Basic Principles of Humanity

No Hate Crime Convictions

Reading the article linked above, looking at the picture of this mother walking down the courthouse steps with her son, I'm thinking what a generally terrifying prospect it is to send our kids out into the world.  

Accidents, bad decisions, stupid mistakes, wrong place/wrong time situations...these worries plague every decent parent. But how those worries must compound exponentially for parents of kids who face racism or homophobia or xenophobia on top of every other curve ball that life can throw.

Cruelty and ignorance and hate in varying degrees have always been passed off as acceptable in our world.  Collateral damage. From bullies in the schoolyards to genocide. I don't understand one bit of it, but I know that it's true.  

There is a certain level of hate that we tolerate as simply the price of doing the business of living, I guess. And while I don't think we should teach our kids to be thin-skinned whiners who can't handle rejection or adversity or consequences, much the opposite in fact, I do believe that there is a monumental difference between toughing up our kids and teaching them that hate and ignorance are tolerable.

In the case of Donald Williams from the story above, I cannot believe that there was not one person in that entire dorm who stood up to these idiots. When they saw the nazi symbols and the confederate flag and the hate speech written on walls and heard the awful name calling and taunting and saw the freaking bike lock around this kid's neck...there was not one level headed, compassionate person brave enough to do the right thing, even at the risk of becoming a target themselves? Not one?

We are all ignorant as kids. Although I don't remember a specific instance, I'm sure I saw bullies on my playground and did nothing about it. I'm sure I called names and was awful to someone in elementary school. But as adults, even in our late teens and twenties, we can no longer claim ignorance. By then most of us have experienced bullies in some form and have felt the deep wounds they leave in their wake.  

By then we know better and should do better.  Yet many of us still look away.


When Donald and his family spoke up and took the men to court, the jury decided that misdemeanor slaps on the wrist were sufficient. In hate cases like this, my mind always wanders to Matthew Shepard. How many stood by and allowed that barbarity to happen? Or on a macro level, slavery, civil abuses, the Holocaust. Those things can't happen unless people look the other way.

Silence and inaction are just as bad as doing the damn thing yourself and, any way you look at it, that's cowardice.  

It comes down to this. Bullies are aplenty and we all, our kids included, will face them at different points in our lives. We thicken our kids' skins, build them up, teach them that our worth is not hinged on how others see us but on how we see ourselves through God's eyes. But when someone attacks a person's skin color or culture or sexuality, elemental aspects of who a person is, it wounds deeply. When that hate and fear manifest physically, when the bullies graduate from spewing words to using violence, those wounds turns into fissures.  

Those fissures erode the most basic principals of humanity - the moral fibers that connect us all.  

And that is intolerable.

We are drilling this into our kids even now so that, someday, when they are inevitably bullied, see someone else being bullied, or feel the urge to bully someone themselves, they will stop and think and feel their way around the situation to make the right decision.  

That's how the fissures are healed. That's how the fabric of humanity is sewn back together. Stitch by stitch, minute by minute, one man taking a stand, one kid making a good decision, compassionate souls living every day with their eyes wide open, doing the brave work of the right thing.

Monsters and Light

People's lives are hard.

People have serious shit happen to them.  Moments, even a single moment can change every conceivable aspect of who we become.  Awful things that others might notice, but often in a glazed unfocused way, like staring at one of those 3-D hidden picture posters.  They don't want to see what's right in front of them, so they haze it over.  That way they don't have to step out of their comfort zones and do something about it.

To them ignorance is bliss.

But to the person who is trudging through the muck, through the darkness of those moments, this ignorance is just another blow of judgement and malice and shame.  When someone who is being hurt looks into the eyes of a friend, a family member, a teacher, a passerby, there is an unspoken, maybe even an unintentional plea there.  And if we, the friends or family members or passersby are present enough, still enough in our own minds, we can see it and ask questions and be human to this person who lives among the monsters.

Then ignorance can no longer be claimed.  

Then we know, or have a good idea.  And if there is a shred of virtue and compassion in our souls, we should do something about it.  Reach out.  Make waves if necessary.  Maybe those waves will shake loose the monsters that live in the depths.  And maybe the people stuck down there with them can ride those waves toward the light, toward healing and love.

