself, “ Voice won’t agree to that, but maybe I can get him to think about this alternative.”  He’d say to himself, “I know Regenia.  No way will she go along with that.  Let me think of something else.”  I once asked my husband if he thought I was right about this.  He agreed.  We’d get the job done.  And still be friends.      

Why Don't I Know The Answer To That?

Note:  This I actually started working on before Thanksgiving.  Knowing that, it makes more sense.  Particularly why the prayer I wrote about in “Verbal Artist” really touched me. 

Also, a reminder that this is truly NOT political commentary.   It continues to be my attempt to figure out the world and why I am here.  Why have I gotten more time than others?  There HAS to be a reason.   So, in that struggle to comprehend, I now need and want to understand why people who have healthy children and grandchildren don’t look at other kids with more compassion?  There must be an answer.  Right?

Near where I grew up is an Indian Reservation.   For a short while we had Native American neighbors.  My sister played with the little boy.  Louise was my classmate.  She was super smart.  She loved to read so much she would wake up and read before school…in high school!  My art teacher in elementary school was Native American.  My Dad bowled with him. 

I didn’t particularly like the reservation.  Just riding through the area was depressing.  On the fairly rare occasions there was flooding, good portions of the reservation were under water.   And when I visited my brother in Arizona I thought the reservation there didn’t appear to be land that would produce much.  This explains some of the frustration I wrote about in “The Artist’s Brush”.

Anyway, prior to Thanksgiving I had the occasion to speak briefly with a guy whose degree was in Cultural Anthropology.  During the course of the conversation I mentioned Native Indians.  I mentioned what I just told you above.  It was a topic he was particularly interested in.   For his thesis he had wanted to write about the most discriminated group in American society.  He studied the situation of Blacks, Women, and Native American Indians.   He had, based on his study and perspective, chosen the Native American Indians.  Unfortunately, our conversation got interrupted just at that point in time.  But, you know what?  I kept thinking about reservation life.  And I wondered if Native Americans celebrate Thanksgiving?  At least those native to the Northeast?  And I wondered, why don’t I know the answer to that? 

I watched an excellent documentary on the History channel.  So then it began to really nag at me.  Based on how it worked out for the Pilgrims as opposed to the Indians, I couldn’t see what they would be thankful for. Lots of people would say they should be thankful for the “standard stuff”:  family, health, friends, etc.  True.  But I’m not talking about that list.  That’s what I’ll call “The Personal List”.  I’m talking about the big picture, “The Corporate List”. 

I hear a lot about being thankful for our country.  No argument from me.  This is where I grew up.  This is where I got the opportunity to go to another country as a foreign exchange student.  A kid like me; no money whatsoever to do that.  This is where I was able to get a good education, because of state colleges and universities.  This is where my daughter could get a good public school education.  This is where she had unlimited opportunities to do whatever she might have wanted.  So, again, no argument from me.  I am extremely thankful for all of that.  But I still can’t help but wonder if all Native Americans, regardless of where they live, can say the same thing?  If they look at their treatment by our “Christian” country, what, specifically, would they be thankful for? 

And I repeat, why don’t I know the answer?  All I do know is this.  I want to care the same about other people’s children and grandchildren as I do mine.  Anything I wanted for Natalia, I want to want for other babies born in this country.   As far as I know, I do.  I want all of them to grow up and be able to have at least the same number of things to be thankful for on their “Corporate List” as I do on mine. 

Verbal Artist

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?

1,292 Stories




 

A few weeks ago my daughter, Trista, ran in a half-marathon, 13+ miles.  What an awesome, interesting thing to watch!  The picture shows only a portion of the participants coming over the first bridge.  There was something that really impacted me about seeing that.  As Trista passed us (Allan, Alejandro, me, and Tasia, the dog) I was so thankful to see her meeting a substantial new challenge.  She was working really hard at trying to live life.  It was reassuring. 

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? 



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.