I've been wanting to write a post like this since I saw the commercial for "The Danish Girl." I hadn't seen the movie, so I didn't want to assume, but the commercial made it seem as though Redmayne's character only realized he was truly a she when she put on stockings and a dress.
This was frustrating to me because transgender is about so much more than what clothing someone chooses to wear, right? Most women wouldn't define themselves as women because they like to wear dresses. No women I know would define themselves as women because they like to wear stockings.
Granted I still haven't seen the movie so I cannot testify to whether that was actually what they portrayed, I do assume and hope they went deeper, but the underlying question that this triggered for me remains the same:
How do we define transgender, if we can not define gender?
We've determined and culturally mostly agreed that gender should not pre-determine the type of clothes you wear, who you are sexually attracted to, what abilities or talents you have nor what opportunities you should have.
We are to understand that transgender is more than wanting to wear a type of clothing or your sexuality preference. Transgender is being the gender that you were not born into. It is knowing that despite the sex organs that inhabit your pelvic area, you are the other gender.
According to federal statute definitions, transgender is, "an umbrella term to describe anyone that who in one or more ways does not conform to gendered stereotypes of gender identity and/or gender expression." (emphasis mine)
So what if we succeed in getting rid of the stereotypes of what being a gender means?
Because, seriously, what does being a gender mean? What does my being female mean? What does my son being male mean? Can you think of a single acceptable definition for a gender at this point? We can not define it biologically, emotionally, stereotypically. And if we try to define gender are we, by definition, casting people in roles they may not see themselves in?
As a woman who would rather wear jeans & flannel than whatever the latest style trends may be, as a woman who still has no idea really how to put on makeup and doesn't understand accessories (seriously, so much trouble and added expense for what exactly?), as a woman who would rather watch the Masters than HGTV and who prefers beer to wine… if I conform to some male stereotypes, would someone define me as less 'female' whether I thought so or not?
We have, as a society, long had names for men who liked fashion, gardening and gossip; from effeminate to metrosexual… are they really actually partly female?
Is there a spectrum of gender identity? And if so, does identifying our gender matter at all? Should we all strive to check an 'other' box when asked if we are male or female because we are proudly a mix of both stereotypical traits?
To hear some friends talk, women should no more be expected to want to raise their children than men and it is sexist to think so. Women should be on the front lines fighting in wars and their male counterparts should not feel more protective over them and, again, it would be sexist to think otherwise. Little girls are trained, not born, to like princesses and pink and it is our fault and our responsibility to change that.
Women should be considered equal to men in every single way possible from ability to opportunity. Absolutely no assumptions should be made about someone whatsoever based upon gender.
Don't buy girls dolls. Don't buy boys guns. Forget blue & pink aisles and if your son wants to wear nail polish, gift him a manicure.
All things, again, I have no problem with. Because my question is so much more basic.
What is gender? Can you define it without using biology, or social and cultural stereotype? Is that a good thing? Is that progress?
If we get to the point where there is no difference in how we define or treat the genders... If we reach that promised land where there are no stereotypes or assumptions whatsoever about gender… where everyone, essentially, is gender neutral because all factors -from names and baby clothing to toys and dance partners at cotillion- are equal and not pre-determined.
If we get to that place, where we cannot really define gender, how do we define transgender? Will we need to anymore? Will there be feminism? Will all sports be co-ed? What would co-ed mean?
In writing this, I can't help but wonder if I'm taking this to the ad-absurdum place… I don't mean to be. I wonder if that is the basis of some people's fear? If they fear we are heading to a place where confusion and ambiguity replaces structure and tradition.
For those people, I'd say, fear not. Meet some gay & transgender people. There is no conspiracy to rid the world of tradition. I'm pretty sure they just want to live their lives without fear of harassment and constant judgment.
But my question remains. How do you define gender?
Saturday, April 9, 2016
Friday, May 8, 2015
For my LTYM friends
The signs throughout the auditorium say, 'severe weather shelter.'
Tropical storm season approaches, so I'm glad of the structural soundness around me (especially when the stage starts shaking) but that's not why I can't stop looking at the signs.
I see the sign and I hear Bob Dylan, "Come in, she said, I'll give ya shelter from the storm."
We are each but tiny vessels in this ocean of motherhood. The ocean is vast with possibility and breathtaking beauty. But it is also unpredictable and can rock us ways we couldn't have imagined. And when storms come in this ocean, there seems to be no inherent shelter. Nothing can prepare us or protect us from the moments of anguish, helplessness and rawness in motherhood.
But I come into this place and I know, instinctively, inherently, something that women used to know when we lived tribally, when our men hunted or went off to war; we are each other's shelter.
I tell my small story of a bug bite and have friends say, "I couldn't have killed it," or "I wouldn't have been so calm." To which I answer, 'of course you would have, because motherhood kicks in.'
I believe that, but I hear your stories and wish I had Allison's joy, Mary's grace, Jen's faith, Glenna's compassion, Kerri's humor, Ann's resolve, KeAnne's wisdom, Laura's whole-hearted love, Erin's courage, Marty's insight, Alice's honesty and Beth's passion. No way I could be so amazing, creative, intuitive!
And yet I can see each of you telling me, of course you could.
Motherhood shows us sometimes in painful and stark ways that we are capable of much more than we could've dreamed. But somehow, somewhere along the way we forgot that we have umbrellas, islands, rudders, oars and sails in each other.
We come together and we are shelter, support, direction and strength for one another and for those that need to hear that they are not alone.
When we leave this auditorium, this severe storm shelter, after telling our stories for the last time together, I will never forget this vulnerable moment when you were all my shelter and support. I hope I remember all the strength I've gleaned from you and the lessons I've learned so I can move forward and be a shelter of compassion, understanding and love for everyone I encounter.
Tropical storm season approaches, so I'm glad of the structural soundness around me (especially when the stage starts shaking) but that's not why I can't stop looking at the signs.
I see the sign and I hear Bob Dylan, "Come in, she said, I'll give ya shelter from the storm."
We are each but tiny vessels in this ocean of motherhood. The ocean is vast with possibility and breathtaking beauty. But it is also unpredictable and can rock us ways we couldn't have imagined. And when storms come in this ocean, there seems to be no inherent shelter. Nothing can prepare us or protect us from the moments of anguish, helplessness and rawness in motherhood.
But I come into this place and I know, instinctively, inherently, something that women used to know when we lived tribally, when our men hunted or went off to war; we are each other's shelter.
I tell my small story of a bug bite and have friends say, "I couldn't have killed it," or "I wouldn't have been so calm." To which I answer, 'of course you would have, because motherhood kicks in.'
I believe that, but I hear your stories and wish I had Allison's joy, Mary's grace, Jen's faith, Glenna's compassion, Kerri's humor, Ann's resolve, KeAnne's wisdom, Laura's whole-hearted love, Erin's courage, Marty's insight, Alice's honesty and Beth's passion. No way I could be so amazing, creative, intuitive!
And yet I can see each of you telling me, of course you could.
Motherhood shows us sometimes in painful and stark ways that we are capable of much more than we could've dreamed. But somehow, somewhere along the way we forgot that we have umbrellas, islands, rudders, oars and sails in each other.
We come together and we are shelter, support, direction and strength for one another and for those that need to hear that they are not alone.
When we leave this auditorium, this severe storm shelter, after telling our stories for the last time together, I will never forget this vulnerable moment when you were all my shelter and support. I hope I remember all the strength I've gleaned from you and the lessons I've learned so I can move forward and be a shelter of compassion, understanding and love for everyone I encounter.
Thursday, April 23, 2015
Hold this moment.
Breathe in this moment
with all it's pain
and confusion.
The sadness can overwhelm
if you let it.
The anger can destroy you.
Cutting and Ripping
your sense of peace,
faith,
justice
to shreds.
Clenched fists
choked breaths
strangled heart.
But the grief and the anger
are not more powerful than love.
So just breathe in this moment
and know that peace will come.
Comfort will be given
and love will surround you.
Breathe in this moment
and see
with your heart
that there is still beauty
and hope
possible.
Profession of love
and reception of love
possible
in every single moment.
It is love that makes moments eternal.
And immortal.
Emotions, passions, events materialize and fade
moment by moment
but peace always comes
and understanding
is always given
in time.
So breathe.
Breathe
so deeply that you feel your lungs will burst
not from anger or sorrow.
but from the full realization of the gift of being present
and all that is possible
in this moment.
with all it's pain
and confusion.
The sadness can overwhelm
if you let it.
The anger can destroy you.
Cutting and Ripping
your sense of peace,
faith,
justice
to shreds.
Clenched fists
choked breaths
strangled heart.
But the grief and the anger
are not more powerful than love.
So just breathe in this moment
and know that peace will come.
Comfort will be given
and love will surround you.