The older I get the more stories I hear about the evil that is endured by so many every day (and largely overlooked).  Friends whose parents were dangerous or neglectful or who made painfully stupid decisions that spilled over onto their kids.  Kids suffering bullies.  People of all ages withstanding abuse and humiliation.  Pain.  Poverty.  Addiction.  Heartache.  Shame.  And that's to say nothing of my recent visit to Cleveland's Maltz Museum of Jewish Heritage where I stood dumbfounded in front of a map that showed the concentration of hate groups still active in the US and where I read through tear-filled eyes the unimaginable horrors of Holocaust survivors.  Or the true story the movie Spotlight tells of rampant sexual abuse and cover ups within the Catholic church.  

Jesus.  It sometimes seems like people are drowning in a sea of monsters.  

I think of these things when we sing "This Little Light of Mine" at church.  I think about how those of us who have been shielded from the monsters or survived them, how those of us who hold the light of hope and grace and mercy and compassion have an obligation to shine it, to seek out darkness with our lights and blind those @**&%!# monsters with it.  

There are endless questions this sparks regarding faith.  Like why does suffering happen?  Where is God when this is happening to people all over the world?  

But then I think he's in me.  And he's in you.  

And he's trying desperately to work through us.  Will we listen?  I need to do more, be more proactive in this light-shining business.  Because somewhere out in the world there is someone who is waiting for me to do something.  To hear their plea.  To make some waves.  To reach out and help.  To shine a light.

A simple everyday way to make this into a habit is to give people a freaking break.  Don't be so judgy.  That rude clerk at the store or the distracted waitress or that coworker who drives you insane...you don't know what monsters they have fought or are still fighting.  Sure, maybe some of them are just jerks.  But maybe if you look into their eyes and push aside your judgement, you will see a story there.  Maybe a plea.  Which is why we should offer kindness always.  Offer a closed mouth and an open ear.  Offer help if necessary.

Offer your light.  

Because if you shine your light, and I shine mine, my kids shine theirs, their friends shine theirs...soon this whole place will be so bright that the monsters won't have anywhere to hide.  

My Boy

Sam had a busy day of school and an evening full of homework and piano lessons and a boy scouts event that ran past bedtime.  I had already put Lena to bed when Rich and Sam got home from scouts.  I was waiting with a preheated bed and his pjs in hand when they walked in the door.  He asked so nicely if he could stay up for a few extra minutes and, since he had been fairly well behaved and I hadn't seen much of him all day, I didn't mind breaking our bedtime rule just a bit.

He cuddled with me on the couch and we watched American Idol.  That's when he melted my heart.

There was this blind guy auditioning for the judges.  He had a great big smile and spirit that filled up the room.  But his voice wasn't great and the judges did not let him through.  Dismayed, the guy took off his glasses and, heartbroken, he began to cry.

Sam asked me if I would have let him through.  I said no.

He said, "But he's blind, mommy.  Shouldn't they give him an extra chance?"  I tried to explain how people with disabilities should be treated with the same respect and candor as everyone else and that, even though our reaction is to absolve them from sometimes harsh realities, patronizing that person is unfair to them and the other singers.  "Plus", I told him, "that guy has other amazing gifts he should be proud of.  Singing's just not one of them."

Then Sam looked up at me with his big blue eyes and said "I feel like I might cry for that man".

Oh, my heart swelled for my son in that moment.  "I love your soul, buddy.  You're so kind and caring.  What a lovely soul you have."  I asked him if he knew what a soul was and he said, "Kind of like my heart?"

"Yes", I said, "It's kind of like your heart and your mind and your spirit all together.  If you think of your body as a car, then your soul would be the driver.  Without your soul, your body would be empty and you wouldn't be you.  It's more important to have a good soul than anything else in this world.  And son, you have a good one.  I'm so proud of you."

Then he smiled his toothy wide smile and hugged me.

That's my boy.

Where My Treasure Is

It's June.  Wait.  What?  How did that happen?  My blog has once again fallen victim to the villainous traps of the hustle and the bustle.

Thoughts and ideas and inspirations have been stacking up in my brain lately, each waiting their turn to be organized and assembled and written down.  It looks like a midday line at the DMV up there! I have a few minutes today, so I thought it wise to get one out that has been lingering up there awhile.

