kathymommy

[kathymommy]

i don’t want to be afraid

It’s been a while since I tended this blog, but, happily, these sorts of forums wait patiently for their creator’s attention. Since I haven’t sat down to write much lately (owing mostly to the hot weather and an underlying sense of frustration which would result in excessive whining), I haven’t practiced any “ink-fueled musing.”

This morning in church, during the pastor’s prayer/intercessory prayer, or, as I child, I used to call it, the long prayer, I found myself hearing in my head over and over again, I don’t want to be afraid. It was like a mantra. I don’t want to be afraid I don’t want to be afraid I don’t want to be afraid. Not: “I am afraid.” Not: “I shouldn’t be afraid.” Not: “Don’t be afraid.” Not: “I am not afraid.” 

No. The voice (my own voice) clearly and repeatedly said I DON’T WANT TO BE AFRAID.

I wasn’t commanding this voice-thought, and it took me by surprise. 

In thinking about it later, I was reminded of one of my father’s sermons. His subject was the story of Jesus coming upon the folks needing healing by the well. Here’s the excerpt from the Gospel of John (5:1-9 New Revised Standard Version) 

After this there was a festival of the Jews, and Jesus went up to Jerusalem. Now in Jerusalem by the Sheep Gate there is a pool, called in Hebrew Beth-zatha, which has five porticoes. In these lay many invalids—blind, lame, and paralyzed. One man was there who had been ill for thirty-eight years. When Jesus saw him lying there and knew that he had been there a long time, he said to him, “Do you want to be made well?” The sick man answered him, “Sir, I have no one to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up; and while I am making my way, someone else steps down ahead of me.” Jesus said to him, “Stand up, take your mat and walk.” At once the man was made well, and he took up his mat and began to walk. Now that day was a sabbath.

Dad’s sermon focused on Jesus’ question, “Do you want to be made well?” It was the word “want” that drew my mind back to this message. In the sermon, Dad explored the consequences for the sick man if he were to find himself restored to health. That man would be thrust into a different relationship with his neighbors and his community, his whole word; his existence would be entirely changed. Though made well, his life would be so alien to his experience, he would not be prepared for it. And, perhaps even, he might not prefer it. In other words, being healed would come with unexpected consequences. 

And, why wouldn’t Jesus assume the man was certain he wanted to be healed? Was “Do you want to be made well?” a redundant question? After all, the man had been there, ill or lame, for some time (enough to say that every time he wanted to be the first in the pool—the belief was that when the water stirred, the first person to bathe there would be healed—someone else beat him to it).

I can’t remember everything from Dad’s sermon that day, but these thoughts are the ones that persisted since my childhood. 

Later today, in the afternoon, my daughter Susan and I went to Six Flags Great Adventure (where she is employed). As we chatted, I told her I was more afraid of “Slingshot” (elastic-cords-reverse-bungie-nightmare) than “Daredevil Dive” (swinging drop from a great height, dangling from the end of a cable), though I would certainly never do either of those. She thought I might ultimately find the Daredevil Dive more terrifying: the riders themselves actually pull a rope to release the latch, sending the thrill-seekers plummeting toward the ground in a pendulum effect.

Then, this evening, thanks to the magic of the Internet and social media, I encountered a video* on my Facebook wall that, among other things, discussed the word “responsibility” as two words: “response” and “ability.” And I thought again of the crippled man by the pool.

So, here I am now, with this thought-salad being tossed in my mind. And I wonder: what are the consequences to my life-as-I-know-it if I become not afraid? And what are my response-abilities in that event? And, do I really want to not be afraid? I mean, what happens if I’m not afraid to lose my job? to lose my home? to lose the esteem of those I care about? to lose relationships or status or support or security? to lose my righteous certainty? to lose my faith? to lose my excuses? to lose whatever it is that may be crippling me?

