In the Face of Evidence to the Contrary

13
Jun

Experience would tell me that my garden will yield more weeds than cucumbers this summer.

It would tell me I’ll be optimistic about the little wisps that appear in places other than where than where I’ve planted anything. It says I will wait to see if these little darlings are friendly wildflowers or a developing seed I sprinkled and forgot. And as I wait, the root of some strong-willed, drought tolerant, prickly-stalked invasive species will establish itself as the centerpiece of my garden. fluorescent

Not that I’m speaking from first hand memory or anything.

Experience says I will tire of the endless battle against Mother Nature’s crabby aunt, Rhizome, and will relinquish custody of the 10×15 plot when the mosquitos get too swarmy, the humidity too thick, or my allergies too ridiculously sneezy — like, how many sneezes does it take before you get annoyed with the sneezer and think they’re doing it on purpose? Turns out it’s not that many.

And yet…

Even though the above descriptions may be true, I can’t help but expect great things. This year will be different. This year, everything will work out!

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Someone I used to know is facing the most difficult, heart breaking thing she’ll probably ever go through. And even if it sounds childish, I can’t help feeling like it’s not fair. It’s not right. Her family shouldn’t have to go through this kind of loss, the kind that will forever change the trajectory of all their lives, the kind that will mark them with a scar that isn’t completely healable. How can this be their lot in life? How is this what God has for them? <— this is proof that old beliefs die hard. Once upon a time I thought God had a definitive plan for every one. Every single person. Imagine what that can do to your view of God, especially when everything’s not all sunshine and rainbows. I’ve shaken that off, but boy it pops up in weird ways every once in a while!

When I first heard the news of this tragedy, it wasn’t at the worst stage. The cancer had been detected, there was treatment ahead, and maybe things would be alright. What does it say that I hoped it would be alright but feared it probably wouldn’t be? Has grief so knocked me around that I’ve lost my ability to believe in the best for people?

People are saying that she has been given this burden to shine for God’s glory.

That sounds like a kind of spiritual abuse to me, and if not “abuse” certainly placing expectations on what grief should look like.

Because what if she can’t keep shining? Sometimes it seems that we’re only allowed to count for God if we say the right verses or smile the smile despite the circumstances.

What if she has to rage and gnash her teeth and spit and tear her clothes? Does that make her shine less?

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Even though there are times when the world too much, when so much evidence points to corruption, greed, and selfishness, there is substantial proof of the world also being beautiful, full of generosity and goodness.

Maybe having a healthy respect for the dark makes you look for and expect the Light.

Maybe I’m not the Future

6
Jun

My kids are at optimum summer camp age. You know the age, that magical sweet spot when they want to go away to camp, they can swim, they’re potty trained even at night, and they consistently tie their own shoes. Okay, they’re a little more advanced than just tying their own shoes, but they are those kids who go to camp and throw themselves fully into every game, every activity, every challenge. Their cabin leaders are gods, the camp staff are living like kings, and everything about going away is a dream come true.

We visited a special camp recently, one my husband attended as a child, one I worked at one summer, one my father attended as a child, one my grandparents helped support and build when it was first established. Even with all the changes and improvements, I felt as though I had been on staff just recently, say…three summers ago. In reality, I was on staff for one single summer, and that summer was almost 20 years ago. How can that be? I’m just barely 30 (in my mind) so I must have been the youngest staff member EVER since I would have had to be 10 for that math to work out.

Seriously, how can that be?

Here I am, barely out of my ~~20s~~ (~~30s~~…okay I’m in my 40s…but please note that’s my early 40s), and somehow I have children who want to go to camp, one of whom will attend YOUNG TEENS.

And all these tiny babies think they run the joint. They just learned to walk last week so how in the world can they think they can run a camp? They still have to have two naps a day and just started being able to grip a spoon to feed themselves, and they think people are going to entrust their children to their care??