Breathe in this moment
and see
with your heart
that there is still beauty
and hope
possible.
Profession of love
and reception of love
possible
in every single moment.
It is love that makes moments eternal.
And immortal.
Emotions, passions, events materialize and fade
moment by moment
but peace always comes
and understanding
is always given
in time.
So breathe.
Breathe
so deeply that you feel your lungs will burst
not from anger or sorrow.
but from the full realization of the gift of being present
and all that is possible
in this moment.
Saturday, March 28, 2015
A life that matters
In her 2006 Oscar Acceptance speech, Reese Witherspoon said:
As much as this struck me as a universal truth, the idea that we want our lives to matter, it also made me a little bit sad. Because there was the slight insinuation that now that she has an Oscar, her life may matter a little bit more because her name will be in the record books and she will be remembered.
Recently I put together a video montage of old photographs for our Gran-Gran's 100 year old birthday. I used the music of her youth and separated photos into segments of her life. I have to admit, I was pretty proud of it, but I in no way expected her response.
Sure, she thanked me and told me she loved it. But in the next breath, through tears, she shared a memory about cleaning out her mother's home. "There was a trunk at the end of her bed," she said, "it was filled with old photographs. But we didn't know who anybody was. We asked around but nobody knew and we ended up just throwing them away. Someone cared to take these pictures, and we just threw them away, like their lives didn't matter at all."
How long had she carried around the guilt of throwing photos away? How long had she feared that the same fate awaited the photos of her mother holding her as a baby, of her now deceased brother smiling next to her on the porch, of her now grown babies playing on a beach? How long had she equated these photos being lost to no longer mattering?
Somehow the simple act of switching these photos to a modern medium, of celebrating them together, relieved some of her fears.
That was not the response I was expecting, but it has stayed with me. Here is a woman who has lead an extraordinary life. She has raised a healthy and successful tight knit family that loves her and surrounds her constantly. She still, at 100, has a social life, a strong faith life, and her wits about her. I kind of figured that if you reach that point, you metaphorically raise your arms like you won the Boston Marathon and declare victory in life.
But her fear is no different than any of ours. Do I matter? Will my life, and everything that was important to me be remembered?
Everyone deserves to know just how much their life means to others.
Everyone deserves to know just how much their life matters.
Because it does. Our lives matter. The choices we make, the joy or anger we choose to spread, the roads we take. We are created. We are loved. We matter.
Sometimes it is harder to see. Sometimes we can feel ok about ourselves but see the loneliness all around us and determine that maybe there is nothing and no one looking out for us after all. We can get lost in Eleanor Rigby melancholy. All the lonely people… where do they all belong?
But it is in those moments that it is imperative we look out for one another. If you see someone that looks lonely, that is your prompting to let them know you see them. A wave, a smile, walking the newspaper to your elderly neighbor's door and handing it to them. We can not cure someone else's loneliness, but we can let them know that they are not alone.
In Shall We Dance, Susan Sarandon's character sums up marriage by saying it's most important function is to bear witness to someone else's life. "You're saying, 'your life will not go unnoticed because I will notice it. Your life will not go unwitnessed because I will be your witness."
In college, I went through a heavy depression. It was my roommate, (with whom I didn't really get along at the time) who helped pull me out with, maybe, an unconventional way.
"Seriously, Mandy, I'm sick of seeing you laying in bed. Get the hell up. I'm serious. I'm sick of it." And she wouldn't leave until I obeyed. That was the beginning of my healing.
We may not have been friends at the time but she saw me. She was giving witness to my life and it mattered to her. It pissed her off. …maybe not the mattering we are all looking for… but I realized my life was affecting hers. And by simply letting me know, she may have saved my life.
Countless times a day, we have the opportunity to affect other people's lives… to matter to them whether or not they realize it. But our opportunities to let people know how much they matter to us, feel few and far between.
Whether it's awkward or feels too sentimental, it is rare that we tell people that what they have done, that their friendship, that their life has forever become a part of you. How often we only think to tell them when it is too late. How often we must comfort friends with that very fear by saying, "I'm sure they knew how much you loved them. I'm sure they knew how much they mattered to you."
But that wondering is agony.
So I issue a challenge and a promise today.
I challenge you to tell people how much they mean to you. I challenge you to reach out to that friend you've lost touch with on Facebook and just send them a quick message letting them know that memories with them are still some of your favorites or that their friendship in a time when you maybe weren't at your best means the world to you.
And I promise that if ever for a moment you feel like your life doesn't matter, I will show you it does. I promise that if there is something you want to say to someone but aren't sure how, I can help you find the words. If you are going through a depression I will tell you that it pisses me off and you need to realize you matter, you are loved, and you can get through it.
I promise that if you think that no one else is, I will be a witness to your life and it will matter to me.
And if I am witness to your life, then my life matters too.
"people used to ask June how she was doing, and she used to say - 'I'm just trying to matter'. And I know what she means. You know, I'm just trying to matter…"
As much as this struck me as a universal truth, the idea that we want our lives to matter, it also made me a little bit sad. Because there was the slight insinuation that now that she has an Oscar, her life may matter a little bit more because her name will be in the record books and she will be remembered.
Recently I put together a video montage of old photographs for our Gran-Gran's 100 year old birthday. I used the music of her youth and separated photos into segments of her life. I have to admit, I was pretty proud of it, but I in no way expected her response.
Sure, she thanked me and told me she loved it. But in the next breath, through tears, she shared a memory about cleaning out her mother's home. "There was a trunk at the end of her bed," she said, "it was filled with old photographs. But we didn't know who anybody was. We asked around but nobody knew and we ended up just throwing them away. Someone cared to take these pictures, and we just threw them away, like their lives didn't matter at all."
How long had she carried around the guilt of throwing photos away? How long had she feared that the same fate awaited the photos of her mother holding her as a baby, of her now deceased brother smiling next to her on the porch, of her now grown babies playing on a beach? How long had she equated these photos being lost to no longer mattering?
Somehow the simple act of switching these photos to a modern medium, of celebrating them together, relieved some of her fears.
That was not the response I was expecting, but it has stayed with me. Here is a woman who has lead an extraordinary life. She has raised a healthy and successful tight knit family that loves her and surrounds her constantly. She still, at 100, has a social life, a strong faith life, and her wits about her. I kind of figured that if you reach that point, you metaphorically raise your arms like you won the Boston Marathon and declare victory in life.
But her fear is no different than any of ours. Do I matter? Will my life, and everything that was important to me be remembered?
Everyone deserves to know just how much their life means to others.
Everyone deserves to know just how much their life matters.
Because it does. Our lives matter. The choices we make, the joy or anger we choose to spread, the roads we take. We are created. We are loved. We matter.
Sometimes it is harder to see. Sometimes we can feel ok about ourselves but see the loneliness all around us and determine that maybe there is nothing and no one looking out for us after all. We can get lost in Eleanor Rigby melancholy. All the lonely people… where do they all belong?
But it is in those moments that it is imperative we look out for one another. If you see someone that looks lonely, that is your prompting to let them know you see them. A wave, a smile, walking the newspaper to your elderly neighbor's door and handing it to them. We can not cure someone else's loneliness, but we can let them know that they are not alone.
In Shall We Dance, Susan Sarandon's character sums up marriage by saying it's most important function is to bear witness to someone else's life. "You're saying, 'your life will not go unnoticed because I will notice it. Your life will not go unwitnessed because I will be your witness."
In college, I went through a heavy depression. It was my roommate, (with whom I didn't really get along at the time) who helped pull me out with, maybe, an unconventional way.
"Seriously, Mandy, I'm sick of seeing you laying in bed. Get the hell up. I'm serious. I'm sick of it." And she wouldn't leave until I obeyed. That was the beginning of my healing.
We may not have been friends at the time but she saw me. She was giving witness to my life and it mattered to her. It pissed her off. …maybe not the mattering we are all looking for… but I realized my life was affecting hers. And by simply letting me know, she may have saved my life.
Countless times a day, we have the opportunity to affect other people's lives… to matter to them whether or not they realize it. But our opportunities to let people know how much they matter to us, feel few and far between.
Whether it's awkward or feels too sentimental, it is rare that we tell people that what they have done, that their friendship, that their life has forever become a part of you. How often we only think to tell them when it is too late. How often we must comfort friends with that very fear by saying, "I'm sure they knew how much you loved them. I'm sure they knew how much they mattered to you."
But that wondering is agony.
So I issue a challenge and a promise today.
I challenge you to tell people how much they mean to you. I challenge you to reach out to that friend you've lost touch with on Facebook and just send them a quick message letting them know that memories with them are still some of your favorites or that their friendship in a time when you maybe weren't at your best means the world to you.