Am I more afraid of being fearless than I am of being afraid? more afraid of being made well? And what happens if that’s so? What if I continue to cultivate my precious, protective fears?

You know what happens? Nothing. No change. No challenge. No loss. And, it might be, no growth. No healing. 

So where did that voice during prayer come from? “I don’t want to be afraid.” And why did it intrude upon my otherwise safe, benign thoughts and prayers? 

I believe that this elemental prayer bubbled up from my subconscious, some deeper self that is tired of being trapped. Some agent of change that has broken loose and stirred the water. And here I sit, paralyzed, watching the surface of the pool, seeing the ripples in the otherwise placid water, and wonder if I should, finally, jump in. Should I let go of the rope and take that “daredevil dive”? 

Jesus asks me: Do you want to be made well?

And in my heart, I hear, in reply, “I don’t want to be afraid.”

(* https://www.facebook.com/dailygoalcast/videos/1455562611255445/ )

[kathymommy]

Be Prepared! (sermon)

No one can escape news about the myriad of natural disasters that have occurred over the last couple of months. Hurricane Harvey. Hurricane Irma. Hurricane Maria. Earthquakes in Mexico. Raging fires in the Western United States. And I’m not even talking about the horrific massacres, terror attacks, political upheaval, war, refugee displacements, contemporary genocide, and threats of thermonuclear war.

We see on television, and for some of us, first-hand, the devastation resulting from these disasters. Puerto Rico will be long gripped by its large-scale catastrophe. And as we observe people who have lost everything, we wonder how they’ll ever recover. 

As we watch the news, trying to make sense out of what we see, at intervals we get advice or recommendations from experts on what we should do if such disasters should threaten us. 

We’ve all seen these helpful hints. Social media is crawling with them. Some of them are probably pretty useful, depending on the circumstances. 

Get plenty of fuel for your vehicle and (if you have one) your generator. 

Fill your tub with water (or, rather, fill containers in the tub with water, or else it will probably leak down the drain).

Get out your shovels and ice melt before the snow starts.

Throw your outdoor furniture into your pool to secure it. This only works if you have a pool, I guess. 

Keep an ax in your attic in case you need to chop through your roof.

Put your documents in your dishwasher! It’s waterproof (no, it’s not; don’t do it). 

Have some cash on-hand in case the power is out for a while because ATMs need electricity.

Write identifying information on your arm with a Sharpie marker. It’s pretty grim to imagine a situation where this would be helpful to someone.

In addition to preparing for specific disasters, there’s readiness based upon simply being strong and resilient to begin with. This is especially important on community, institutional and government levels. To build sturdy, up-to-code structures (seismic considerations weren’t a part of building codes in New Jersey until 1974); to update old, fragile infrastructures (our local electric utility is in the midst of an reliability upgrade project); to budget funds for repairs and coping with loss of services (as our trustees have done with the last several years of snow removal estimates).

Another step to be taken in event of a looming crisis is to prepare a “go bag.” A “go-bag” should rightfully be called a “go-or-stay bag” because this is assembled in case you need to either evacuate or spend several days sheltering-in-place without your normal access to resources. 

I have put together go-bags a time or two in my life. I did this for myself and children when Sandy approached five years ago. As I packed my go-bag, it was useful for me to think about what I felt I needed, if I could carry only one small bag, what I judged I could do without. What was important to our survival and comfort, and why were these things important? It was a valuable exercise.

Of course, it’s impossible to prepare for all emergencies, or combinations of disasters, but taking reasonable precautions to protect life, property and services is prudent.

Some in my family are pack rats. I am too, I admit. I can let-go of stuff I really don’t expect to use again, but it’s a little harder for some people to do that. A few years ago, my basement had a flood. And by flood, I mean raw sewage. And not the kind that leaks out from one’s own house, no. This was the kind that backs up from the town sewer under the street. It was most unpleasant. This disgusting flood affected three rooms in my basement, and, as I said, my family are pack-rats. 