Photo Credit: Morguefile @kakisky

Actually, they are glorious. They are all golden and fresh, thinking they’re the first ones to ever think their thoughts or breathe their air. Their attempted maturity is endearing. That’s not to say they haven’t had experiences or lived through difficulty. But so much is out in front of them, so many directions their lives can go — almost any direction if they’re willing to live on ramen noodles (do college students still scrimp by on ramen noodles?) and have cardboard boxes as furniture.

As they floated by with their backpacks and minor sunburns, I remembered being them. I remembered being sure I could do it, sure I would probably work there full time one day, sure my ideas would work, sure I would impact the future of camp, sure I’d make a difference in the lives of the campers who came through. I was the future.

Now I’m not the future anymore. I’m not sure what time period I am (present? past? imperfect participle?).

Even if I’m unsure, I’m happy to simply be here now. “In the now” is the phrase, right? Here is good. Now works. I’ll take it.

Did you ever attend or work at camp? I’d love to hear about it. Did you know I’m writing a novel that centers around camp? It’s true! I’m more than halfway done, and I think it’s a really fun story (and real, and hard. You know, like life.). I look forward to being able to tell you more about it soon!

Listen (or: How did you know that?)

16
Sep

Do you have a good poker face? One that keeps people guessing? Some people are indeterminable, their expressions so blank you’re not entirely sure they’re breathing.

I’ve tried having such a poker face, but alas, I have failed. Even when I think I’m doing my best version of a poker face, my face decides otherwise. That’s why it was so funny to me when I had a conversation with a dear friend this week, and it went something like this…

Me: Blah blah blah, I have to talk to you about this thing, blah di blah. It’s been on my mind a long time, but I’ve been nervous to talk to you about it.

Friend: It’s about time.

Me: Huh?

Friend: (Trying not to look smug) Yeah. I’ve known there was something bugging you for a while but there just hasn’t been a good chance to really get into it.

[End Scene]

She knew already, or at least had an inkling about it. She could tell, even though I thought I was keeping a straight face and not letting on. I wasn’t trying to lie to her; I was simply trying to say nothing in either direction. But it was no use.

She was listening without me even talking.

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It was more than my friend having a feeling that something was on my mind. She stayed with me, hung in there, even when I wasn’t ready to talk about it. Then once I was ready to talk about it…

…she listened.

She let me talk and didn’t jump to conclusions about what I was saying. She asked questions so she’d understand what I meant. She gave me room to look for the right word and waited for me to find my way through a sentence.

…she listened, and though she didn’t know it, she underlined yet another proof of why we’ve been friends for almost 20 years. Her choice of response, one of grace and warmth, exemplified what I feared I would NOT receive from many people. This happy reaffirmation of her wonderfulness came on a topic I’ve held carefully to myself in fears that it would create a rift between us, and that there — well, that’s the clearest proof of the love of a friend that I can think of.

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United in Loss

22
Apr

Prince passed away yesterday. My husband texted me and asked if I had heard the news.

His joke landed flat.

I told him to quit joking because it wasn’t funny.

Especially because it wasn’t a joke.

I grew up in the height of Prince’s celebrity, and followed his evolution as an artist. I lived in Minneapolis and in Chanhassen during his rise to stardom, so I’ve absorbed exposure to him through the air, through the water. A couple friends and I used to try and discover his Paisley Palace in the backwoods of Chanhassen, thinking we could catch a glimpse of the mysterious rock star.

You can’t live here, especially having been through the 80’s, and not feel some kind of hometown pride about him. He changed his name to a unpronouncable symbol as an act of defiance, people. You don’t just do that without earning props. His talent was legendary and his dedication to Minneapolis was undeniable.

These are my people y’all.

People come out to honor Prince with singing.

Death comes to us all, doesn’t it.

Too soon, too soon.