And I promise that if ever for a moment you feel like your life doesn't matter, I will show you it does. I promise that if there is something you want to say to someone but aren't sure how, I can help you find the words. If you are going through a depression I will tell you that it pisses me off and you need to realize you matter, you are loved, and you can get through it.
I promise that if you think that no one else is, I will be a witness to your life and it will matter to me.
And if I am witness to your life, then my life matters too.
Thursday, March 5, 2015
A Cold Day in the Bible Belt
Days like today make me want to read a little Jonathan Edwards. Because as I sit in a foul, wet-dog smelling mini-van in the midst of traffic on the way to carpool I think God must be angry after all.
We are helplessly being whipped from all directions by the cruel icy droplets of God’s wrath.
Every car around me shows the hunched shoulders and pulled face of a driver bone cold and wet. No one is singing. No one dances. This weather sucks.
The school’s population seems to have doubled as carpool lasts longer than the life of Cain.
Oh, and school might again be cancelled tomorrow. Because the ice cold rain might get colder and turn to ice. Oh what wickedness hath brought this torment?
We arrive home grumbling though unscathed. There is wine in the refrigerator, but it must sit unsipped still as dance practice looms.
“Do your homework,” I tell the children. I try to find something uplifting on Facebook.
I fail.
Look at these murders committed by children.
My whole family is vomiting, I think we are all going to die.
Parents are calling 911 on each other because people freaking suck and would rather turn you in than watch out for your kid for two seconds.
But don’t get sucked into that ‘Free Range’ world, because here are a couple stories about kids that died when the parents looked away for two seconds.
“Mom, Can I have an afternoon snack?”
“I so do not care.”
The child stares at me confused. “Wait, what? So, I can have anything?”
“I do not...” -oh yeah, I’m not supposed to let my inner monologue parent-
(more chipper this time) “Um! SURE! Sweetheart!! Have something healthy though!! Can I make something for you? Apple? Orange? Shamrock shaped spinach roles?”
He still stares. I think I overcompensated.
He takes an apple from the counter and slowly backs away.
It is cold and wet and sucky and my house smells of wet dog. It's only afternoon and yet the outside is blackening. The darkness is a gluttonous traveler, slowly eating and sucking away the light as it descends upon our home.
Even the wine couldn’t help me now.
The journeyman and his chilling clouds have permeated the windows and doors and are threatening to possess us all. Entering through our eyes and nostrils, the darkness will fill our minds, break our spirits and freeze our souls. God has unleashed the Evil One, surely there is no salvation left.
I hold my hands before me and scream to the cold(in my best Scarlet O’Hara accent):
“GET BACK SATAN! COME TO ME, MY CHILDREN FOR WE MUST REPENT! SURELY HELL IS UPON US!!”
I notice my daughter has taken my cell phone. She is calling their father. That is probably a good move.
I open my wine.
That is also a good move.
Jonathan Edwards was a Yankee the wine tells me. God is happy.
And the South will rise again.
Monday, February 16, 2015
Allow myself to introduce… myself… again
Hi!
You look amazing today!
If you are new to views from a pier, you are likely coming from the LTYM-RDU home page, thank you for stopping by! For those who have been around, I am excited to announce that I am part of the 2015 Raleigh-Durham Listen To Your Mother cast!
I am thrilled beyond compare to be part of a venue that cherishes storytelling and motherhood. For as long as I can remember, I have wanted to be a mom and I have wanted to be a writer.
So clearly, it is a dream come true to be able to share a story I have written about motherhood in the company of this 2015 cast.
At this blog, I try to touch on faith, family, and occasional current events. I hope to make you smile and I often flirt with irreverence.
I don't try to change minds but when I touch on political or hot button topics, I do try to start conversations. I love learning from other people's point of views and I hope to occasionally offer a new perspective.
As a way of introducing myself to anyone new, I've pulled one from the archives to stick with the mothering theme.
I hope you enjoy, and I hope you check back often! :)
Thanks,
-mandy
LETTER TO A PROSPECTIVE EMPLOYER… From a skilled Mom.
Today I dropped off my youngest child at preschool. He will only be away for about 5 hours total in any given week. But the moment I left the school I realized that for the first time in almost 8 years, there will be regularly scheduled times that I will be alone.
Was I sad to leave my baby behind? Sure. But the overwhelming feeling was one that I had felt before... close to my college graduation. I had to answer a question I hadn’t even had time to ask myself in close to a decade... what am I going to do with my life?
So, knowing my resume-with an 8 year gap in employment- may be less than impressive, I took time to work on my cover letter. What do you think?
Dear Prospective Employer,
Though I may not have the advanced degree or computer acumen of many of my competitors. And, though I most likely require a more flexible schedule and more pay as well, I believe I have some unique skills that my co-applicants may not.
For example,
I can catch vomit in my bare hands and carry both it and a child 30 feet without spilling a drop.
Why would this help you? What this illustrates is that I have come to a point in my life where I have close to zero self regard and remarkable problem solving skills. When an issue arises at the office, many may try to shy away. But I will run at the problem and carry that proverbial barf and your company’s good name to safety.
Next, I have a keen sense of smell illustrated by the fact that I can detect accurately who hath ‘dealt it’ between at least four humans and two dogs.
Again, you may ask, other than as a party trick, how does this help? Not only in midcheek expulsions, but in all parts of life I have learned to handle and assign culpability with tact and grace. No one wants to be the 'smelt it' tattle tale so to speak, but when someone is around that can spot and handle the guilty party, no matter the crime, with the noblest of ease, parties are more likely to hold themselves accountable and much office shenanigans cease before they can escalate.
Last, I am virtually unflappable. I have literally been shit on while in the middle of a budgeting phone conversation and checking myself out at a grocery store. I did not stutter in word nor operation. Whatever crisis arise, I will stay calm, collected and dedicated.
Though you may take pause at the year of my last official employment, I hope you will not forget that in addition to the skills I have already outlined, my ‘off the job’ training also made me proficient in multi-tasking, conflict resolution, and lego extraction.
Oh, and apparently, my lips have taken on a Christ-like quality in that they can relieve suffering and take away the boo-boos. Frankly, if you don’t want a Jesus lipped vomit catcher, I fear for the future of your company.
I look forward to hearing from you.
Warmest Regards,
-M
Thursday, March 27, 2014
The next time a baker turns down your business...
I got myself into a little bit of trouble recently.
shocker, I know.
I inserted myself into a conversation about the several states considering laws similar to the one Arizona recently vetoed regarding whether businesses may or may not refuse a customer on religious ground.
And though I agree with Governor Brewer vetoing Senate Bill 1062, I stated that I also disagreed with the supreme court ruling that a baker must bake a wedding cake for a gay couple though he is religiously opposed to gay marriage. In fact, the moment I read about the case of the 'cake nazi' so dubbed by many blog enthusiasts, I knew that if he loses his case, surely there will be a pushback.
The Arizona law and laws like it are precisely that pushback. Where do the freedom and control of the customer end and the freedom and control of the business begin? But these are things that have been debated ad nauseam so, instead of further blathering on about it, I'd just like to say what I wish had happened in the baker case.
We're going to call the couple inquiring about the cake Joe & Joe so I don't have to determine which of them is talking in the following imaginary conversation, since it doesn't really matter. The part of the baker will be played by 'Baker.'
Joe: Hi! You make beautiful cakes! We'd love to look at some options for our wedding.
Baker: Sure... wait, is it for you two?
Joe: Yes.
Baker: Well, gosh. Let me pray on it a moment. Nope, I'm sorry, I can not make you a wedding cake. I can make you any other kind of cake, just not a wedding one. Can I interest you in a scone or a fruitcake? I mean, cupcake... sorry that just kind of slipped.
Joe: Well, I have to tell you, I'm real disappointed to hear that. And though I'm sure your cupcakes are fabulous, we were here specifically for a wedding cake. I can see you clearly have your convictions, but since I'm feeling kind of embarrassed and frustrated in front of my fiance here, I hope you'll do me the solid of hearing me out for just a moment.
Baker: well.. I'm not going to change my mind but go on ahead.
Joe: Thanks. You see, I'm a Christian as well. And though I understand you may not accept my particular brand of Christianity, that's ok, you can probably guess that I have a hard time accepting yours. You see, I've heard a lot of genuine concern regarding Sodom and God's destruction of the town and how that was pretty clearly related to Sodomy. Except when I read the passage about Lot protecting the two visiting angels by saying, "please guys, don't rape the angels, I have two virgin daughters, I'll bring them out here for you... rape them, not the angels." Well, I have a hard time thinking that consensual penis penetration was the real sin there... you know? I kind of stumble over the raping of angels and a dad offering his daughters to a pack of rapists.
And I know there are some other places that condemn homosexuality... but there were a lot of rules on how to live back then in order to continue the species. And they probably figured out that 'man laying with man as he does with woman' doesn't produce babies, so if populous is what they want, it makes sense to make heterosexual sex the law of the land for the time.