Work and relationships.  

My job has always been a struggle for me.  I spent the years before we had kids loathing my position.  Commercial real estate is absurdly boring to me. And I foolishly saw my job as a partner's secretary as demeaning and beneath me as a bright, collage-educated woman.  I looked for other jobs, but none came to fruition.  I finally figured that God must want me there, so I stayed and wrestled with my pride.  I have always been grateful for the blessings my job has brought to me and to our family, but to say that it has been a lesson in humility is a grotesque understatement.

When our kids came along, everything changed.  I no longer sought purpose and self-definition from my job because I found both in the brilliant blue eyes of my babies.  Paradigm shift!  I began looking at my role at the office differently.  I saw myself as a nurturer and that spilled over into my work.  I'm good at taking care of people and now I pride myself at doing just that.  The title of secretary is no longer something I scoff at.  It's just another way to serve.

Now I don't always do it with a smile on my face.  I lament.  A lot.  Taking care of demanding grown men is much more frustrating than caring for children because these grown men have so few redeeming qualities.  :)  They don't have sweet angel faces that make you feel guilty for losing your cool.  They don't say they're sorry when they hurt your feelings or push your buttons or ask too much.

But I love them anyway.  

Because I've never accepted the "business is business" rule. My relationship with my boss is the longest and most difficult relationship I've ever had with a man.  I adore him.  He's family to me.  Over these fifteen years we've shared many personal moments, like when his father died, when my grandparents died, when he had a very scary health crisis at the office, when he's shared things with me about his family, when we've laughed so hard we've cried, to name a few.  And in these moments I have caught glimpses of him as a man.  Not the boss or the businessman or the high-powered executive, but stripped down to what we all are when the titles and wealth can't help us.

Our most humble human selves.  

It's these moments that have fostered a place in my heart for this man who I have admittedly cursed as often as I have praised.  He's a tough man to love, but I love him nonetheless.

One of the hardest things for me to reconcile is the knowledge that my feelings are not reciprocated.  I know he cares for me like a sister.  He's told me as much many times.  But I'm under no delusion that he wouldn't fire me if it were best for business.  For him ambition and business reign supreme.  It's how he lives his life.  I get that.  I in no way agree with it, but I guess that's why I'm not a powerful millionaire.


My relationships are my treasure.  

They keep me going.  The fill me up and make me whole.  They make me who I am.  Sure I would love to vacation in Scotland and Greece and Africa, to travel the world in comfort, to give my children those experiences.  But my focus is on the stripped down soul inside.  When I stand before God at the end of this journey, in the place where we can't hide behind money and beauty and titles and power, it's my love and my relationships that I will offer as evidence that maybe I understood what it was all about.  And I want my kids to learn by example that our lives and the people who are placed there are deeper and more beautiful and more important than any business deal or bank account could ever hope to be.

And maybe, when I'm in that place and God sees where my treasure truly lies, he'll overlook all of the cursing.  :)

Calling Bull on a Misguided and Hurtful Christian Sentiment

A friend shared this blog entry on Facebook today.  And I want to shout it from the rooftops!  Please click on the highlighted words and read this pastor's message.  It's truth.  Plain and simple.

His blog post perfectly debunks the "God won't give you more than you can handle" sentiment that so many well-meaning, but misguided Christians utter to friends going through rough times. 

It's a sentiment I have always loathed and never use.  It's a sentiment that can send a non-believer running for the hills or add further pain to a believer who isn't handling hard times well.  And it can often make the person saying it seem cruel and dim when spoken to a child of abuse or a victim of a violent crime or a genocide survivor...

Christians carry a heavy burden.  Our words and deeds are scrutinized more than most.  Every educated kind word has the capability of sparking God's light.  And every stupid insensitive flub could extinguish it.  I've been on both sides, giving and receiving both helpful and hurtful sentiments.  And I can attest to the effects of both. 

This pastor's blog is a reminder to me that when someone is going through crisis, I as a human, as a woman, as a mother...and especially as a Christian, need always to be thoughtful and gentle with my words. 

Because words have power.