I guess you could say this was a mini-disaster. We had to throw-out lots of stuff. Or, rather, my daughter Susan and I did. Now, I have a confession to make. Lots of the stuff I threw away were things that I had wanted to get rid of for a long time, but certain pack-rat family members couldn’t bear to part with. Magically, several useless items, like a few old broken chairs I was never going to fix, somehow made it from other parts of the basement to the flooded rooms. And, somehow, they ended up on the floor. And, just those parts of the floor that were flooded. Oops. If there was a silver lining to this mini-disaster, it was that it gave me a perfect opportunity to dispose of surplus items...things that no longer served a positive purpose in my family’s life. Things that my family was holding on to for no good reason other than the fact that they had held onto them for a long time.

Today is Reformation Sunday, and, as anniversaries go, it’s a big one. Five hundred years ago, on All Saints Eve in 1517, Martin Luther reportedly hammered his “95 Theses” onto the church door in Wittenberg. 

In traditional academic style, Luther invited, or perhaps demanded, a discussion about several practices of the church (and by church I mean the Roman Catholic Church, you know, “the” church in Western Europe in those days). Some of those practices included the long-established selling and buying of indulgences, or “forgiveness for a fee.” Other points concerned the Pope’s authority, issuance of writs of forgiveness, and, well, with 95 Thesis, there were many issues large and small.

Because the whole “indulgence” question was aimed at a very important part of the (then) Catholic Church’s economy (and prosperity), serious arguments against indulgences were also a serious threat to the Church’s financial status. I mean, somebody had to pay for all those big basilicas we like to visit in Europe. But, even more than the money, the status of the Church as the broker for salvation was called into question. And if salvation isn’t brokered by the Church, how would anybody be saved? 

It was a radical concept when brought out for open debate. Questions and discontent had been simmering for years, but Luther’s arguments finally launched the upheaval that we call the Protestant Reformation. 

Long-story-short: the Protestant Reformation was not just the great Catholic Church going through a change. Nor was it simply the church at a crossroads. No, the Protestant Reformation was a disaster for the Church. Luther’s movement broke Rome’s monopoly on Christianity in Western Europe.

Some would say that our own United Methodist Church is now at a crossroads. Though perhaps not as ultimately or as profoundly earth-shaking as the Protestant Reformation, I don’t think “at a crossroads” adequately describes our situation. I rather think the United Methodist Church is facing a more significant crisis. 

In my opinion, our denomination is met with the challenge of negotiating our way through a flooded intersection. We can’t see where the lanes are, where the pavement is under the water, what kinds of hazards are lurking in our path. And, depending on how we proceed--and what may happen in an environment we can’t control--we’re about to slide into what could be a full-fledged disaster.

But Methodists have been there before. In 1844, the Methodists north and south separated for nearly a century because of disagreement over slavery; over Christians owning people as property. 

Looking back, now, it seems absurd. How could our forebears not have seen their way through the flooded intersection that split them up and carried them away in different directions? I mean, isn’t it ridiculous that brothers and sisters in Jesus Christ would disagree over something so obviously abhorrent as slavery?

And then, in 1939, when the church “reunited,” it was only with abject segregation and the creation of a Central Jurisdiction made up of Methodists who happened to be black regardless of their location in the United States.

Aren’t we supposed to be the church of Christ where there is neither Greek nor Jew? In other words, distinctions of ethnicity or heritage shouldn’t matter, and most certainly shouldn’t be a barrier to the Kingdom of God. I mean, after all, the Kingdom of God has only one gatekeeper. Didn’t Martin Luther argue this 500 years ago? But it wasn’t until 1968 that this church in America officially desegregated as it formed the United Methodist Church we more-or-less know today.

So this morning, we can sit here, in our contemporary United Methodist Church, and feel a little smug that, although we’ve had our problems, we figured all that out, and have put all that close-minded slavery and racial segregation nonsense behind us. After all, “Open hearts, open minds, open doors.” Right?