And also, Jesus kind of came along and said in his sermon on the mount to kind of toss what we thought we knew out the window and focus on loving one another and kindness. At least that's what I took out of the 'love your neighbor as yourself,' thing.
Last, let's say that, as I've heard argued... you agree that 'being gay' isn't a sin, but 'having gay sex,' is a sin. Well, from all I've heard from my married friends, your sex life diminishes rapidly after marriage so... shouldn't Christians trying to save us from ourselves encourage us to all marry one another? If the anecdotal evidence holds up... as gay marriage increases, gay sex will decrease!
Really though, I want you to know that I love this man standing beside me fully, purely and truly. He makes me happy and he makes me a better man. Joe and I can feel, bring and share more joy with this world together than we possibly could apart. Couldn't this world use a little more joy?
I'm sorry you will not bake our cake as you are a beautiful artist which is what brought us here in the first place, but I respect your strong beliefs.
And I hope that you remember Joe and me and how we respected your right to run your business as you wish if you ever find yourself in the place of casting a vote determining whether you should determine how I run my life.
*respectful handshakes all around*
shocker, I know.
I inserted myself into a conversation about the several states considering laws similar to the one Arizona recently vetoed regarding whether businesses may or may not refuse a customer on religious ground.
And though I agree with Governor Brewer vetoing Senate Bill 1062, I stated that I also disagreed with the supreme court ruling that a baker must bake a wedding cake for a gay couple though he is religiously opposed to gay marriage. In fact, the moment I read about the case of the 'cake nazi' so dubbed by many blog enthusiasts, I knew that if he loses his case, surely there will be a pushback.
The Arizona law and laws like it are precisely that pushback. Where do the freedom and control of the customer end and the freedom and control of the business begin? But these are things that have been debated ad nauseam so, instead of further blathering on about it, I'd just like to say what I wish had happened in the baker case.
We're going to call the couple inquiring about the cake Joe & Joe so I don't have to determine which of them is talking in the following imaginary conversation, since it doesn't really matter. The part of the baker will be played by 'Baker.'
Joe: Hi! You make beautiful cakes! We'd love to look at some options for our wedding.
Baker: Sure... wait, is it for you two?
Joe: Yes.
Baker: Well, gosh. Let me pray on it a moment. Nope, I'm sorry, I can not make you a wedding cake. I can make you any other kind of cake, just not a wedding one. Can I interest you in a scone or a fruitcake? I mean, cupcake... sorry that just kind of slipped.
Joe: Well, I have to tell you, I'm real disappointed to hear that. And though I'm sure your cupcakes are fabulous, we were here specifically for a wedding cake. I can see you clearly have your convictions, but since I'm feeling kind of embarrassed and frustrated in front of my fiance here, I hope you'll do me the solid of hearing me out for just a moment.
Baker: well.. I'm not going to change my mind but go on ahead.
Joe: Thanks. You see, I'm a Christian as well. And though I understand you may not accept my particular brand of Christianity, that's ok, you can probably guess that I have a hard time accepting yours. You see, I've heard a lot of genuine concern regarding Sodom and God's destruction of the town and how that was pretty clearly related to Sodomy. Except when I read the passage about Lot protecting the two visiting angels by saying, "please guys, don't rape the angels, I have two virgin daughters, I'll bring them out here for you... rape them, not the angels." Well, I have a hard time thinking that consensual penis penetration was the real sin there... you know? I kind of stumble over the raping of angels and a dad offering his daughters to a pack of rapists.
And I know there are some other places that condemn homosexuality... but there were a lot of rules on how to live back then in order to continue the species. And they probably figured out that 'man laying with man as he does with woman' doesn't produce babies, so if populous is what they want, it makes sense to make heterosexual sex the law of the land for the time.
And also, Jesus kind of came along and said in his sermon on the mount to kind of toss what we thought we knew out the window and focus on loving one another and kindness. At least that's what I took out of the 'love your neighbor as yourself,' thing.
Last, let's say that, as I've heard argued... you agree that 'being gay' isn't a sin, but 'having gay sex,' is a sin. Well, from all I've heard from my married friends, your sex life diminishes rapidly after marriage so... shouldn't Christians trying to save us from ourselves encourage us to all marry one another? If the anecdotal evidence holds up... as gay marriage increases, gay sex will decrease!
Really though, I want you to know that I love this man standing beside me fully, purely and truly. He makes me happy and he makes me a better man. Joe and I can feel, bring and share more joy with this world together than we possibly could apart. Couldn't this world use a little more joy?
I'm sorry you will not bake our cake as you are a beautiful artist which is what brought us here in the first place, but I respect your strong beliefs.
And I hope that you remember Joe and me and how we respected your right to run your business as you wish if you ever find yourself in the place of casting a vote determining whether you should determine how I run my life.
*respectful handshakes all around*
Friday, March 14, 2014
A joke from my 4yr old to his 6yr old brother yesterday:
J: Knock knock
B: Who's there?
J: Why did the chicken... ummm chicken!
B: Why did the chicken chicken who?
J: ummm because he needed to get to the other side of the school to ride the slide because that was where the playground was!!!!
B: (politely) I'm sorry I don't really get it.
At which point I start laughing, which gets my daughter giggling and soon the whole car is cracking up.
Sometimes we all get things a little mixed up.
In two days we will celebrate St. Patrick who used a shamrock to explain the incredibly confusing 3 Gods/ 1 God stance the Catholic religion had settled upon.
And though I believe in the sacredness, I will never again be able to do the sign of the cross upon myself without giggling just a little because of another mix up by my youngest.
I was brushing my teeth when he, at around 2 and 1/2 rushed in ready to get a sibling in trouble.
Clutching his left shoulder he cried, "MOMMM MOMMY!! Em hit me on my Holy... or on my Spirit... which one is this one?" It took me a moment to realize that the poor third child was quite possibly never taught the word 'shoulder.' He was not inundated with Elmo body cartoons nor lulled to sleep by 'my body' books like his siblings. He jumped right into My Little Pony and Star Wars and they didn't cover the basics. So after years of prayers at meals and bedtime, he logically assumed that one shoulder was called a 'Holy' and the other, 'Spirit,' and that for some reason we named them before prayer. I can't imagine how his little brain was computing that his forehead was also his Father...
And speaking of the Father...
My hubby and I were doing a little Muppets swedish chef impersonation (he was the body and voice, I was the arms) for my children's entertainment. His accent was dead on... my arm acting could've used some work. We, comically by my personal opinion, went through a routine of getting the dogs to do their tricks and rewarding them with ham all in the style of swedish chef to the delight of the youngens. At the end of it, my middle child giggled and dashed out of the room exclaiming, 'OMG.'
Before I could correct, discipline or admonish... as I've heard that Christian parents should be quick to do as the basis of OMG violates the commandments, the youngest asked, "OMG, what does that spell?"
And without missing a beat, the middle child said, 'Omg.' Yes, he said something like ummgaa. and continued to say, "I don't really know the word, but I think it means like, wow, or something like that because people seem to say it a lot when they see something crazy."
After much more laughter than our swedish chef routine got... my daughter corrected them, "O.M.G. It stands for Oh My Goodness."
"ohhhh," they both echoed. Followed quickly, of course, by "Jinx! Stop Jinx 123456..."
In each and every one of these situations... the kid was wrong, or mixed up about something. But, never in my wildest dreams would I think to be angry about it. They were using knowledge and words and context clues and trying to piece things together as best they could given the limited understanding they had at the time. Seeing them trying so hard to recreate humor, to accept what what we had presented them as fact, and extrapolate from basic grammar rules was fantastic and beautiful and fun.
In many groups of adults, I can correctly assume ahead of time what their stance or belief on things are... sometimes even their exact words before they say them. We keep repeating and contradicting one another, but we have a hard time accepting that we all may be mixing things up a little.
And though all that seems obvious in politics... it is true too in religion... even and especially in the religion of atheism.
Not many seem to be willing to admit that there is a really really good chance they've got it all mixed up.
My journey with religion has been pretty open and present on these pages and though I've certainly embraced faith more, it is clear I'm constantly struggling. In thinking about how silly it would be to get angry at my children for making mistakes with good intentions, I kind of hope that is how God sees me and all of us as we muddle through religion. Comically misunderstanding and yelling and misquoting as we go. All with good intentions. All just wrong. Really really absolutely and ineptly able to understand, wrong.
And whether or not that is true of God, maybe we should try to see each other with more forgiving eyes.
Because even though I think every single human has God wrong on some level or another... I believe that if we love, forgive and accept each other's ineptness... we come a little closer to understanding the greater picture.
Maybe even as close as my youngest did on his next joke attempt:
J: Knock knock
B: Who's there
J: Banana
B: Banana who?
