I received an anonymous comment yesterday from a man who says he is the editor of the student newspaper at the University of Texas. I’ve decided to respond to some of the comments, as well as elaborate on some of my thoughts. I would like to say that I’m not a politician, economist, historian, data-head or news junkie. In the world of politics, I’m very green. I’m also a believer. I strive to live my life by the teachings of Jesus and to follow what he said is the greatest commandment, “To love the Lord with all you heart, soul, mind and strength. And to love your neighbor as yourself.”
My hope for myself, as well as others, is that I take the interest I have found in this Presidential race and carry it to the State and Local levels. With that disclaimer, please read on taking what you like and leave the rest.
Dear S,
Thanks for stopping by my blog! Though I don’t agree with many of the perspectives you offer, I’m happy to have a conversation. I won’t respond directly to some of the specific points that you made, but will mostly elaborate on my overall essay to clarify any misunderstandings.
One thing I will address directly is your #1 statement. Since I didn’t mention what 2007 interview I referred to, it’s a bold statement to say that I misquoted him. With that being said, let me make 3 points:
1) It was probably generous of me to use quotations around something he said since I do not remember exactly the words he used. The essence of what he discussed though, I believe I understand him clearly.
2) I am completely aware of his political stance on abortion, as well as his voting record.
3) To answer your # 5 statement, my answer is “Yes.” I completely agree with his discussion about abortion being a complex issue without clear-cut defining answers. (Though I do have big concerns about certain aspects of his abortion stance such as partial-birth or late term abortions). I think it a crying shame that this issue has become a political platform in our country. In my opinion, this isn’t a political issue at all. Yet, we force our leaders of government to choose one side or the other. I have dealt with this issue in my own family. I have seen and experienced the magnitude this challenge brings to the mother, father and their respective families. Therefore, I don’t form this decision out of isolated ideology, but out of many different factors including real life experience. I agree that the voices of the unborn must have advocacy. We must have boundaries…thus the role of government. I believe in the sanctity of life…of all life (I refer to issues such as war, death penalty and poverty). However, it my firm opinion that it is not the role of the government to tell me or any other woman what we can and cannot do with our body. I’ll stop here on this issue as I don’t want this letter to focus totally on abortion, but I heard you asking for my opinion of Obama’s stance on this issue. This is a tough issue for me, one that I have great inner struggle with from a political standpoint and then from a standpoint of being a believer...a believer in the God who created ALL life. Perhaps my views will change one day, but for today this is where I am.
The other specific thing I will address is my statement of having “firsthand knowledge of discrimination.” Perhaps I give myself too much credit here for seeing and understanding racism from arms length. I am a white woman. No matter how black friends I have, no matter how unjust I judge black Americans to be treated at times, no matter how much embarrassment I feel for some of the history in our country towards blacks…I will never understand. It’s just not possible. For that reason alone, perhaps the wisest course for me to take is to just not comment. I’ll give this consideration. I had this same feeling about all the news regarding Reverend Wright and his church earlier in the year. I’m not black, I’m not a black person in a black church, and therefore I have absolutely no business judging what is said among that community. So, my friend, if my attempt to speak towards racism is offensive to you, I offer my deepest apologies.
Beyond your first statement, I don’t have any interest in addressing your other comments specifically. I don’t think it’s worth my time, or serves a good purpose. Especially, your #4 statement. Frankly, I think it’s repulsive that you even say such a thing out loud. Not to mention undermining the intelligence and good intent of that 93%...though I haven’t yet seen this number reported. Instead, I would like to attempt to clarify my overall sentiments. First of all, I did not vote for Obama because he is black. Based on CNN polls as far back as June and as recent as last week, I’m not alone. In short, their numbers report that 7 out of 10 voters did NOT vote based on race. You can read this report for yourself at http://www.cnn.com/2008/POLITICS/10/24/poll.race/. I’m sure there are many people who did vote for him simply because he’s black, just as there are people who voted for McCain because they would never vote for a Democrat or vice versa. I unequivocally disagree with your statement, “This man was not voted in due to the content of his character..but was judged by the color of his skin. Period.” This is a statement of opinion, a narrow-minded opinion as far as I’m concerned, and certainly not one based on civility much less fact. I believe I did exactly what Reverend King spoke of, and I know many, many other people that did the same…that we ”judged (a person) not on the color of their skin but (among many other things) on the content of their character.”
In my closing paragraph, I spoke of the great pride I feel this week. Let me be clear once again, I am not saying that my pride simply comes from for voting for a black man. I’m proud because of what is one of the largest voter turn-out in US history. I’m proud of the all the 1st-time voters. I’m proud of America for giving a damn about this process. I’m proud of all Americans… black, white, gay, straight, Democrat, Republican, rich poor....for, at least, striving to be the United States. Certainly there is not unity in policy, but I do believe (and perhaps I’m naïve and idealistic) that we have unity in purpose. I believe that all Americans want the very best for our country, and our families. THAT, if only that, can be our common ground. This can be the common ground that makes a path for the greater good.
So, “S,” please…take a break from the divisive rhetoric. Please, do everyone a favor and find a place to be grateful for the wonderful freedom that you enjoy regardless who leads this country.