Celebrating Small Things

18
Sep

Original paint play by Me

When I hear the word “celebrate” it calls to mind special days, unusual accomplishments, and things generally outside the regular rhythm of the day to day. But this tends to be my default setting: to think too broadly. Bringing the scale back down and shifting focus to the more “mundane” requires a purposeful effort, but the rewards are many.

Just as a person recovers from a bad head cold and no longer rejoices in her ability to breathe freely through her nose, I am quick to expect things to go smoothly and my most difficult decision to be what to make for supper. I am too quick to forget my blessings, too unaware of my privilege. I don’t feel fear of violence when a police officer follows behind me. I don’t rejoice when I travel safely throughout my day without threat of bodily harm because I’m wearing a certain outfit. I don’t feel actively thankful when my husband consistently goes to his job and has a steady paycheck.

There are so many things to celebrate.

I don’t have to feel guilty about the set of circumstances that put me where I am, with access to resources and knowledge. I can, however, work to equip others with these same resources. And I can reframe my focus onto the every day things worth celebrating: friendship, adequate food and choices therein, timely and safe bus arrival at the end of a long day. These things are more regular occurrences, but not for everyone, and acknowledging their regularity will lead to a richer life and more grateful attitude of heart.

What mundane things are you grateful for today? What small things can you celebrate?

To find out other people’s take on “celebrate” which will probably be a pretty great pick-me-up, hop over to Kate’s website for Five Minute Friday and all the other people linking up today.

Sending the kids Alone

27
Aug

In the last few weeks of summer, we finally got to the peak of summer experiences: camp. We had already gone biking, played basketball, soccer, and foursquare, read books in the hammock, stargazed, gotten bites from mosquitos, gone to the zoo, spent time at the cabin, and pretty much worn out our swim suits. We had saved the pinnacle of summer for the last portion, and the build-up had reached a fevered pitch.

We sent out oldest to his first full week at overnight summer camp. For the first time we sent our youngest to spend each day at a day camp. And our middle child got to have a few special activities since he was put on a waiting list for overnight camp but didn’t get in, poor guy.

We had already expanded our “trust circle” this summer to include people caring for our kids all day one day since I took my first outside job in 10 years. That was challenging enough. But sending two out of three to be in the care of someone else (and one of them for night time to be in the care of someone we had not screened and who was probably someone with no children of his own! What does he know about looking out for our child?! What are his qualifications — that he tells a good campfire story or roasts a good marshmallow?!) required some serious trust work.

I didn’t intend to become a protective parent. There are probably some who think I’m not protective enough. I mean, I let the kids climb trees and hammer nails and walk the dog outside alone. My husband and I are very choosey about the kids’ media intake, and some of that was informed by the kids’ own sensitivities. Have you ever tried turning down the sound for intense parts of kids shows/movies? We couldn’t understand why the kids didn’t like certain kids shows when they were younger and it turned out that the music used to “heighten the scene” made the kids stressed out — shows are way less intense without the soundtrack.

As they get older, there are things they’re going to have to do alone. I get that, I truly do. And I trust them (mostly) to make good choices and think before they act (mostly).

Two of the three went away for at least a day at a time. It went smoothly and they had a great time. They were able to make new friendships and create memories that they’ll have into the future. They expanded their base of experience and see the world just a bit larger now than they did before. These are good things.

So as we prepare for school to start, why does it feel like I’m sending them out to battle giants with only plastic swords?

This is a post for Five Minute Friday, hosted by Kate Motaung, which I’m only getting to today. Five Minute Sunday? Doesn’t have the same ring to it. Search Five Minute Friday or go to Kate Motaung’s blog for the collection of everyone’s links, which are a variety of perspectives on the word “alone”. Thanks for reading today!