J: The banana was running because someone ate his apple friend!! Oh WAIT He SPLIT!! Get it? I'm a banana split AAAA Stop eating my apple friend... haha... Wait, what was I saying?
J: Knock knock
B: Who's there?
J: Why did the chicken... ummm chicken!
B: Why did the chicken chicken who?
J: ummm because he needed to get to the other side of the school to ride the slide because that was where the playground was!!!!
B: (politely) I'm sorry I don't really get it.
At which point I start laughing, which gets my daughter giggling and soon the whole car is cracking up.
Sometimes we all get things a little mixed up.
In two days we will celebrate St. Patrick who used a shamrock to explain the incredibly confusing 3 Gods/ 1 God stance the Catholic religion had settled upon.
And though I believe in the sacredness, I will never again be able to do the sign of the cross upon myself without giggling just a little because of another mix up by my youngest.
I was brushing my teeth when he, at around 2 and 1/2 rushed in ready to get a sibling in trouble.
Clutching his left shoulder he cried, "MOMMM MOMMY!! Em hit me on my Holy... or on my Spirit... which one is this one?" It took me a moment to realize that the poor third child was quite possibly never taught the word 'shoulder.' He was not inundated with Elmo body cartoons nor lulled to sleep by 'my body' books like his siblings. He jumped right into My Little Pony and Star Wars and they didn't cover the basics. So after years of prayers at meals and bedtime, he logically assumed that one shoulder was called a 'Holy' and the other, 'Spirit,' and that for some reason we named them before prayer. I can't imagine how his little brain was computing that his forehead was also his Father...
And speaking of the Father...
My hubby and I were doing a little Muppets swedish chef impersonation (he was the body and voice, I was the arms) for my children's entertainment. His accent was dead on... my arm acting could've used some work. We, comically by my personal opinion, went through a routine of getting the dogs to do their tricks and rewarding them with ham all in the style of swedish chef to the delight of the youngens. At the end of it, my middle child giggled and dashed out of the room exclaiming, 'OMG.'
Before I could correct, discipline or admonish... as I've heard that Christian parents should be quick to do as the basis of OMG violates the commandments, the youngest asked, "OMG, what does that spell?"
And without missing a beat, the middle child said, 'Omg.' Yes, he said something like ummgaa. and continued to say, "I don't really know the word, but I think it means like, wow, or something like that because people seem to say it a lot when they see something crazy."
After much more laughter than our swedish chef routine got... my daughter corrected them, "O.M.G. It stands for Oh My Goodness."
"ohhhh," they both echoed. Followed quickly, of course, by "Jinx! Stop Jinx 123456..."
In each and every one of these situations... the kid was wrong, or mixed up about something. But, never in my wildest dreams would I think to be angry about it. They were using knowledge and words and context clues and trying to piece things together as best they could given the limited understanding they had at the time. Seeing them trying so hard to recreate humor, to accept what what we had presented them as fact, and extrapolate from basic grammar rules was fantastic and beautiful and fun.
In many groups of adults, I can correctly assume ahead of time what their stance or belief on things are... sometimes even their exact words before they say them. We keep repeating and contradicting one another, but we have a hard time accepting that we all may be mixing things up a little.
And though all that seems obvious in politics... it is true too in religion... even and especially in the religion of atheism.
Not many seem to be willing to admit that there is a really really good chance they've got it all mixed up.
My journey with religion has been pretty open and present on these pages and though I've certainly embraced faith more, it is clear I'm constantly struggling. In thinking about how silly it would be to get angry at my children for making mistakes with good intentions, I kind of hope that is how God sees me and all of us as we muddle through religion. Comically misunderstanding and yelling and misquoting as we go. All with good intentions. All just wrong. Really really absolutely and ineptly able to understand, wrong.
And whether or not that is true of God, maybe we should try to see each other with more forgiving eyes.
Because even though I think every single human has God wrong on some level or another... I believe that if we love, forgive and accept each other's ineptness... we come a little closer to understanding the greater picture.
Maybe even as close as my youngest did on his next joke attempt:
J: Knock knock
B: Who's there
J: Banana
B: Banana who?
J: The banana was running because someone ate his apple friend!! Oh WAIT He SPLIT!! Get it? I'm a banana split AAAA Stop eating my apple friend... haha... Wait, what was I saying?
Wednesday, February 26, 2014
Last year we were riding home from the park when I saw him waiting near the stop light with his handwritten cardboard sign.
With my kids in the car, I hoped to either make it through the light or get stopped far enough back that we wouldn't be confronted head on with the uncomfortable situation.
Nope. Instead, we were stopped at the primo spot. The gentleman was just outside our window.
"Mom, what does that sign say?" asked my son.
"It says, 'Jobless and hungry please help," quickly responded my daughter.
"MOM!" they both implored me.
"Guys, I don't have any money," which was true, but there in my passenger seat were the snacks I had packed for the kids that we didn't eat at the park. It was just some apples and juice boxes... but it was something.
I rolled down the passenger window and he walked over respectfully.
"I don't have any money, but I have these if you'd like them."
I was nervous because I had heard stories of food being thrown back at the driver in disgust. But he accepted them gratefully, thanking us five times as he walked away.
At which point my 5 year old middle child took it upon himself to roll down his own window. "Hey! Do you need a place to stay? We have a great house!!"
"Bean," I hissed terrified. But the guy heard, and with a smile said, "Oh, no I've got somewhere thanks..."
I smiled gratefully to the gentleman and hurriedly rolled up the window before my little man could finish his next sentence, "well, if you change your mind we live at.... " (damn those preschool teachers for making him memorize his address.)
Sigh. Well, several months and several stranger danger lectures later, I was reminded of this story as I waited to have confession. The priest was running late and the chapel was completely locked down and in the middle of nowhere. It was a pretty day though so I thought I could easily take that time to pray and meditate on what it was I needed to talk about.
Which would have been great, if my bladder were not tipping point full. I had a glass of water, a kale-berry smoothie (my own recipe) and two cups of coffee that morning. I had to pee so bad my knees hurt. I had to pee so badly I could taste it. Seriously, I thought I was going to explode.
I didn't want to leave, because the closest fast food restaurant or gas station was a ways away and surely he would be there any minute.
I tried to pray the pee away and meditate on the rosary, but I kept messing it up saying, "hail mary, full of pee..." so I decided I shouldn't do that anymore. It was so bad I took a little lap around the building checking to see if there was any place that popping a squat outside a chapel could be acceptable.
I saw the whole thing in my head, pants down, peeing on the chapel wall when the priest walked up, "Don't worry! I'll confess this too!!"
But all options seemingly gone, I took to asking God, because I assumed, like usual, this was actually part of His plan somehow. So praying for the priest to come, praying for my bladder to grow, praying for a quick fix didn't work. So instead I prayed to understand.
"Should I not be at confession? Am I about to talk about the wrong thing? Is there something I'm not realizing I need to talk about?"
"You know," I went on, "It's really hard to pray and hear you when I have to pee so bad."
And there it was. I got out my pen and let it scratch across my journal.
It is hard to pray when you have to pee so bad. If that is the case, I'd imagine, it would be hard to really pray if you are hungry, if you thirst, if you are sick, in pain, lonely or discouraged. If your physical body is not cared for it can be nearly impossible to be able to let go of worrying about 'earthly things,' and turn inward for peace and wisdom.
We quibble at times about the importance of caring for the body vs. caring for the soul. Some churches like to focus on charity while others on evangelization. And, while both are important. In that moment, I knew that for me, someone could speak redemption to me until they're blue in the face but if I were hungry, I couldn't take that message inward where it could bear any fruit.
We may not be able to change someone's minds or beliefs, but we can help in any way we can to take care of one another so that they have the opportunity to find the goodness in themselves.
So obvious, so commonly taught, but it struck a chord for me. And I realized how obvious that idea is for children. How obvious it was to Bean that if this guy is hungry... he might also need a comfortable bed, and how he could provide it. But as we get older, in the midst of fear and worry, we forget the importance of trying to take care of each other even in the simplest of ways.
And the moment I put down my pen and asked, "is that what you were trying to get me to focus on, God?" I heard a voice.
"I'm sorry I'm late... was running errands with another priest."
For the last small moment I had forgotten about how much pain I was in, but when I looked into the kind eyes of the apologetic priest what I meant to say was, "no worries at all! God used the time well."
Instead I said, "Oh Lord, where is your restroom I'm about to burst... Sorry, I'll confess that."
thanks for reading,
-m
With my kids in the car, I hoped to either make it through the light or get stopped far enough back that we wouldn't be confronted head on with the uncomfortable situation.
Nope. Instead, we were stopped at the primo spot. The gentleman was just outside our window.
"Mom, what does that sign say?" asked my son.
"It says, 'Jobless and hungry please help," quickly responded my daughter.