Friday, November 7, 2008
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
A Defining Moment
Last night was a powerful moment in US history. The headlining news of every media channel world-wide has announced the election of America’s first African-American President. I tuned into FoxNews last night just in time to hear Brit Hume call the results for California, and thus, call the election for Barack Obama. I felt such joy and pride, and as I wrote to a fellow Facebook friend, I was speechless.
I voted for Senator Obama. It’s the 1st time in 22 years of being eligible to vote that I voted for a Democrat. This was no small departure for me. And there are those among my family and friends that are quite disappointed. I began paying attention to Obama last year after hearing an interview with him. The journalist asked him about his thoughts on abortion. He first said, “It’s a complex issue. One that is doesn’t have simple answers.” He went on to talk about how he was still working out this issue for himself, both as a politician and a private citizen. It was the 1st time I could recall a politician give something other than a clear black and white answer….for anything. For him to acknowledge the complexity of such an issue (it could have been any issue) and to say publically that he’s still sorting things out…for me, that was impressive. So, I began to listen. And then begin educate myself on one issue, then another. Listening and research morphed into curiosity, then into conversations. I am among the throngs of people who, for the first time, have found interest (dare I say even excitement?!) in politics. There were many others interviews, speeches, and debates to follow that solidified my vote. Though some around me have challenged my opinions, I believe I followed due diligence of research…and my heart.
My generation has many souls that have made their indelible mark on our country….Martin Luther King, Jr., John F. Kennedy, Barbara Jordan and Cesar Chavez to name a few. Perhaps it is premature to put Obama’s name along side of these great people. Yet, I hear in him and see in the work he done up to this point a perspective on life, community, democracy, and government that sets him apart from the crowd. I want that, and need that in a President. He is a fine and gifted orator. And while that doesn’t qualify him to be president, it does pave a way to speak to people of all backgrounds. His words inspire. Again, not a qualification for a world leader, but inspiration is a powerful medium. Inspiration can give people the opportunity to have a different perspective. Inspiration can be a catalyst for courage, risk-taking and dreaming. I think, in part, that is what America did yesterday.
It makes me proud that our country has taken a grand step forward in bridging the gap between the different races our country is home to. (For a wonderful visual aid, checkout my friend Bob’s blog ) The Civil Rights Movement of the 1960’s was not that long ago. And having TJ live with us during the last 4 years, I have witnessed firsthand the discrimination toward blacks that still exist in the 21st century. At times, I have been appalled and ashamed. But there was no shame in yesterday’s election. I speak of my pride and excitement, though with some hesitancy. There is a part of me that feels like I’m watching something great from the outside. I’m witnessing the fruition from generations of struggle and dreams of a people whose skin is a different color than mine. Though it’s a day for all Americans, it certainly is quite special for my black brothers and sisters. Boundaries and ceilings have been removed. Black Americans have a path for all the opportunities of this great country has to offer. Opportinuties that perhaps I take for granted. This man has given our country and all it's citizens a great gift. I hope one day to meet him. I hope to shake his hand and say thank you.
This is a great, great day for our country and our world. America, I’m proud of you. Not for voting for a Democrat. I’m proud of you, America, for caring. I’m proud of you for dreaming, whoever you voted for. I’m proud of all Americans for taking part in the beautiful gift of democracy we have in this country.
I voted for Senator Obama. It’s the 1st time in 22 years of being eligible to vote that I voted for a Democrat. This was no small departure for me. And there are those among my family and friends that are quite disappointed. I began paying attention to Obama last year after hearing an interview with him. The journalist asked him about his thoughts on abortion. He first said, “It’s a complex issue. One that is doesn’t have simple answers.” He went on to talk about how he was still working out this issue for himself, both as a politician and a private citizen. It was the 1st time I could recall a politician give something other than a clear black and white answer….for anything. For him to acknowledge the complexity of such an issue (it could have been any issue) and to say publically that he’s still sorting things out…for me, that was impressive. So, I began to listen. And then begin educate myself on one issue, then another. Listening and research morphed into curiosity, then into conversations. I am among the throngs of people who, for the first time, have found interest (dare I say even excitement?!) in politics. There were many others interviews, speeches, and debates to follow that solidified my vote. Though some around me have challenged my opinions, I believe I followed due diligence of research…and my heart.
My generation has many souls that have made their indelible mark on our country….Martin Luther King, Jr., John F. Kennedy, Barbara Jordan and Cesar Chavez to name a few. Perhaps it is premature to put Obama’s name along side of these great people. Yet, I hear in him and see in the work he done up to this point a perspective on life, community, democracy, and government that sets him apart from the crowd. I want that, and need that in a President. He is a fine and gifted orator. And while that doesn’t qualify him to be president, it does pave a way to speak to people of all backgrounds. His words inspire. Again, not a qualification for a world leader, but inspiration is a powerful medium. Inspiration can give people the opportunity to have a different perspective. Inspiration can be a catalyst for courage, risk-taking and dreaming. I think, in part, that is what America did yesterday.