Yet, here we are again; the denomination of the United Methodist Church, struggling with fundamental questions about justice, obedience and identity. Testing the waters at another flooded intersection.

Remember a little while ago I talked about tips for dealing with disasters? How, firstly, you could take specific steps to protect items which are valuable to you? And, secondly, how you could strengthen your overall resilience by building stronger structures and systems. And, lastly, when specific threats are identified--things like hurricanes or an out-of-control wildfire--you should assemble a “go-bag”?

Well, though all three of these approaches are features of disaster-preparedness, the last one, packing a “go bag” is, in a fundamental way, unique.

Think about it. The things we try to protect: our pictures. Our documents. Our antique furniture. The hymnals. The piano. The artifacts of our heritage, history and traditions. Our homes. Our comforts. Our rules. These things are important to us. And having those things be important to us is ok. It really is!

And maintaining a strong institution or home is important to protect not only our good stuff, but to serve our needs as we go about the work of being a family, a business, a church, a community; to get back-in-the-game as soon as possible. So we need insurance, good financial management, strong communication and support networks, and sturdy-up-to-code facilities.

But, as a church, do we ever think about our go-bag?

What do we bring when, the moment of cataclysmic disaster upon us, we can only bring what we can carry?

You remember the story of the Israelites leaving Egypt. They took all their stuff. They took the bones of Joseph. They plundered the Egyptians, taking gold and riches. And then they followed Moses out into the desert. 

It wasn’t long before their trip started to look like a really bad idea. They cried-out, “This is a disaster! We’re going to starve here in the desert! We were better off as slaves in Egypt than dying in this wilderness!”

You know, the Israelites had protected their treasure, but hadn’t really thought about their go-bags. They started out okay--God had them make unleavened bread for the journey. But they weren’t prepared for the long haul in the wilderness. 

Ultimately, God provided for their survival. But neither Joseph’s dead body, nor their gold and plunder, fed them when they were starving, or gave them drink as their parched, dry lips cracked for thirst. In fact, if you remember the story, knowing what they later did with all that gold, the Israelites would have been better off without it.

Christian churches sense a number of possible catastrophes looming. We feel the threat of our decreasing numbers. We feel the pressure of other religions and influences penetrating territory we assumed was “ours.” Traditionalists are alarmed at the cultural, linguistic and stylistic diversity carried to the table by people who do, at times, answer the call to follow Christ. We’d like to “make disciples of all the nations,” but we kind of want them to be folks just like us! 

And, to bring some of this uncertainty and fear into focus, we United Methodists are in the midst of heated debates about the authority of the Book of Discipline and, in particular, denominational policies when it comes to questions about sexual identity. The waters are rising.

Maybe now is a good time to go through our metaphorical basement, asking: Are there things that Christian churches, and especially our denomination, are holding on to for no good reason other than the fact that we have held onto them for a long time? 

And maybe it’s about time we look at why we’re maintaining strong, resilient institutions in the first place. Why do we have these practices, traditions, rules and structures? What and who is it that our church is serving? What is the point if we don’t have a clear understanding of what our mission is? At the end of the day, who is it that we’re here for?

And what about our go-bags? When faced with threats to survival, what does the church pack? What do you, in your heart, carry with you?

You see, this is why packing a go-bag requires a different approach than deciding what’s important to protect or save. We don’t put photo albums in our go-bags, right? We don’t try to bring our great-grandma’s best china to the hurricane shelter. We don’t bring our bookshelves. No. We try to provide protection for that stuff, yes. But do we grab those things when we are running out the door, perhaps fleeing for our lives? Or when huddling together as the winds rage around us? 

No. The only things that should be in a go-bag are things we need to live, to cope, to provide minimum but required comfort in times of stress. It boils down to this: our go-bag has one purpose only: to keep us alive. 