"MOM!" they both implored me.
"Guys, I don't have any money," which was true, but there in my passenger seat were the snacks I had packed for the kids that we didn't eat at the park. It was just some apples and juice boxes... but it was something.
I rolled down the passenger window and he walked over respectfully.
"I don't have any money, but I have these if you'd like them."
I was nervous because I had heard stories of food being thrown back at the driver in disgust. But he accepted them gratefully, thanking us five times as he walked away.
At which point my 5 year old middle child took it upon himself to roll down his own window. "Hey! Do you need a place to stay? We have a great house!!"
"Bean," I hissed terrified. But the guy heard, and with a smile said, "Oh, no I've got somewhere thanks..."
I smiled gratefully to the gentleman and hurriedly rolled up the window before my little man could finish his next sentence, "well, if you change your mind we live at.... " (damn those preschool teachers for making him memorize his address.)
Sigh. Well, several months and several stranger danger lectures later, I was reminded of this story as I waited to have confession. The priest was running late and the chapel was completely locked down and in the middle of nowhere. It was a pretty day though so I thought I could easily take that time to pray and meditate on what it was I needed to talk about.
Which would have been great, if my bladder were not tipping point full. I had a glass of water, a kale-berry smoothie (my own recipe) and two cups of coffee that morning. I had to pee so bad my knees hurt. I had to pee so badly I could taste it. Seriously, I thought I was going to explode.
I didn't want to leave, because the closest fast food restaurant or gas station was a ways away and surely he would be there any minute.
I tried to pray the pee away and meditate on the rosary, but I kept messing it up saying, "hail mary, full of pee..." so I decided I shouldn't do that anymore. It was so bad I took a little lap around the building checking to see if there was any place that popping a squat outside a chapel could be acceptable.
I saw the whole thing in my head, pants down, peeing on the chapel wall when the priest walked up, "Don't worry! I'll confess this too!!"
But all options seemingly gone, I took to asking God, because I assumed, like usual, this was actually part of His plan somehow. So praying for the priest to come, praying for my bladder to grow, praying for a quick fix didn't work. So instead I prayed to understand.
"Should I not be at confession? Am I about to talk about the wrong thing? Is there something I'm not realizing I need to talk about?"
"You know," I went on, "It's really hard to pray and hear you when I have to pee so bad."
And there it was. I got out my pen and let it scratch across my journal.
It is hard to pray when you have to pee so bad. If that is the case, I'd imagine, it would be hard to really pray if you are hungry, if you thirst, if you are sick, in pain, lonely or discouraged. If your physical body is not cared for it can be nearly impossible to be able to let go of worrying about 'earthly things,' and turn inward for peace and wisdom.
We quibble at times about the importance of caring for the body vs. caring for the soul. Some churches like to focus on charity while others on evangelization. And, while both are important. In that moment, I knew that for me, someone could speak redemption to me until they're blue in the face but if I were hungry, I couldn't take that message inward where it could bear any fruit.
We may not be able to change someone's minds or beliefs, but we can help in any way we can to take care of one another so that they have the opportunity to find the goodness in themselves.
So obvious, so commonly taught, but it struck a chord for me. And I realized how obvious that idea is for children. How obvious it was to Bean that if this guy is hungry... he might also need a comfortable bed, and how he could provide it. But as we get older, in the midst of fear and worry, we forget the importance of trying to take care of each other even in the simplest of ways.
And the moment I put down my pen and asked, "is that what you were trying to get me to focus on, God?" I heard a voice.
"I'm sorry I'm late... was running errands with another priest."
For the last small moment I had forgotten about how much pain I was in, but when I looked into the kind eyes of the apologetic priest what I meant to say was, "no worries at all! God used the time well."
Instead I said, "Oh Lord, where is your restroom I'm about to burst... Sorry, I'll confess that."
thanks for reading,
-m
Thursday, January 16, 2014
Miley the Baptist
The Lord works in mysterious ways...
that is what we’ve been told.
The King of Kings born to a carpenter and his wife in a stable; tax collectors and tyrants reformed to become some of the greatest visionaries of the church; N'SYNC, 98º and Backstreet all reuniting in the same year... Our mind cannot begin to comprehend the ways of our Creator.
But I think I’m on to Him... if in just this one thing.
Miley Cyrus is the new John the Baptist.
‘What?’ you may be crying, ‘but she does not have a beard!’
Like I said, the Lord works mysteriously... the differences between them go even further than facial hair, but this does not shake my theory. Allow me to explain.
John, the second cousin of Jesus, was a charismatic and holy man. So much so that many thought that he himself was Christ. In a time of little knowledge and great longing for God, John brought a message of hope. Repent! The time is nigh! People sought God, they found a messenger who told them to make their hearts ready. The message had to be loud, earnest, given plainly and by someone who modeled the behavior they were meant to adopt.
Now, you don’t think God would do things the exact same today do you? We live in a time of too much information. Knowledge can spread around the world in a matter of moments. Not only do we know important information from countries around the globe, we also know how often all of our friends have worked out that week and what they had for lunch. And in that vein, religious information is shared prodigiously. So many people in various ways are daily giving a message of hope/doom/repent/I’m better than you because I share religious posts instead of cat videos, that we almost reflexively tune it out.
So, the message had to be subtle, almost to the point of being undetectable and it had to come from a place where people were definitively not looking for it and where it could reach the most lost. And are not those of us still watching the VMA’s certainly the lostest?
Behold, Miley.
I did not see right away. Like much of America I was watching in stunned silence as she arhythmically gyrated up and down the stage. Strange, I thought, Awful, I groaned, is this what our country has come to, I questioned.
And then I turned the television off and didn’t think much more on it.
Time passed. Her twitter following grew. Her critics jeered and threw stones while her fans waited in rapt silence for what she was to do next. Still I did not fully see.
Upon seeing the VMA’s I lamented the breakdown of another young girl in the public eye. I presumed an awkward desperate attempt at redemption and then news of a stint at rehab. But inexplicably to me, her popularity indeed grew. She was nominated for awards, she was invited to perform live at the AMA’s, on morning talk shows and for the biggest party of the year in NYC.
And it was then, on New Year’s, that I understood. There, an exalted Miley stood draped in a white fur robe fit for Solomon when the ball dropped in Times Square. It was as though she herself were ushering in the new age.
"2013 was the best year and the VMA's were the highlight," she said to the poor man's Dick Clark.
She went upon a stage, humped a foam finger, fondled a married Beetlejuice look-alike, and placed her face in the ass of a taller than average exotic dancer and just as she predicted... she became a hero.
 |
| Miley and dancers with teddy bears upon their backs clearly a symbol for the crosses we all 'bear.' |
This time John the Baptist wouldn’t tell us what we need to do. This time, John would just hold a ginormous mirror to where we are right now.
‘Can you see?’ the robed Miley seemed to say through the television. ‘Do you see what you adore?’
“Holy crap.” I responded.
"Yes, it is," she seemed to say, "It is crap. The music, television, dancing all of it, terrible crap. Holy in that it is designed specifically to be so bad that you are forced to question what you are doing with your life if you are spending time on it.”
As I pondered this surprising holy purpose, forcing people to take a hard look at their lives, I came across the lyrics of her newest song.
“Baby, can you hear me? When I’m crying out for you?
I’m scared oh, so scared.
But when you’re near me oh oh
I feel like I’m standing with an army
of men armed with weapons, hey, oh.”
For a moment I thought I was reading the book of psalms. In the video, she is suckling her fingers whilst writhing half-naked alone in bed, I assume it is to illustrate the loneliness and mortification of living a life outside Biblical teaching.
So I want to take this moment to say thank you to the Bangerz artist. Thank you for making me even more grateful for being a thirty-something wife and mom. Thank you for purposefully making drugs and promiscuity and fame look so dirty that upon witnessing a performance or video, people feel a sudden need for cleansing waters.
Thank you Miley. I see the burden you bear for us all.
Thank you Miley. I see the burden you bear for us all.
ps. thank you also for the cat singing performance. it was amazeballs.
Wednesday, January 1, 2014
One Resolution
A few months ago I found a notebook while cleaning out a dresser drawer. Flipping through it I found the highly motivated ramblings of a mother in her late 20s.
What struck me was this. I will never be perfect enough for people I try desperately to please, and in continuing to strive for approval from some, I am taking for granted the love given to me freely by the people who like me just the way I am.
This year, it boldly proclaimed, would be the year of all years. Permanent changes for the good!! I will lose weight!! Eat naturally and get a flat belly! I will write more! I will remember birthdays and occasions and keep in touch with friends and family. I will get up earlier, exercise more, drink less, listen more, read a book a week, keep a stricter budget, clip coupons, organize a craft with my kids everyday and keep an up-to-date scrapbook. I will be supermodel, super mom, start a business and get my doctorate! I will finally achieve all I can be!