The Unfortunate Sisterhood

Last week I took Mom to a follow-up appointment at OSU's breast health center.  I'm happy to report that everything still looks clear and she is healthy and blessed!  She's such an inspiration to me every moment of every day...

I was in the waiting room passing time with a good book during Mom's appointment when an old black woman came in and sat near me.  She was making jokes to a nurse about getting fitted for her new "Dolly Partons", which I came to find out was her prosthetic bra.  The nurse didn't quite know what to make of her, but to me she seemed to be a joyful, wise, funny old lady, calling everyone child and humming to herself.  I immediately loved her.

A little later another woman joined us on our series of couches.  She was a rough looking, middle-aged white woman whose hair was either falling out or just growing back, assumedly due to chemo.  She was fighting with a nurse about not having an appointment but wanting to see the doctor anyway.  She demanded, "I'll wait till she's finished with all her appointments for the day.  I'll walk with her when she leaves if that's what I need to do.  But I ain't talking to you.  I want to talk to my doctor."

She wasn't yelling, but she was very curt to the young nurse, who I could tell was getting upset as she tried to tell the woman how busy the doctor was, not making any promises, asking if she could answer the woman's questions.  Finally she saw how determined the woman was and she left.

I felt bad for the nurse.  That was my initial reaction.  Sympathy for the young, healthy nurse for having to deal with difficult people.

Then came a paradigm shift.   

Here sat these two women who clearly came from completely different places and couldn't be more opposite...black to white, joyful to sullen, funny to somber, kind to bitter.  Just as I glanced back down at my book, the black woman said to the white woman, "You a strong woman."

That surprised me.  I think it surprised the white lady too because it took her a minute to respond.  "Well, that young thing ain't going to know the answers to my questions, so why even waste my energy trying to explain?  I need my doctor."

She was getting upset again, sighing and seemingly near tears.  My sympathy started to shift a bit.  Then this happened to push it over the edge.

The black woman leaned across the space that separated them and put her hand on the white woman's arm.  She said, "Ain't nobody knows what it's like 'til they been through it themselves."  Then she squeezed the woman's arm and smiled at her like I've been through it, sister.  I get it.  And the white woman smiled back and touched the woman's hand with her own. 

They both sat like that for a minute, so far removed from the other in every visible, tangible way, but so completely connected because they were sisters now, sisters in this unfortunate sisterhood called breast cancer. 

It was one of the most precious things I've ever witnessed in my life.  And one of the strongest, fastest paradigm shifts I've ever experienced.  The understanding and empathy that passed between those women in that moment was beautiful. 

When I told Mom about it after her appointment she nodded with understanding, because she's in the sisterhood now, too.  She told me about a woman at the fair who saw Mom's survivor sweatshirt from the race we did this spring.  She put her hand on Mom's shoulder and smiled as she said, "I'm a survivor too." And then walked on.  Mom said it was kind of a special moment...

A sister connecting with another in this unfortunate sisterhood.

God's Flashlights

We say prayers every night with the kids before bed.

In a certain place in our prayer routine, we pray that God bless and protect people (especially kids) who are abused or neglected or alone or sick and that he put Godly, intelligent, loving people in their lives so that they can see his light and know that the world isn't always so dark and scary.

I was reminded of this family prayer as I read my cousin's wife's blog yesterday. Suz is a gifted writer and leads an interesting life in Sudan with my cousin and their two small kids. You should check it out http://www.suz-mae.com/.

Yesterday she wrote about volunteering at a horse farm to take orphaned kids on rides. They call it hippotherapy, but I call it being a flashlight.

Her blog made me realize that she is an answer to our nightly prayer. Suz is God's flashlight -God is shining his light through her onto these kids, using Suz's love and joy for life and the Lord to affect these kids in a special way.

Then I started to think of all the other flashlights I know. My cousin Julie teaches kids with behavioral problems and other disabilities; my sister teaches Sunday school and preschool and taught elementary school before the kids were born; my mom has babysat kids forever, some of whom are in their 20's and still come to visit her; my friend, Nichole, volunteers at her daughter's school every chance she can; my brother in law helps lead a group for boys through church...and so many more. All of these people touch kids' lives in loving, intelligent, Godly ways. And, for some of the kids, these people are the only light they see in a day.