More than Ten Lives Taken

24
Jul

This is a terrible year of violence against people of color. Does this year hold any more violent police encounters than in other years? It’s more likely that’s it’s simply my privilege that’s made me unaware of the pattern of police brutality against people of color. Maybe it’s more widely reported. Even so, that does not diminish the principle of injustice that is routinely acted upon people of of color. These names are the ones the news agencies focused on; there are more. Many more. And these are the names are people who’s lives were taken at the hands of police. There are probably lists upon lists of people of color who were treated with disproportionate force that did not end in death but certainly left injuries and trauma. I may not have ten names listed below, but there are more than ten people of color who have been effected by this police posture and activity. Many more.

Michael Brown

Eric Garner

Sandra Bland (so far this is being called a suicide (skeptical side-eye) but you can’t deny the unnecessary brutality during her arrest…for not signaling a turn while driving her car in a neighborhood.

Freddie Gray

Eric Harris

John Crawford

Tamir Rice

Nicolas Thomas

So many others.

I grieve these lives lost.

I need to acknowledge my complicity in a system that discriminates against people of color, and I believe other people who are white should do the same. We need to seek out information and listen to the prophetic voices of those who tell us the truth of their experience, rather than ignoring it or minimizing it. Maybe it makes us feel uncomfortable or blamed or embarrassed; so what? That’s nothing compared to the fear, anger and despondency many people of color must feel when facing the prospect of going about their daily lives.

I may not know the best way to talk about these issues of race, but trying to bring them up in a respectful manner is a solid first step. That’s why I’m posting this today.

Looking for articles and a place to start educating yourself? Here are a couple: Washington Post’s article about fatal police shootings, Report from Amnesty International, Journalists Resource article, and this ProPublica article. It doesn’t take much to find information about this, and it’s all of our responsibility to be aware.

Charleston, Voices and Fear

20
Jun

There has been a lot of appalling news in the last two days, news of death and racism in a place that offered sanctuary to the very person who betrayed nine innocent people to their deaths. He sat there, basking in Mother Emanuel’s hospitality, and then opened fire. He came into a place that has traditionally been a place of refuge and basically defiled that sense of safety.

What can I offer to this conversation?

What words can a white woman add to make one whit of difference in the face of such monumental tragedy?

We are not made for fear, friends. We’re not made for despair. We’re made for so much more.

Events such as natural disasters, a child diagnosed with a chronic disease or health condition, a violent crime, a national crisis, these make us ask where the light is or what our society’s coming to. When brothers and sisters in a church are gunned down, it makes me ask where God was. Someone can try to answer that God was in the midst of the victims. Maybe He was. Maybe this evil man would have taken even more lives. What I know is that we need not fear one another, though we may not look the same. And people who are white like I am need to assert our voices in opposition to racism, be it overt or subtle. And if we fear that which we do not know, then it’s time to get educated. We need to know our history and acknowledge our implicit role in a system that has been discriminatory and has given whites advantages that we’ve profited from without even noticing.

What I know for sure is that God has not given us a spirit of fear.

Even when it feels like the fear is crawling up the back of our necks, even when it makes breathing hard, or makes a hard, cold little home in our chests.

God has not given us a spirit of fear.

That also means we can’t be afraid to wade into the conversation, afraid we’ll say something wrong or we’ll offend someone. If I come as a learner, asking to be invited to the conversation so I can listen and become aware, that’s an entirely different posture than coming in to negate someone’s position or make myself come of looking shiny and free from playing any negative role.

That said, we should hear voice of people of color who are living the experience. Please read what these good people are writing about the Charleston killings, and about the issue of race in the United States.

Osheta Moore at Shalom in the City

Austin Channing Brown

A’Driane Nieves curates amazing articles and pieces and writes about it here.

If you’re on Twitter, you can follow Deray McKesson.

If you want to “do something” to help Emmanuel AME Church minister to it’s congregation and continue its ministry in Charleston, you can consider donating to one of these organizations.

Let’s be in prayer for Charleston, for Emanuel Church, and for the families of these nine victims. And if you needed a soundtrack of inspiration, I’m leaving you with a throwback song that pops into my head whenever I think about not living in fear. Click here for musical fortitude in the face of darkness.