So, maybe the church is perhaps facing a crossroads, but, what if it turns out, this crossroads is actually a raging, flooded intersection? What will the church grab hold of as it runs for its life? What will you carry for your church? And, just as importantly, what will you leave behind?

Let’s not wait for disaster to strike before we affirm what we’ll put in our go-bag. And let’s realize that it is vital to not confuse our legitimate and reasonable attachment to valued artifacts of our lives in the church with what actually gives us life. 

And what gives the church life? Mercy. Compassion. Justice. These things are found in the love of Jesus Christ as shared among each other, with our neighbors, and all of creation. 

You see, whatever else we have or don’t have, all we really need to hold on to is Jesus. 

Because it is wholly, and only, in Jesus, who gives us life, that we live.

### Message delivered to First United Methodist Church, October 29, 2017, for Laity Sunday. Copyright Kathy Mulholland 2017

#BePrepared #UnitedMethodists #laitysunday

[kathymommy]

Tuskegee memories

I spent a bit of the day [January 16, 2017] transcribing a sermon of another great pastor who resisted oppression of blacks during the so-called Civil Rights Movement: my father, Rev. Dr. Lewis H. George.

It's not widely-known, but my family was "driven out on a rail" from Tuskegee, Alabama because he stood up to white supremacists.

My father and mother managed to protect my brother and me from knowing exactly what happened. As far as our baby/toddler selves knew, we just didn't live there very long. One day, Dad drove-up a U-Haul truck (with a bouncy bench seat and split brown vinyl upholstery with foam sticking out), loaded-up a bunch of our stuff, and we all just moved-in with grandma and grandpa in Birmingham "for a little while."

I remember Tuskegee: the neat little white frame house with the chain-link fence around the back yard. A metal swing-set, where I sat next to my mom and declared that the clouds looked liked "smashed potatoes." A pretty little country church just across the mostly gravel driveway. An old, worn book of Mother Goose rhymes in the nursery.

Our beagle (cleverly named Snoopy) that we had to leave behind with a nearby family. (I thought we got-rid of Snoopy because he bit my brother's ear...which he did, but that was just part of the reason). I remember that family because my brother and I used to play with the many kids who were always running around the old house with faded paint that "Aunt Josie" lived in.

I remember Aunt Josie changing my diaper, one heavy hand on my stomach, as I lay on the big chest freezer on the screened-in back porch. Her singing "Silent Night" in her beautiful low voice, and me crying at the beauty that, in my childhood, I didn't know how to name; a beauty that dripped of sadness. I didn't know "Silent Night" was a Christmas song; I didn't know it didn't belong being sung to a little white girl on a white chest freezer in a white framed house on a hot black summer night, by an old black woman who I loved as much as anyone in the world.

Aunt Josie got most of our furniture when we moved (including a green carpet slightly stained by a toppled strawberry ice-cream cone). It was decent furniture, and I remember Aunt Josie being very happy about getting it; so happy she cried the whole time her relatives moved the items from our house to hers. I remember them carting-out the big brown rocker/recliner that tipped-over if you stood up on the seat and leaned against the back, even if you were just a little two-year-old girl. I told Aunt Josie's family to be careful about that.

My memories from Tuskegee are all very warm. Happy. Innocent.

When I was 17 or 18, I went through a "let me get everyone organized" phase (it was a short phase). Sorting through some of Dad's old papers, I discovered several letters. Letters about Tuskegee. Letters to and from the regional church office. Should my father leave the ministry (he asked)? Would this failure in Tuskegee make it impossible for him to be called by another church (he asked)? Would he have to leave the South, taking the children far from their grandparents (he feared)?

The other letters (the ones in reply to my father's) weren't particularly reassuring. They were along the lines of "these things just happen sometimes" and "some churches are more difficult than others" and "good matches" don't always happen.