I'm just starting my journey to becoming a flashlight, beginning with my own kids. But I'm feeling provoked today to do more, thanks to Suz and all of the wonderful flashlights God has illuminated my life with.

Behind the scenes stuff is my volunteering niche right now. I'm already away from my kids three days a week at work and away from Rich five days a week while he's at work, so I like finding things that benefit others that I can do from home, like creating PPT's for Sunday's traditional services, taking minutes for my church council, sponsoring my kids in Africa and the US. This way I feel like I'm doing something for others without taking precious time away from my family.

So along those lines, I've decided to get involved with a group called Project Linus http://projectlinus.org/. Their mission is "to provide love, a sense of security, warmth and comfort to children who are seriously ill, traumatized, or otherwise in need through the gifts of new, handmade blankets and afghans, lovingly created by volunteer blanketeers." They have distributed over 3 million blankets to children in need since 1995.

Four reasons I love this:

1. I crochet and knit and enjoy doing both (it's the only crafty thing I'm good at);
2. My kids both have blankies that they gain a lot of comfort from, so I know that the mission is a good one;
3. Linus is my favorite Peanuts character; and
4. I can do it from home.

My goal is to make 6 blankets this year. I may do more, since most of them will be small, baby blankets I can do with simple stitches, but I my official goal is 6. This may not seem like a big deal, especially in comparison to what so many people give of themselves every day.

But it's big to me. Because a little kid who is battling cancer or has lived through a disaster or has lost a parent or is homeless or an orphan...one of those sweet innocent little ones will have one my blankets to keep them warm, help them sleep, comfort them, or brighten up their room.

And I'll send a prayer with each one that it be a light, however small, in this kid's life.

Worried Blessings

I'm a worrier. And an overthinker. And emotional.

Where it concerns my kids, it counts double.

The reason I bring this up is that today, I’m worried and over thinking and emotional. I heard three stories on Good Morning America about people who are abusing or killing or neglecting the children God blessed them with.

My stomach is tied up in knots about this world that I brought my kids into.

Of course this is not the first time I’ve been upset or disgusted by humanity and how children suffer at the hands of their parents or other people they love. I mean, it’s appalling if a kid is abused by a stranger or an acquaintance. But to be abused by someone they love and adore like a child loves their parents? It’s unfathomable to me that this kind of evil exists in a world that can also produce so much joy and light and goodness.

I hear these stories and picture what kind of hell these kids are living through and those thoughts stick in my brain for days or weeks or months. And then I worry about my kids, if someone would do something to them, if they would even just see something terrible, or worse. My imagination can be a wonderful place, but it can also draw up dark, vivid, scaring images that I cannot shake without a “God, please take these worries from my head” prayer.

I know I cannot control what others do; only what I do, how I react to others, and how I teach my kids to do the same. And that drives me crazy. I want to shelter my children and protect them from every evil I can envision, which would make me a smothering mother. And I know that’s not healthy, either.

I’m rambling.

What are the answers? Why do things unimaginable things happen to children? Why can’t we as a society protect them better? Why does God let idiots and crack heads and evil people even have kids? Why must these kids suffer so? It enrages me. It saddens me. It worries me.

In the shower this morning, I was asking God these questions…more like shouting him these questions. As a Christian, I know that God is with me and with those kids and even with those crazy-ass people who do these awful things. And I also know that God is strong enough for me to be mad at him sometimes, too, in my frustrated ignorance, expecting him to intercede.

It’s enough to shake my faith.

But then God nudged me as I listened to my Jonny Lang CD on the way to work and reminded me that he’s there with us all inside our heads, hearing us scream out; if we hand him our burdens, he’ll give us peace; if we give him our chains, he’ll set us free; and he’ll never leave us or forsake us or abuse us...

Anyway, it’s a beautiful song – listen for yourself (if the link below works).

It made me think that he’s probably more saddened when one of his children is hurt or killed than we are. He’s probably more disappointed and angry when one of his children commits these awful atrocities than we are.

And also reminded me of the responsibility I have to protect my kids, to love my kids, to be thankful everyday for my kids, to guide my kids…but not to control my kids. My job is to “train them in the way that they should go and, even when they are old, they will not depart from it”. The rest I have to surrender to God.