Ok, I might be paraphrasing... But not much. And the sad thing is that it really didn't strike me that my resolutions were about to be exactly the same this year. Because this year, see, would be different. I had a plan and a quippy title for my cover page in my new notebook. In fact, here is what the first page would’ve looked like:
2014: The Year of AcCOUNTabliity
Counting words, calories and pennies to achieve ultimate personhood.
Goals: To be thinner, with a finished manuscript, and a perfectly balanced budget with no waste.
Plan of Action: I will keep a daily journal that details our home budget, my calorie intake vs. calorie burned, and my written word count.
Honestly, that plan would’ve lasted until maybe the 10th... hour of January 1st.
But regardless of old journals filled with the same goals, regardless of it being doomed to fail,regardless of filling the pages a year from now with the same words and ideas, I was set to try it all again.
At least I was until something quite extraordinary struck me. Something that may seem depressing... that was actually incredibly freeing. Kind of like Miranda from Sex & the City learning the phrase, ‘he’s just not that into you.’
And trust me, I am not writing this as a plea for help or compliments or pity... I write this because I know I'm not alone and If you’re like me, if you’ve spent hours and days and years trying to get that one person or that one group to like you or accept you or look up to you... I hope you join me in my resolution for next year... My only resolution.
It is incredibly difficult in its simplicity. You see, it doesn't involve counting anything. It doesn't involve a reward or punishment system. And it definitely does not involve a pudgy naked picture with a strategically placed laptop with the promise of an end of year skinny naked picture with a strategically placed manuscript... Not that I would ever think to do that.. Not sure where that came from... I think I heard that was my sister's plan... She’s weird. Ahem.
Anyway my resolution for this year comes from a book by Gregory Boyle. In his lifelong ministry of showing compassion to those on the outskirts of society, he finds himself in a constant state of telling people that yes they, even they, are loved and accepted by God.
He writes, “Recognizing that we are wholly acceptable is God’s own truth for us - waiting to be discovered.”
This year, I have one resolution. To come closer to believing that I am wholly acceptable by God. I am ok, I am loved and I am accepted.
I think of how I stop my children from having too much candy because I love them and don’t want them to get sick. I think of how I enforce as strict as possible bedtime for my kids because I love them and want them to be at their best the next day. I think of how I encourage exercise and sports and reading and studying and limit screen time and gluttony and sloth because I love them and want them to grow and challenge themselves. And I think of how I don’t do any of those things for myself.
Maybe if I stop trying to live up to imaginary standards I think others have for me, and see myself as someone wholly loved and accepted by God, I can learn to love and accept myself, which will result in my taking care of myself... like I do my children.
Of course it’s all easier said than done. I will have nights when I high five my mirror and mornings where I won’t want to get out of bed. I will disappoint myself but I might also surprise myself. But whether forward or backward I am so excited to hold my head up high and attempt to move this year. Because when you are trying to be what you think others want you to be you can't help but be filled with fear and doubts.
Doubt keeps your eyes down and fear can tie your hands and inside, you are paralyzed.
I have a sneaking suspicion that if I can achieve this resolution. To see myself as someone wholly loved and accepted by God, someone worthy of that kind of love, it may put a new light on a reason to take care of myself. And it just may give me courage to really try a few things I've been talking about for years.
I've come to terms with the truth that people love me for who I am and those who don't won't if I'm ten pounds lighter or if I have a book on the best seller list. Internalizing that realization was freeing. I'm ready to bring my eyes up and untie my own hands.
Because if God accepts me, who am I to argue?
Monday, December 9, 2013
examining my racism
In Junior High, a teacher mockingly called me 'Mandela.' And though I knew it was more of a play on my name than a genuine commentary on the sit-in I tried to lead when the boy I liked got expelled unfairly (in the expert opinion of a 13 year old with a crush,) I became intrigued by the great leader.
And I know that I am not alone. It is universally an emotionally charged issue and there are people who use that fact for their petty advantage. I have been in conversations and have allowed people to twist my words and accuse me of being a racist any time I disagree with certain social programs or with President Obama in general. Then, I react just like they want me to and I sputter and flail and try to defend the fact that I'm not racist instead of redirecting to whatever the issue was at hand.
I am no scholar on his life, but I have been fortunate enough to an admirer of Nelson Mandela from a very young age. And whether from my fascination with him, or my personal experiences, racism has always been something that makes my blood boil to a point that it is hard for me to speak rationally and without emotion about the subject.
And I know that I am not alone. It is universally an emotionally charged issue and there are people who use that fact for their petty advantage. I have been in conversations and have allowed people to twist my words and accuse me of being a racist any time I disagree with certain social programs or with President Obama in general. Then, I react just like they want me to and I sputter and flail and try to defend the fact that I'm not racist instead of redirecting to whatever the issue was at hand.
Well, I used to... It has happened enough now that I see clearly that calling someone racist is a red herring tactic that people use when they are are losing an argument. I don't get flustered by the attack anymore, and I see more clearly the person using it for who they are.
But all that said, two days after Nelson Mandela died, and on my mind is all the reflections I wanted to write about his words that have inspired me, I called the police on two innocent black gentlemen. And it resulted in a crisis of conscience.
You see, there have been a few mid-day break-ins throughout our neighborhood. The reports have said there was possibly a white delivery truck seen at the site of the crime and the perps used the back door to enter the house. On Saturday at almost noon, my husband, our kids and I were leaving our home and I caught sight of our neighbor's home just behind ours. In the driveway was a white van backed up all the way up the driveway and two gentlemen walking around to the back of the house. One was holding a long tool, the thing that goes in the truck to let down the ramp? a crowbar? The other had a smaller tool of some kind in his hand and started walking toward our yard. When he caught eyes with me, he immediately ducked his head and walked back to his truck. I got in my car and watched as they continued to kind of pace from the front to the back of our neighbor's house every once in a while glancing in our direction.
My first instinct was to call our neighbor... but, I lost his number. So there is lesson one... get your neighbor's number. My next instinct was to ask if I could help them, but when I kind of waved and started saying, "hey, can I..," the gentlemen both ducked their heads and walked back behind the truck again. I internally argued, people wouldn't rob in the middle of the day on a Saturday, that makes no sense. On the other hand, this neighbor was often out of town and why would delivery men be walking to the back of the house and checking out the neighbors?
I sat idle in my car and mulled it over... something wasn't quite right and instantly my mind flashed to the stories where people get caught in the middle of robberies and get hurt...
So, I stopped Rob from walking next door and called the police non-emergency number. Very apologetically, I explained to the officer that answered the phone that it was probably nothing, but if someone was in the neighborhood and could just drive by, that maybe something was happening at our neighbor's house?
"How would you describe the gentlemen?" came the question, "white, black or hispanic?"
"Black." And I felt my gut turn... are the police going to think that I'm calling because they happen to be black? What if these poor guys are just trying to deliver something and I gift-wrapped them for a racist cop wanting to vent some frustration?
It was after I hung up the phone and they walked once again from the front to the back of our neighbor's house and then up toward our fence that I finally let my husband go while I stayed with the kids because it'd seem to me that if crime was their aim, they'd of given up by now.
He had to yell twice and walk all the way to the other house, "can I help you?" The gentleman with the longer tool quickly walked behind his truck again which made me nervous and I kept my phone in hand. But the gentleman near our fence finally came closer and with a big grin asked for our help.
"Do you know your neighbors? We're here to deliver some furniture and both their doors are wide open, but we can't get them to come to the door. We tried calling them three or four times but there's no answer and we've been knocking on both the doors. We aren't going open the doors though..."
I sheepishly called the police back, "hi, I just called, sorry... the guys are trying to deliver something and the doors were open and... I'm sure my neighbor just has the volume up... sorry to bother..."
She thanked me for both my calls, said it's good to be vigilant and to have a good day.
She thanked me for both my calls, said it's good to be vigilant and to have a good day.
In the car as I drove away, I had a 'come to Jesus' moment. I honestly tried to analyze myself. Was I more suspicious because they were black? My first instinct was to say yes, to blame myself, to believe the hype that I've been told. Of course you are racist... I told myself, everyone is, especially republicans, especially people in the south... right, isn't that what you've been told?
But I took a breath and measured the arguments in my head.
But I took a breath and measured the arguments in my head.
The facts are, I've called the police non-emergency number two other times in my life. Once when a creepy guy was standing uncomfortably behind me at the dog park and then when I revealed my bitchy 'I will kill you' look, he wandered off toward the only other single girl at the park. The other time was when an older gentleman at the park had an anger outburst at the swings. Their behavior was suspicious, they both happened to be white.