In fact, my teenage judgment rendered these letters in answer to my father's pleading to be cowardly. I knew the 1960s were difficult times, with lots of turmoil and challenges to the institutional church, but....still. "These things just happen sometimes" apparently included systematic and institutional racism, and disagreement about the use of church facilities by a local white supremacist group.

Now, you should understand: my parents are/were always fair and honest in their dealings with everyone. My parents certainly never taught me "racism" (perhaps this is remarkable, as they were both raised in Birmingham, Alabama). I didn't even know this was a "thing" until it intruded upon my childhood in our next home in Varnville, South Carolina ("What do you mean, you can't come with us to the swimming pool because you're black? That's stupid!" and my mother trying to gently tell me why some of my friends' parents wouldn't let their children come to my birthday party: because black children would be there).

However, years later, reading those letters between my father and the Alabama church denomination leaders, and asking my Dad about them, I realized some things.

I realized that Aunt Josie was hired to help my mom cope with two young children. Mom probably needed the emotional support as this "Christian" community schemed to attack and undermine her. These nice church-ladies and neighbors? They gossiped about my mother, suggesting she was a petty thief; a bad parent; and an unladylike woman. Maybe she also used the wrong recipe for Jello. They could not attack my father directly--ministers still held a certain position of respect; you'd have to make their lives hell and just hope they'd get the hint. My father did get the hint.

And Aunt Josie probably desperately needed the little bit of income my parents could afford (remembering it now, her house was, literally, a shack).

And living with my grandparents? Six of us crowding into a sweltering brick two-bedroom Birmingham house? With my grandfather a constant critic of my father for his life and marriage choices? With their persistent and pervasive "you're not good enough" attitude toward my mother (because she isn't Greek), only indulging her at all because she finally managed to give them grandchildren? With my father presenting no clear or immediate prospects for the future? And all my Dad had to do to avoid this terrible situation, this sacrifice, was to "play nice" with the status-quo of a inconsequential little church in a backwards Southern town. He said no to that.

So, on this celebration of the life and ministry of Martin Luther King, Jr., I also honor another Southern pastor, and his little, struggling family, who in their small way, also made sacrifices to say that all God's children are our neighbors. And I'm so grateful that my mother and father taught me that there is no shame in being black, or white, or not-Greek, or not-rich, or not-boy, or not-girl. There is no shame in these things, but there is deep shame in the false and shallow thrill of believing that I might be better than someone else.

My father believed that Jesus did not sacrifice his life to sanctify the status quo. Jesus sanctified life and love; but the world, not seeing, not understanding, persists in darkness.

Rather than suffering an innocent little girl, like I was, to experience a rude awakening to racism and prejudice ever again, I hope and pray for something different. Something better. I pray that fear and hate borne on the skewers of racism will be met with love and forgiveness; that the popular tactic of abusing the weak in order to bolster the powerful will be seen for the lie that it is, and in so discovering, expose the evil that it protects.

[kathymommy]

month of grateful: November 2016

After much inactivity on this blog, here are a bunch of posts from my Facebook page, where I resolved to journal about something I was grateful for each day in November. 

November 1:

I'm very grateful for my children. It's amazing how different they each are; and how kind and interesting they are as adults.

November 2:

I'm grateful for friends who love me in spite of my manifold imperfections and plentiful out-right failings; who listen to my crazy dreams, half-baked philosophies and awkwardly - expressed opinions; who are honest with me even as they try to be kind; who judge me more by my good intentions than by my results.

November 3:

I'm grateful for music. Leave it at that, or read the long commentary below. A couple of summers ago, I had a weird neurological thing happen (a mild form of Guillain-Barré Syndrome) following a bad stomach bug I got that May. Besides the stuff I told my doctors about--the stuff that made sense and followed the disorder's typical course, there were a few other symptoms that were just so weird I didn't mention them (maybe they were "all in my head," which I guess would have been the case at any rate).