Changes

Do people ever really change?

Once I had a friend named Misty. She spent Christmases with my family, had her sweet daughters baptized with my son, confided in me, laughed with me, cried with me, said she considered me a sister. I loved this girl. I loved her family. I loved her brother, Victor, and saw so much potential in him. They were part of my life.

Then everything changed. Misty did strange and dangerous things, lied, manipulated, and eventually cut me and all her closest friends out of her life. Honestly, it was a relief at that point for the friendship to end because of the crazy amounts of drama that were all tied up in it. But I would have stayed. I thought she would eventually figure it out and realize how precious friendships are.

She didn’t.

Now her brother, Victor, is back in prison. I saw in him an extraordinary soul - I genuinely did. Something I’ve rarely seen before or since. But he just couldn’t shake his childhood and drugs and bad decisions, I guess. I don’t know. After he got out of jail the first time and was recovering from being shot, he tried to change his life (or at least it seemed that way). He met with my pastor, came to church with us, got a job. He was on a straight path. I had such high hopes for this kid.

But now he’s in prison.

So do people ever really change?

I like to believe they do. And logically I realize that some people do change and turn their lives around. Even in my own small way, I've overcome some pretty stupid decisions and self destructive behaviors; I've changed. But maybe that's considered maturing and not so much changing, as my stuff was mostly just youthful indiscretions and dumb decision making. Misty and Victor have a lot of crazy shit to overcome and don't have a lot of unconditional support and love in their lives (some of which is by choice), so maybe that's the difference. But I know some people who have overcome some jacked-up childhoods and are outstanding people in spite of it. So what's the difference there?

I don't know.

Maybe some people are just bad or mean or perpetually lost. But like my wise mother pointed out, even if that's the case, most people aren't just born that way. They became that way through abuse, neglect, mental instability, drugs...something turns people that way. I guess I know where my eternal compassion comes from.

I will always wonder why and wish that things were different. But I recognize that I have no control over what other people do. And that I will forever and always be surprised and sometimes disappointed by people. That's just life.

But at the same time, I will forever and always be astonished by the beauty and strength of people. And I'm so blessed to call so many of those people my friends and family. And that's just life, too.

The good and the bad. The disappointments and the astonishments. The hurt and the joy. The hope.

Regardless of what people do or how they may stumble or how they may even hurt me, I guess I will always hold out hope for them. Call it naivety. Call it foolishness. Call it what you will. But through it all, I will never stop praying and believing and hoping.

God holds out hope for us all. Shouldn't I aspire to do the same?

Homeless at Easton

After church today, we headed to Sam's Club and then to Rich's favorite, Hometown Buffet, for lunch.

As we were packing everyone back up in the van to head home, a woman and a little girl approached us. After apologizing for bothering us 10 times, the woman said, "My daughter and I are homeless and living in our car over there in the parking lot. Is there any way you could give us a few dollars?" I'm glad Rich had some cash on him, because I rarely do these days. I handed the $5 to her and squeezed her hand and said I'll pray for her and her daughter. At that, her face softened and she looked grateful and said, "Pray for my daughter. Her name is Kristin." I said I would and off they went. We saw them approaching another couple as we drove off.

Whether she was really homeless or a junkie or a liar or a just woman in a bad place, it didn't matter. There was a kid about Jack's age with her, staring at the pavement, not making eye contact with me. If there was any way that $5 might get that kid some food, it was worth the risk. I cannot imagine the life this little girl leads. She is now permanently on my prayer list.

Rich and I talked about it all the way home. I feel like I should have talked with her more, said something to her, asked her something...I don't know what, but something more. I really wish I would have mentioned my church's Free Store and GRIN program (Gahanna Residents In Need). I just didn't think of it at the moment. Next time I will be ready.

I want to make up some cards with that information on it - the name and address of our church and a list of the programs it offers. That way, when I'm approached by someone in need, I can give them that card and, if they really just need help, I've given them a real way to get it. I'll probably still give them cash if I have it - that's just the kind of sucker I am I guess. I figure if there's a 50/50 chance the person is either a crook or a person in real need, there's a 50/50 chance that my money might help them.