As for these delivery men, I was suspicious because their vehicle matched that of the one reported being seen. I was suspicious because they were walking from the front to the back of the house and in 5 minutes, I didn't witness them knocking on the door or using a phone (probably what they were doing when they ducked behind and into the truck.) I was suspicious because they seemed to be watching us... which they were, but it was because they wanted to ask for our help.
But the kicker is that there is a reality that can not be denied here. They may have been 'acting suspiciously' because they haven't always gotten the best response when asking people if their neighbors are home. And maybe these two delivery men know the statistics as well as I do and know that if they peek their head in the door innocently -like my pest service guy once did just to make sure I was OK when my door was open- it'd likely be found A-OK in a court of law if they were shot because odds are... they were up to no good.
Of course there is racism in this world from every race to the other. And we all make snap judgements about people and events around us with the visual cues we are given and the life experience we have. It affects us in ways most of us don't even comprehend. However, the bastardization of the word 'racist,'... the throwing it around like throwing the word 'raped' around, is sick because it makes us all lose focus on genuine issues that we need to work on together.
The second you use racism to win arguments or elections, you've demeaned the work of not only the civil rights leaders whose names we know, but the countless lives of black Americans from the time of slavery who held themselves up to a higher standard by teaching their children to read, by teaching them to keep faith and by promising that with steadfast devotion to striving for a better life, that better day would come.
The second you use racism to win arguments or elections, you've demeaned the work of not only the civil rights leaders whose names we know, but the countless lives of black Americans from the time of slavery who held themselves up to a higher standard by teaching their children to read, by teaching them to keep faith and by promising that with steadfast devotion to striving for a better life, that better day would come.
The uneasiness I felt had merit and I would've made the call regardless of the color of their skin, I know that. Through 20/20 hindsight of course I wish I had made a greater attempt to approach them before the original phone call. But the doubt I had in my own intentions made me sick because it means that though I thought I got past it, I had internalized the accusations of those desperately trying to win arguments at any cost.
And that internalization made me lose focus. It created doubt that was like a muzzle that made me feel like I'm not allowed to talk about racism. I let other people set the tone and guide the conversation.
I am ashamed of myself for letting the negative and weak minded so strongly influence me. And I strive to be stronger in the future and set the tone for progress and understanding instead of name-calling.
But while I'm still working on taking the high road, let me just say that of course there is racism in the world. And the purposeful cheapening of the word 'racist,' like it means nothing, is one of the plainest places I see it.
thanks for reading,
I am ashamed of myself for letting the negative and weak minded so strongly influence me. And I strive to be stronger in the future and set the tone for progress and understanding instead of name-calling.
But while I'm still working on taking the high road, let me just say that of course there is racism in the world. And the purposeful cheapening of the word 'racist,' like it means nothing, is one of the plainest places I see it.
thanks for reading,
Wednesday, November 27, 2013
A dream about a friend.
"I miss you," I said.
"Remind me your name one more time," he said with a smile.
"Be serious," I tried to be solemn but how could I not return that smile? I challenge anyone in the world to not return that smile.
"I finally figured out how we knew each other." I said, "I figured it out seconds after I heard the news."
"Yeah, I knew all along. It was just funny listening to you try to figure it out all the time."
"I miss you," I said again. "But, why are you here? There are so many people that are broken-hearted and confused. You need to be with them."
"I am," he assured.
"Just like usual," I told him, "you're making me feel like the most important person around. But didn't you know how much you were loved? How many people craved being around you? How many people were there for you?" His eyes were sad but his smile never ceased, just like the night he talked about being a teacher.
"It doesn't work like that," he explained.
"What do you mean?"
He didn't say a word but something clicked and it felt like he thought I had a sliver of understanding because I had once been been lost in darkness.
"You and I got closer every time we saw each other, like our friendship was building and I wanted it to keep building so badly." I stopped and looked down, this whole conversation was selfish but I couldn't help but add, "I needed more laughter. I can still hear your laugh so clearly. I wanted more time."
He quietly hugged me.
"Did you think of me?" I cried into his shoulder. "Did I ever come up as someone you could talk to? Someone that would miss you? I was just a blip on the periphery of a beautiful life. You could have talked to me about your pain and never seen me again. It could've been our secret. I could've held your burdens for you, if only for a moment."
"Of course I didn't think of you."
"Then why now? Why think of me now?"
"Because you needed me to. Because the fog is gone. My confusion is replaced with light."
"You were always a light for everyone else. You were so bright, so handsome, so merry."
"And I know now that I had light all around me. But I lost sight. I see now. I see the pain I caused and the confusion I left behind. I want to alleviate as much as I can, but it will take time."
"It's true, you know," he continued.
"What is?"
"That poem you love, except it doesn't mention the course. And this..." he said as he pointed goofily to his own grin, "this money maker is going to be beams of sunlight shining over a perfect round."
He laughed and the very room became brighter. His eyes gleamed and his smile radiated.
I locked that laugh away for every time I needed it. We embraced.
And in that moment I knew I loved him, though I had no right to, though it made no sense. Whether I was drawn to something flawed just behind the bright eyes or attracted to the light of his grin, I knew that he had always been important to me. And just as I claimed it I started to wake up.
"But wait, wait, I am angry with you. And if I am this upset, your friends your family, your loved ones that I love... how are they supposed to heal? You left behind hearts that are devastated."
He was gone and I knew it was just a dream, but it left behind a knowledge I hadn't had before. I was not angry with him, I was angry with what took him. And I knew with certainty then that the part I was angry at died. The demon illness that won in the short term had died that day; but his true light, the light almost too brilliant for this world, lives on. It brings joy in people's favorite memories and stories. It inspires songs to be written and friendships to be forged. It lives in the hearts of those of us who know we are better for having known him.
Even if, like me, we only had the blessing of knowing him for the smallest blip of time.
And as the morning's sun shone through the windows, the poem he mentioned came into my mind and I knew that it was true...
Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.
"Remind me your name one more time," he said with a smile.
"Be serious," I tried to be solemn but how could I not return that smile? I challenge anyone in the world to not return that smile.
"I finally figured out how we knew each other." I said, "I figured it out seconds after I heard the news."
"Yeah, I knew all along. It was just funny listening to you try to figure it out all the time."
"I miss you," I said again. "But, why are you here? There are so many people that are broken-hearted and confused. You need to be with them."
"I am," he assured.
"Just like usual," I told him, "you're making me feel like the most important person around. But didn't you know how much you were loved? How many people craved being around you? How many people were there for you?" His eyes were sad but his smile never ceased, just like the night he talked about being a teacher.
"It doesn't work like that," he explained.
"What do you mean?"
He didn't say a word but something clicked and it felt like he thought I had a sliver of understanding because I had once been been lost in darkness.
"You and I got closer every time we saw each other, like our friendship was building and I wanted it to keep building so badly." I stopped and looked down, this whole conversation was selfish but I couldn't help but add, "I needed more laughter. I can still hear your laugh so clearly. I wanted more time."
He quietly hugged me.
"Did you think of me?" I cried into his shoulder. "Did I ever come up as someone you could talk to? Someone that would miss you? I was just a blip on the periphery of a beautiful life. You could have talked to me about your pain and never seen me again. It could've been our secret. I could've held your burdens for you, if only for a moment."
"Of course I didn't think of you."
"Then why now? Why think of me now?"
"Because you needed me to. Because the fog is gone. My confusion is replaced with light."
"You were always a light for everyone else. You were so bright, so handsome, so merry."
"And I know now that I had light all around me. But I lost sight. I see now. I see the pain I caused and the confusion I left behind. I want to alleviate as much as I can, but it will take time."
"It's true, you know," he continued.
"What is?"
"That poem you love, except it doesn't mention the course. And this..." he said as he pointed goofily to his own grin, "this money maker is going to be beams of sunlight shining over a perfect round."
He laughed and the very room became brighter. His eyes gleamed and his smile radiated.
I locked that laugh away for every time I needed it. We embraced.
And in that moment I knew I loved him, though I had no right to, though it made no sense. Whether I was drawn to something flawed just behind the bright eyes or attracted to the light of his grin, I knew that he had always been important to me. And just as I claimed it I started to wake up.
"But wait, wait, I am angry with you. And if I am this upset, your friends your family, your loved ones that I love... how are they supposed to heal? You left behind hearts that are devastated."
He was gone and I knew it was just a dream, but it left behind a knowledge I hadn't had before. I was not angry with him, I was angry with what took him. And I knew with certainty then that the part I was angry at died. The demon illness that won in the short term had died that day; but his true light, the light almost too brilliant for this world, lives on. It brings joy in people's favorite memories and stories. It inspires songs to be written and friendships to be forged. It lives in the hearts of those of us who know we are better for having known him.
Even if, like me, we only had the blessing of knowing him for the smallest blip of time.
And as the morning's sun shone through the windows, the poem he mentioned came into my mind and I knew that it was true...
Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.
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