It makes me proud that our country has taken a grand step forward in bridging the gap between the different races our country is home to. (For a wonderful visual aid, checkout my friend Bob’s blog ) The Civil Rights Movement of the 1960’s was not that long ago. And having TJ live with us during the last 4 years, I have witnessed firsthand the discrimination toward blacks that still exist in the 21st century. At times, I have been appalled and ashamed. But there was no shame in yesterday’s election. I speak of my pride and excitement, though with some hesitancy. There is a part of me that feels like I’m watching something great from the outside. I’m witnessing the fruition from generations of struggle and dreams of a people whose skin is a different color than mine. Though it’s a day for all Americans, it certainly is quite special for my black brothers and sisters. Boundaries and ceilings have been removed. Black Americans have a path for all the opportunities of this great country has to offer. Opportinuties that perhaps I take for granted. This man has given our country and all it's citizens a great gift. I hope one day to meet him. I hope to shake his hand and say thank you.
This is a great, great day for our country and our world. America, I’m proud of you. Not for voting for a Democrat. I’m proud of you, America, for caring. I’m proud of you for dreaming, whoever you voted for. I’m proud of all Americans for taking part in the beautiful gift of democracy we have in this country.
As President Elect Obama said in his speech last night, “This is a defining moment.”
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Poverty
Today is Blog Action Day. It's an annual event that aims to unite bloggers, podcasters and videocasters to post about the same issue. This years' topic is poverty. Nearly 1 in 5 adults and 1 in 4 children in Texas are hungry. This number is staggering to me. In the year 2008 can this really be true? Not just true in 3rd world countries, but my State, my city. Thanks to my friend, Bob Carlton, for initiating this effort with his readers. I'm happy to do my part, though it feels enormously small. You can read other posts from today at www.thefaceofpoverty.org.
Over the last few years I’ve been hanging out with people who offer great amounts of time and energy serving the homeless here in Austin. The result is a growing prompting in me to do my part. Like many people, it’s easy to look the other way when stopped at the traffic light. It’s easy to just simply pray that God takes care of the homeless…while I purchase fish to grill at my HOUSE with AC, a big TV and comfy bed.
Four years ago I helped start a new faith community in town. One commitment this community makes is give the first 10% of offerings to funds devoted to serving others. One of the ways we do this is through working with Mobile Loaves and Fishes. A organization commited to feeding and clothing the homeless. Each month, our community takes 2 days to make sandwiches and deliver dinner to the homeless in downtown. Since I help organize the youth group at this church, I try to work efforts like this into our calendar. I guess the first time I signed us up to help was about 3 years ago. I have to say that I was a little apprehensive. I didn’t know what to expect and honestly I think I had some negative assumptions about this group of people that fed my reluctance. I felt bad for being afraid, or even trying to find away to get out of it. It’s hard to admit that even now. A wonderful surprise found me that day. ..beautiful people. Yes, some of them wore very dirty clothes and didn’t look (or smell) very good. But…they had lovely smiles, stories to tell…they have names. I met people who once had jobs and now they don’t; they lost everything including their homes. Many of the wonderful people I met had college degrees; who knew? Certainly not me. The youth and I handed them dinner, barely enough to fill a plastic sack from the grocery store. And they were so grateful. We were able to give some of them clothes; until we ran out of the supply we brought. When was the last time you were grateful for socks? Socks?! These men and women were so polite and so thankful for the very few things we gave that day. Many of them don’t know when they will eat again, but they have food for this meal and they were thankful.
God is teaching me more and more to step outside my comfort zone, stretch my preconceived ideas about the poor and homeless, and growing a place in my heart to loving them by giving to them out of the many, many blessings and comforts in life that I have been given. Each time I make a run with Mobile Loaves and Fishes, I am reminded of the reality that I could easily be in their shoes. A twist of fate, a string of bad luck, or tragedy can find us all. There is really nothing in life that belongs to me. Everything I have is a gift; everything is temporary. My prayer for myself is that I’m always seeking to be grateful for all that I have by giving it away. May I honor God and the blessings he has given me by letting go of fear, letting go of my attachment to things and serve my brothers and sisters.
Over the last few years I’ve been hanging out with people who offer great amounts of time and energy serving the homeless here in Austin. The result is a growing prompting in me to do my part. Like many people, it’s easy to look the other way when stopped at the traffic light. It’s easy to just simply pray that God takes care of the homeless…while I purchase fish to grill at my HOUSE with AC, a big TV and comfy bed.
Four years ago I helped start a new faith community in town. One commitment this community makes is give the first 10% of offerings to funds devoted to serving others. One of the ways we do this is through working with Mobile Loaves and Fishes. A organization commited to feeding and clothing the homeless. Each month, our community takes 2 days to make sandwiches and deliver dinner to the homeless in downtown. Since I help organize the youth group at this church, I try to work efforts like this into our calendar. I guess the first time I signed us up to help was about 3 years ago. I have to say that I was a little apprehensive. I didn’t know what to expect and honestly I think I had some negative assumptions about this group of people that fed my reluctance. I felt bad for being afraid, or even trying to find away to get out of it. It’s hard to admit that even now. A wonderful surprise found me that day. ..beautiful people. Yes, some of them wore very dirty clothes and didn’t look (or smell) very good. But…they had lovely smiles, stories to tell…they have names. I met people who once had jobs and now they don’t; they lost everything including their homes. Many of the wonderful people I met had college degrees; who knew? Certainly not me. The youth and I handed them dinner, barely enough to fill a plastic sack from the grocery store. And they were so grateful. We were able to give some of them clothes; until we ran out of the supply we brought. When was the last time you were grateful for socks? Socks?! These men and women were so polite and so thankful for the very few things we gave that day. Many of them don’t know when they will eat again, but they have food for this meal and they were thankful.