1) I lost my ability to get really worried about much of anything (which might explain why I never mentioned that and the other things, and didn't totally freak-out when the doctors were coming-up short figuring out what was wrong with me at first as I kept getting worse and worse). Even as my extremities and other parts kind of stopped talking clearly to me, the whole thing had a surreal imperative of novelty; more of a funny curiosity;

2) I frequently felt these weird sensations in my hands, as if I were experiencing episodes of tingly magical blue flames erupting out of my palms (this lasted a about 18 months);

3) I lost music.

I lost music. Entirely.

I could sing (mechanically). I could hear (I could recognize the sounds, the tunes). I could play guitar (sort-of...my hands felt like they were asleep and it was kind of hard standing up and doing anything else at the same time). But you know how you get a song stuck in your head? or find yourself whistling or humming a tune?

Nada. Nothing. Complete musical silence in my head for, I don't know, maybe about three months.

When this first came on me, I was kind of sad (but strangely not too worried, like I said earlier; and I was confident it'd come back somehow, maybe because the GBS literature said GBS stuff wasn't usually permanent). One Sunday before church I decided "singing and playing" was just...meh...going through the motions. So I took a break from choir/Joyful Noise band until this thing passed. This decision did upset me...to leave those experiences, even briefly. From then on through most of the summer I mostly lip-synced through the hymns.

Everything that was effected by the GBS thing eventually came back to normal (as far as I can tell). My balance, my tactile sensation, my normal level of worry (which isn't that high anyway), and the running sound-track of mental music and its outward expression. (I miss the blue-flame thing, though; that was neat). I've never found a case-study that talks about losing music like this, so I don't really understand how it happened (and I'm not talking about it with my doctors at this point, either. But if you know of anybody else with this sort of thing, let me know).

So, besides all the normal, wonderful things I could be expected to say about how music is something I'm grateful for, I will also take this opportunity to say I'm grateful that the music came back. Not just because music is uplifting, and magical, and comforting. But I'm grateful it came back because, in spite of me taking it for granted, in spite of me not giving it the time and attention it deserves, in spite of us taking something like a three-month separate vacation, music is my oldest, dearest, closest friend.

November 4: 

Today I'll express my gratitude for sleep. I've always had a slightly disfunctional relationship with sleep--not being very disciplined about going to bed or getting up at consistent times, and always sleeping late if given the chance. But I often have useful problem-solving or creative dreams. And, though I'm not a "morning person" no matter how much sleep I get, so far I've never actualy not woken up.

November 5:

Today's thing I'm grateful for is household labor-saving machines like clothes washers, vacuum cleaners, dryers, etc. Not long ago, doing wash used to be a back-breaking whole-day affair. Other chores were similarly time-consuming. It isn’t just that these machines made things easier, but they played a role in ultimately freeing women from a life cast as servants to menial household chores. Some would argue that we've lost much in post-industrial America; that "the good old days" were better. Nope.

November 6:

I'm grateful that I live in a country where the freedom to express ourselves is protected by our Constitution. But this freedom is guaranteed only as far and as long as we Americans are willing to allow, cherish and defend it.

November 7:

Oh, it's after midnight! But this is Monday's "thing I'm thankful for." I'm thankful for trash collection.

No, seriously. We put our trash out at the curb twice a week, and a couple of guys with a big truck pick it up and take it away.

Sometimes they take our recycling stuff.

When the timing's right, we wave to each other. They seem like nice guys, and while they might feel they have a thankless job, they don't. I'm thankful for them.

Also, the sewage people. We have a drain-clearer person coming tomorrow to deal with a stubborn situation, so that's a good reminder to include the more...liquid...waste disposal experts, too.

Does it feel weird to be grateful for these things? No more than it would feel weird to be grateful for a beautiful environment, or clean air and water, or time to enjoy yourself that would be spent trekking to the town dump (if you even had that option), or protection from things like cholera.