Be well, and live in freedom and love today.

Edited to add: this Amazing reading list , which comes from the African American Intellectual History Society website. Here’s their introduction of the reading list:

Here is a list of selected readings that educators can use to broach conversations in the classroom about the horrendous events that unfolded in Charleston, South Carolina this week. These readings provide valuable information about the history of racial violence in this country and contextualize the history of race relations in South Carolina and the United States in general. They also offer insights on race, racial identities, global white supremacy and black resistance. All readings are arranged by date of publication. This list is not meant to be exhaustive; please check out the #Charlestonsyllabus hashtag and the Goodreads List for additional readings.

Legitimate Journeys

20
Mar

There are people who are solid in much of what they do. They have a plan, they stick with it. They don’t question the “why” of things, and they are content. Their journey is sincere, their faith is genuine, and they’re dedicated, upstanding members of their communities and their lives. That journey is a legitimate journey.

I’m realizing I might not ever be one of those people.

Instagram: tclmn

That’s not to say I’m the opposite of them. I’m also sincere and genuine. However, it appears that my journey might look much different than theirs, specifically my journey of faith. My faith is real even if it’s messy, and I must work to affirm that my journey is also legitimate. It takes a certain amount of vulnerability and willingness to admit that I’m more like “one of these kids is doing their own thing” as the PBS show used to sing. I don’t know that I aspire to become more like the non-questioning-types, but I just sort of assumed it would eventually happen, that maybe along with maturity or a certain number of years I’d mellow into a version of myself that’s closer to them. I’ve long known there are seasons of faith, times of drought and times of plenty, and that over the course of a lifetime a person will see ebbs and flows. I just thought I’d out grow the tendency to ask why.

Let’s just say, It ain’t happening.

It appears that I am born to question, to wrestle, to see inconsistencies between what was said and what was then implemented, to be able to hear Christian-ese even though I’m steeped in it. It’s not something I try to feed. I try to be careful to not base my worth or identity on going against the stream. It’s just something that keeps coming up.

It’s like when you suddenly become aware of a beeping coming from another room of the house when you’re trying to have a conversation with someone. You can’t NOT hear it until you break off your conversation and investigate the beeping (and in this example, turn it off).

It seems my ear may be tuned to the beeping question why.

It also makes me wonder if other people can hear it, and are just trying to act like they hear nothing.

Can you recognize different seasons of faith in your life? What season are you in right now, and how can you tell? What questions do you find yourself asking when it comes to matters of faith?

Keep your Head

8
Feb

Instagram: @tclmn

This is a season for keeping my head down, for putting one foot in front of the other and getting done what needs doing.

It’s a time of prioritizing, and if you come over and the house looks a shambles, then know that I decided something else should get the attention.

If your phone hasn’t been showing my number calling you, it’s nothing personal; it’s that other people had to come first.

The ring grows tighter, and it now only accommodates a small number of people, but those people’s needs have ballooned, filling the ring until there’s very little space to move about.

You can’t see more than the crown of my head as I lumber along with my eyes to the path, not looking left or right, eyes to the ground so I don’t misstep or get distracted from my top priorities by the allure of rest or levity or abstract thought. This is a time for focus, days broken into bits, formulas and ratios, numbers numbers numbers.

It won’t always be like this.

This will stabilize. This will alleviate. The intensity will subside and when that happens I will lift my head up and take in the sights around me.

For now I must keep my head down, because that’s what must be done to keep my head.

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It’s not Friday, I know, but this is a link-up with Five Minute Friday and Kate Motaung. You can find out all about it here along with reading some of the other posts. I’d welcome your comments, specifically about times when you’ve just had to keep your head down and do the thing that needed doing.

In the meantime, this is a good, on-topic song with a fun video you might enjoy — I did. http://youtu.be/ADP65wbBUpc