God is teaching me more and more to step outside my comfort zone, stretch my preconceived ideas about the poor and homeless, and growing a place in my heart to loving them by giving to them out of the many, many blessings and comforts in life that I have been given. Each time I make a run with Mobile Loaves and Fishes, I am reminded of the reality that I could easily be in their shoes. A twist of fate, a string of bad luck, or tragedy can find us all. There is really nothing in life that belongs to me. Everything I have is a gift; everything is temporary. My prayer for myself is that I’m always seeking to be grateful for all that I have by giving it away. May I honor God and the blessings he has given me by letting go of fear, letting go of my attachment to things and serve my brothers and sisters.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
It's my Birthday!!
It's true. Today is the big 4-0. I'm wearing a tiara...all day. And I've eaten birthday cake for breakfast. I think it's a pretty good start to my day!
The celebration of my birthday has morphed over time. Growing up, I don't recall much celebrating besides having grandparents over for dinner. Many of those "parties" happened on Saturday night, though I'm sure that my birthday did not fall on the same day every year. I know this because I've seen way too many pictures of me blowing out candles with pink foam rollers in my hair...so my hair is nice and pretty for church, of course. Really, I've seen at least 6-7 pictures- from different birthdays- with my hair in pink rollers. (Note to self, "DO NOT do this to your daughter.") I don't remember having parties with my friends. Though, I do remember my dad bringing a cake to Youth Group on my 18th birthday. Since college and most of my adult years, I've made little to no noise about my birthday. I didn't tell people, never did anything...it was just another day. Somewhere in my 30's, or maybe it started after my divorce at 29, I began to do things to honor myself on my birthday. I still didn't mention it much, but would buy myself a present. Slowly, that "self-celebrating" grew. I started a few rituals (like eating b'day cake for breakfast!) and telling others. At first, I would just tell whomever I saw on that day. Now, I give people a lot of notice!! I've been reminding my youth group for a couple of months now!!
There are some mixed feelings I have about being "40." Over the past year, I've have felt this inner wrestling about where my life is and where I thought it would be by today. I would necessarily call it a "crisis", but perhaps a "mid-life predicament." I'll save expounding on that for another day. Because in spite of all that wrestling, I truly feel happy and excited today. I stayed up until midnight just to be awake when the clock struck October 1. I even wore my tiara upstairs when I went to bed! I didn't sleep in it though, it was stabbing me in the head.
Monday and Tuesday I attended Rosh Hashanah services. I'll write more about that later. The litergy from the services was really beautiful. There was one particular paragraph that caught my attention. I'll close with this:
"To say that life is both fleeting and uncertain is a truth that presses upon the mind with special force as the old year ends and a new one begins. We are led to turn our thoughts to Him; to remember that He has given us our lives in trust to use in His service. We begin by entering upon the task of self-examination and self-enoblement. 'A New Year,' say the Rabbis, 'should inaugurate new life."
The celebration of my birthday has morphed over time. Growing up, I don't recall much celebrating besides having grandparents over for dinner. Many of those "parties" happened on Saturday night, though I'm sure that my birthday did not fall on the same day every year. I know this because I've seen way too many pictures of me blowing out candles with pink foam rollers in my hair...so my hair is nice and pretty for church, of course. Really, I've seen at least 6-7 pictures- from different birthdays- with my hair in pink rollers. (Note to self, "DO NOT do this to your daughter.") I don't remember having parties with my friends. Though, I do remember my dad bringing a cake to Youth Group on my 18th birthday. Since college and most of my adult years, I've made little to no noise about my birthday. I didn't tell people, never did anything...it was just another day. Somewhere in my 30's, or maybe it started after my divorce at 29, I began to do things to honor myself on my birthday. I still didn't mention it much, but would buy myself a present. Slowly, that "self-celebrating" grew. I started a few rituals (like eating b'day cake for breakfast!) and telling others. At first, I would just tell whomever I saw on that day. Now, I give people a lot of notice!! I've been reminding my youth group for a couple of months now!!
There are some mixed feelings I have about being "40." Over the past year, I've have felt this inner wrestling about where my life is and where I thought it would be by today. I would necessarily call it a "crisis", but perhaps a "mid-life predicament." I'll save expounding on that for another day. Because in spite of all that wrestling, I truly feel happy and excited today. I stayed up until midnight just to be awake when the clock struck October 1. I even wore my tiara upstairs when I went to bed! I didn't sleep in it though, it was stabbing me in the head.
Monday and Tuesday I attended Rosh Hashanah services. I'll write more about that later. The litergy from the services was really beautiful. There was one particular paragraph that caught my attention. I'll close with this:
"To say that life is both fleeting and uncertain is a truth that presses upon the mind with special force as the old year ends and a new one begins. We are led to turn our thoughts to Him; to remember that He has given us our lives in trust to use in His service. We begin by entering upon the task of self-examination and self-enoblement. 'A New Year,' say the Rabbis, 'should inaugurate new life."
Sunday, September 28, 2008
The quest
Last week I met Phyllis Tickle. A delightful, intelligent and engaging woman. She came to Austin for a series of lectures. I was fortunate enough to hear her speak about her newest book, The Great Emergence. As I've told before, I'm a born and raised Southern Baptist girl. My home church was a typical small-town Baptist church... complete with an expansive organ, choir loft, a bapistry about 10 feet above ground level and burnt orange carpet. Oh, and my church had a Family Life Center. In all other parts of the world, it would be called a gym. I suppose for church folks that's not quite spiritual enough. I practically lived at the church. There were services in the morning and at night. Something happened on Monday (I forget what it was). On Tuesday there was visitation (door knocking during good people's dinner time) and of course, Wednesday night Bible Study. I attended everything. I was taught well, the stories of the Bible, from good men and women from the time I was born until I left at 18. This was the church of my mother and her parents. Good people with strong faiths. I'll skip the next 12 years or so, and simply say that there came a time when I began to question all (or at least many) of the things these good people taught me. I've asked myself the questions of what I believe and why I believe. I have become facinated with church history, and Biblical history. I have loved learning about Jesus from the stand point of the time in history that he lived. I am learning of middle-eastern cultural and the tradition of Jewish faith that he followed. It has brought richness to the scriptures and the teachings of Jesus that I've never had before.
There has been a movement (for lack of a better word) in the church world over the last couple of decades called Emergent. The voices of this movement actually refer to it as a "conversation." I love that. The intention is to have a conversation about what it means to be a follower of Jesus. I have found a number of authors whose writings find deep connection for me, such as Brian McLaren and Tony Jones. That's where this wonderful lady, Phyllis Tickle comes in. She's a very learned scholar and thinker of this post-modern 20th/21st century we're living in. Her book, which I have yet to read, explores this idea of "emerging churches" not as a fad, or the latest religious bandwagon. She places this conversation in much broader terms for history. She speaks of it as being a part of a 500 year cycle that the culture or the world has seen since the time of Jesus. What I took away from those 2 hours with her was knowledge (which is always cool), and an excitement for what is happening in the world with regards to Christianity. I guess there's a lot going on in the world today that hardly inspires excitement. Yet, I hear her speak of change, good change, that is happening. And I guess I just feel like I'm a part of of. Asking good questions...questioning the things I've been taught about God, the Bible, Jesus, the world, the church. I'm pretty happy in this place. I don't have many answers really. And there are some around me that don't necessarily champion my path of curiosity. I guess there will always be those and perhaps those naysayers help keep be balanced. Nevertheless, I have a seemingly insatiable appetite to learn about Jesus and the things of God. What I hope comes from that desire is a truer place of serving. I really don't want knowledge just for the sake of being smarter. My prayer is that my quests transform my heart and mind, and I show it by how I love and serve the world.
I'm standing on the eve of a big birthday. As I reflect on this previous decade, I'm clear that it has been about authenticating my faith. I'm very thankful for the church I was raised in and all I was taught, even if I have different opinions about those teachings today. I stand on the heritage that is my grandparents and their parents, but I have to believe in God for me. I'm immensely grateful for the foundation I was given as a little girl and young adult. I offer honor and blessing for all the men and women who took me under their wing, loved me and showed me their faith. My prayer is that I can pass that legacy on. A legacy of faith that is authentic and organic.
There has been a movement (for lack of a better word) in the church world over the last couple of decades called Emergent. The voices of this movement actually refer to it as a "conversation." I love that. The intention is to have a conversation about what it means to be a follower of Jesus. I have found a number of authors whose writings find deep connection for me, such as Brian McLaren and Tony Jones. That's where this wonderful lady, Phyllis Tickle comes in. She's a very learned scholar and thinker of this post-modern 20th/21st century we're living in. Her book, which I have yet to read, explores this idea of "emerging churches" not as a fad, or the latest religious bandwagon. She places this conversation in much broader terms for history. She speaks of it as being a part of a 500 year cycle that the culture or the world has seen since the time of Jesus. What I took away from those 2 hours with her was knowledge (which is always cool), and an excitement for what is happening in the world with regards to Christianity. I guess there's a lot going on in the world today that hardly inspires excitement. Yet, I hear her speak of change, good change, that is happening. And I guess I just feel like I'm a part of of. Asking good questions...questioning the things I've been taught about God, the Bible, Jesus, the world, the church. I'm pretty happy in this place. I don't have many answers really. And there are some around me that don't necessarily champion my path of curiosity. I guess there will always be those and perhaps those naysayers help keep be balanced. Nevertheless, I have a seemingly insatiable appetite to learn about Jesus and the things of God. What I hope comes from that desire is a truer place of serving. I really don't want knowledge just for the sake of being smarter. My prayer is that my quests transform my heart and mind, and I show it by how I love and serve the world.
I'm standing on the eve of a big birthday. As I reflect on this previous decade, I'm clear that it has been about authenticating my faith. I'm very thankful for the church I was raised in and all I was taught, even if I have different opinions about those teachings today. I stand on the heritage that is my grandparents and their parents, but I have to believe in God for me. I'm immensely grateful for the foundation I was given as a little girl and young adult. I offer honor and blessing for all the men and women who took me under their wing, loved me and showed me their faith. My prayer is that I can pass that legacy on. A legacy of faith that is authentic and organic.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
History
Politics bore me out of my mind. I've never been interested. I cooperate with the democratic system of this country mostly out of guilt...I'm supposed to care; I'm supposed to vote. I have rarely thought that any given candidate was the savior he, or she, proclaimed. A couple of writers sum it up well for me. I'm an avid South Park fan. I think Trey Parker and Matt Stone are brilliant and hilarious, often giving bold statements about current social issues. As the last Presidential election was taking place in 2004, these boys decided to make their statement about the election. To date, it is absolutely one of my favorite episodes. The boys of South Park have to elect a new school mascot. The choices, one named by Kyle, the other named by Cartman are a Giant Douche Bag and a Turd Sandwich. (Sorry for the crasness...I didn't make this up!!) Their friend, Stan, decides that he doesn't like either candidate and refuses to vote. Bad things begin to happen for poor Stan. Ultimately, following his dad's encouragement, he decides to cast his vote. Stan's father, in all of his wisdom, says, "Son, you are always going to have to choose between a Giant Douche Bag and a Turd Sandwich." Brilliant.
I wouldn't actually characterize either of this years' candiates with those descriptors, but...I'm still flipping a coin. Over the past few years I have felt the spiritual changes in me begin to bleed over into politics. I wish that wasn't the case. Like I said, politics bores me out of my mind. I'm not very educated, and I have absolutely no desire to be smart about politics. Nevertheless, I have been paying attention during this year's campaign. I'm intrigued. At times confused. Usually frustrated. So, I'm watching the DNC. Next week I'll watch the RNC. Maybe I'll learn something!! Doubtful, but there's always hope.
Here's what I really want to say. This country made history today. The United States of America elected the 1st Black presidential nominee. I watched the news this afternoon as the delegate roll call was taken, and the Speaker of the House made it official. Despite whatever apathy I generally have towards politics, I felt unbelievable proud today. I guess there's also a part of it that highlights an embarrasing aspect of our culture. It's unbelievable to me that in the year 2008, blacks and whites still experience so much inequality. But that feeling holds a back seat, at least for today. I just feel very, very proud. I don't know if this is the right guy. I hope he is; I want him to be. Elected as President or not, history was made. And I think that's pretty damn cool.
I wouldn't actually characterize either of this years' candiates with those descriptors, but...I'm still flipping a coin. Over the past few years I have felt the spiritual changes in me begin to bleed over into politics. I wish that wasn't the case. Like I said, politics bores me out of my mind. I'm not very educated, and I have absolutely no desire to be smart about politics. Nevertheless, I have been paying attention during this year's campaign. I'm intrigued. At times confused. Usually frustrated. So, I'm watching the DNC. Next week I'll watch the RNC. Maybe I'll learn something!! Doubtful, but there's always hope.
Here's what I really want to say. This country made history today. The United States of America elected the 1st Black presidential nominee. I watched the news this afternoon as the delegate roll call was taken, and the Speaker of the House made it official. Despite whatever apathy I generally have towards politics, I felt unbelievable proud today. I guess there's also a part of it that highlights an embarrasing aspect of our culture. It's unbelievable to me that in the year 2008, blacks and whites still experience so much inequality. But that feeling holds a back seat, at least for today. I just feel very, very proud. I don't know if this is the right guy. I hope he is; I want him to be. Elected as President or not, history was made. And I think that's pretty damn cool.
Saturday, August 16, 2008
August 16, 2004
Today marks time again for me. It's been 4 years since my daddy, 60 years old, died of cancer. North Texas had been experiencing unseasonably cool weather during the previous week. Each morning I would sit on his deck and drink my coffee. The temperature had been in the 60's during the mornings. That just doesn't happen in Texas in August. The morning of the 16th was beautiful. Cool, and quiet. The stillness is one of the things I enjoyed so much about where he lived. As I sat there enjoying the coolness, I kept thinking, "this is the day the Lord has made. I will rejoice and be glad in it." Moments later, I walked back in to find that Daddy had taken his last breath in this world.
I'm struck right now at the irony of remembering the verse that was going through my head, and the night that I had just gone through with him and his passing that morning. I haven't talked about that last night much. I guess I felt it selfish to talk about about me during the time that he was dying. After 4 years, I really don't think about that night much. During this last week, though, I've been reminded in a way that caught me off guard. If you'll indulge me, I'll tell you my story.
I've always been a fan of the Olympics. I watch them contstantly when they are on. I probably enjoy the Summer Olympics most; particularly basketball and softball. As this year's Games started, I really haven't been very interested. I'm interested in knowing results, but as for watching the games non-stop I really haven't had any interest. There was something to this disinterest that I just couldn't put my finger on. A few nights ago, I realized what it was. The last time the Summer Olympics were played, daddy was dying. And I had particular memories from the night before he passed. It was startling to me making the connection. I find that, though I miss him, the intensity of that loss has lessened over the years. But this moment shook the dust off those feelings and I cried as hard as I have in 4 years. During the months before he died, I consumed myself with information about death and dying. I learned that the body and mind goes through a very predictable process when it is dying. At least with those who are terminally ill. His hospice nurse told us early in the week prior that his death would be soon. The 16th that year was on a Monday. We were blessed that up until Saturday, he was conscious much of the time, knew who everyone was and could have coherent conversations with us. That really ended on Saturday when he pretty much lost consciousness. My husband arrived late Saturday and I woke him. He knew who Wes was and said hello, but that was the last time he was awake. Late on Sunday afternoon, his body began to show signs that his death was imminent. His breathing changed..."fish out-of-water" breathing it's called. His eyes started doing weird things. We knew. All of my siblings, but one were already there. We called my other sister and she joined us. Another sister called a couple of friends from her church. Two wonderful women came and sat with us till midnight. Hospice recommended that we begin giving him morphine every 30 minutes or so. So, there we all were: sitting, giving medicine and waiting. At one point, I took his Bible and started reading scriptures. Everyone who was there chimed in with requests to read their favorite verses. We read for almost an hour. Around midnight the dear friends left and I needed some space. So, I took a shower. With 10 or so people in this small house, I figured that the shower was my only option for solitude. I took a really long shower. I expected that my brothers and sisters would take turns staying up and giving daddy the morphine (though I knew I wouldn't sleep). When I came out of the shower, though, everyone had picked a corner of the house and were asleep. So, I stayed up. I sat by his bed, gave him medicine at the right intervals, counted breathes, counted the amount of time that he didn't take a breathe...for hours. When I would feel sleepy, I would sit by a wall and play solitaire. And all the while, the same loop of Olympic coverage was playing. I couldn't find the remote or I might have changed the channel. Around 4 am, he started making some weird, loud sounds. It freaked me out, so I called hospice. Moments later, a nurse called me back...at 4 am. She told me I was doing fine, what daddy was doing was normal and that I could increase the morphine. As I side note in this story, I want to say that Hospice nurses are the walking angels on this earth. I will always remember the sweet woman that was daddy's nurse that last week, Edwina. They are some of the most loving and compassionate people I have ever been priviledged to meet. Yes, they know how to care for the dying with great dignity, but they also spend just as much time caring for the living. By sunrise, daddy had settled. His breathing was much easier. Around 10am is when he took his last breath. It was a really hard night for me. I don't know what the dying are aware of or not aware of. I hope those last hours were not spent with him knowing pain. I carried a great burden of that for a long time; wondering if i did enough for him. Those images of watching him, listening to him, counting breathes...those images stayed with me a long time. And yet, I would not have wanted it to be any different. I'm grateful to have been with him those last hours whether he knew it or not. I held his hand, and at times hummed through the songs that I would later sing at his service. I hope this this somehow made a difference.
During the months preceeding his death, I spent much time thinking about what I believe about heaven, or at least what happens to us when we die. I'm still not sure exactly what I believe. I'm not sure I believe in the "streets of gold" that my Baptist heritage would sing of. I think life, after this life, is much bigger than that. I do believe our spirit is with God, though I also believe that we are always with God. Maybe it's that we just return to our most pure and perfect state. Later that day we were at the funeral home when they finished preparing his body. I dreaded this moment and was last behind my step-mother and siblings to walk up to the casket. The instant I walked up to him though, I felt a unexplainable calm and peace that I was experiencing so often during the previous months. I took one look at him and my thought was, "This is not my daddy. He's not here." And I actually smiled. I saw a very sick body that fought a very long battle, but his spirit was no longer there.
The next day over 100 people came to his viewing. There were almost 400 at his funeral. He was well loved. It really was a celebration of a very rich life. We showed dozens of pictures while I sang 6 songs that he had chosen. He had asked a couple of other people to talk or read. He planned everything. He wanted this day to celebrate his life. "No gloom and doom," to quote him. It was a wonderful and special time. We didn't actually bury him until the next day. He is buried about 45 minutes from where I live. I'm so grateful. I go there often; including this day. Many family members came to his graveside and most shared a story about him...including a high school girlfriend!! It was a hard week. It was sad. And it was beautiful.
Thanks for listening to my long story. I'm leaving now to go to the cemetary. Each year I write a letter to him, and read it while I'm there. I t's a ritual that has brought me much comfort. I love this cemetary. It's an old hay field, really. But it's beautiful and serene. And of course, I always cook to remember him on special days. Tomorrow I'm making peach cobbler. yum!
I'm struck right now at the irony of remembering the verse that was going through my head, and the night that I had just gone through with him and his passing that morning. I haven't talked about that last night much. I guess I felt it selfish to talk about about me during the time that he was dying. After 4 years, I really don't think about that night much. During this last week, though, I've been reminded in a way that caught me off guard. If you'll indulge me, I'll tell you my story.
I've always been a fan of the Olympics. I watch them contstantly when they are on. I probably enjoy the Summer Olympics most; particularly basketball and softball. As this year's Games started, I really haven't been very interested. I'm interested in knowing results, but as for watching the games non-stop I really haven't had any interest. There was something to this disinterest that I just couldn't put my finger on. A few nights ago, I realized what it was. The last time the Summer Olympics were played, daddy was dying. And I had particular memories from the night before he passed. It was startling to me making the connection. I find that, though I miss him, the intensity of that loss has lessened over the years. But this moment shook the dust off those feelings and I cried as hard as I have in 4 years. During the months before he died, I consumed myself with information about death and dying. I learned that the body and mind goes through a very predictable process when it is dying. At least with those who are terminally ill. His hospice nurse told us early in the week prior that his death would be soon. The 16th that year was on a Monday. We were blessed that up until Saturday, he was conscious much of the time, knew who everyone was and could have coherent conversations with us. That really ended on Saturday when he pretty much lost consciousness. My husband arrived late Saturday and I woke him. He knew who Wes was and said hello, but that was the last time he was awake. Late on Sunday afternoon, his body began to show signs that his death was imminent. His breathing changed..."fish out-of-water" breathing it's called. His eyes started doing weird things. We knew. All of my siblings, but one were already there. We called my other sister and she joined us. Another sister called a couple of friends from her church. Two wonderful women came and sat with us till midnight. Hospice recommended that we begin giving him morphine every 30 minutes or so. So, there we all were: sitting, giving medicine and waiting. At one point, I took his Bible and started reading scriptures. Everyone who was there chimed in with requests to read their favorite verses. We read for almost an hour. Around midnight the dear friends left and I needed some space. So, I took a shower. With 10 or so people in this small house, I figured that the shower was my only option for solitude. I took a really long shower. I expected that my brothers and sisters would take turns staying up and giving daddy the morphine (though I knew I wouldn't sleep). When I came out of the shower, though, everyone had picked a corner of the house and were asleep. So, I stayed up. I sat by his bed, gave him medicine at the right intervals, counted breathes, counted the amount of time that he didn't take a breathe...for hours. When I would feel sleepy, I would sit by a wall and play solitaire. And all the while, the same loop of Olympic coverage was playing. I couldn't find the remote or I might have changed the channel. Around 4 am, he started making some weird, loud sounds. It freaked me out, so I called hospice. Moments later, a nurse called me back...at 4 am. She told me I was doing fine, what daddy was doing was normal and that I could increase the morphine. As I side note in this story, I want to say that Hospice nurses are the walking angels on this earth. I will always remember the sweet woman that was daddy's nurse that last week, Edwina. They are some of the most loving and compassionate people I have ever been priviledged to meet. Yes, they know how to care for the dying with great dignity, but they also spend just as much time caring for the living. By sunrise, daddy had settled. His breathing was much easier. Around 10am is when he took his last breath. It was a really hard night for me. I don't know what the dying are aware of or not aware of. I hope those last hours were not spent with him knowing pain. I carried a great burden of that for a long time; wondering if i did enough for him. Those images of watching him, listening to him, counting breathes...those images stayed with me a long time. And yet, I would not have wanted it to be any different. I'm grateful to have been with him those last hours whether he knew it or not. I held his hand, and at times hummed through the songs that I would later sing at his service. I hope this this somehow made a difference.
During the months preceeding his death, I spent much time thinking about what I believe about heaven, or at least what happens to us when we die. I'm still not sure exactly what I believe. I'm not sure I believe in the "streets of gold" that my Baptist heritage would sing of. I think life, after this life, is much bigger than that. I do believe our spirit is with God, though I also believe that we are always with God. Maybe it's that we just return to our most pure and perfect state. Later that day we were at the funeral home when they finished preparing his body. I dreaded this moment and was last behind my step-mother and siblings to walk up to the casket. The instant I walked up to him though, I felt a unexplainable calm and peace that I was experiencing so often during the previous months. I took one look at him and my thought was, "This is not my daddy. He's not here." And I actually smiled. I saw a very sick body that fought a very long battle, but his spirit was no longer there.
The next day over 100 people came to his viewing. There were almost 400 at his funeral. He was well loved. It really was a celebration of a very rich life. We showed dozens of pictures while I sang 6 songs that he had chosen. He had asked a couple of other people to talk or read. He planned everything. He wanted this day to celebrate his life. "No gloom and doom," to quote him. It was a wonderful and special time. We didn't actually bury him until the next day. He is buried about 45 minutes from where I live. I'm so grateful. I go there often; including this day. Many family members came to his graveside and most shared a story about him...including a high school girlfriend!! It was a hard week. It was sad. And it was beautiful.
Thanks for listening to my long story. I'm leaving now to go to the cemetary. Each year I write a letter to him, and read it while I'm there. I t's a ritual that has brought me much comfort. I love this cemetary. It's an old hay field, really. But it's beautiful and serene. And of course, I always cook to remember him on special days. Tomorrow I'm making peach cobbler. yum!
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