So for DeLisa Sanitation, the Freehold Borough Streets and Roads and Water Departments, the Monmouth County Reclamation folks, and everyone involved keeping our communities beautifully clean, safe, and dealing with the back-end of our consumerism, I'm grateful to you.

November 8:

It's good to get out of what's happening on Earth for just a minute or two, so I'll appoint the Moon as my subject of gratitude tonight.

It's not just that the moon is a night-time light source, has captured the imagination of humans since before recorded history, and serves as a way for us to measure time. It's not that it's just pretty, inspirational, and maybe romantic under the right conditions.

Without the Moon, there probably would be no humans. Life as we know it on Earth would look much different. (My science might be a little off, but here's the basics as I know them.)

Why? One reason is the Moon stabilizes Earth's wobbly tilt on its axis as it revolves around the sun. Without this, the seasons (winter-summer) would vary much more, and within a much tighter (in terms of climate change) time frame and be wildly inconsistent. It would likely be much more difficult for any creature to evolve and adapt to extremely variable conditions (think alternating ice ages and extreme warming within a few years, and then not, and then, maybe again, or not....).

Also, the Moon is responsible for the most gravitational pull for tidal mixing of Earth's water bodies, and provides greater "beach" areas that probably helped make the first aquatic critters train for life in the atmosphere, rather than just the hydrosphere.

And, the Moon is slowing the rotation of the Earth, making our day-night cycle longer than if we had no moon. Whether this is a good thing or not probably depends on what kind of day we're having ;).

I'm also grateful for the Moon for a couple of other reasons. It reminds me of the absolute vast grandeur of creation. The Moon is our closest non-Earth body--at its closest to us (this year) on November 14, at 221,524 miles away. The nearest star is almost 93 million miles away (and that's our sun). Our little brains really can't wrap-around that, let alone interstellar, galactic, universe-scale distances.

The other "grateful to the moon" thing is that our nation, the United States of America, once said, "Hey, let's go there." And we did it. Not without risk, pain, failure, expense and death. But there was a time when at least enough Americans agreed it was important for us, as a nation, as a species, to reach for something outside of our own skulls; to step-out and step-up. And get it done. I'm not so idealistic to think the space-race solved society's problems; most certainly it did not. And maybe it was simply a distraction for many people, and considered a waste of money better spent on Earth. But, for me, personally, this meant something. I was alive before people reached the moon. I was alive when we went there. I own a small part of that experience, just by my life overlapping that time, and viewing a fuzzy image on a bad television with a broken vertical hold dial.

I'm grateful for that day. And that childhood memory, and the way it made me feel. And the excitement and hope and pride that my four-year-old mind didn't have the words to capture. And sitting here writing this, about 48 years later, I look up at this orb, about a "half moon" tonight, and am reminded that there are greater things, greater challenges, greater dreams, than jobs, grades, projects and elections.

It's time to look up, and to remember why we do that.

November 9: 

I'm grateful for imagination. Here's some back-story for the people with too much time on their hands: http://porchready.tumblr.com/post/145466540841/imagine

November 10:

Today I'd like to express gratitude for something that might seem a bit frivolous, but there are 30 days in November, so I have plenty of other days to address the big-lofty-important things. And, really, I can express gratitude all my life, so I shouldn't worry about rationing it. Today, I'd like to thank cats. Ok, cats, dogs, and other pets. But cats, specifically, because they're, well, cats. There's a picture of a tiny kitten on my wall that was literally smuggled into the library on November 9. Now, 11/9, to me, was almost as bad as 9/11. I hadn't slept at all since getting up at 6:45 on 11/8 to vote before work. I was at work, trying to be "professional," but upset, exhausted, and still hoping to wake-up from a nightmare that couldn't have been a nightmare really because, as I said, I hadn't been to sleep. Then a library user was paying for her print-outs, and placed a knit cap on the counter while getting out her change. I look at the cap; it didn't look quite right. There was this white thing in the middle (a little towel) and in the middle of this little towel, a tiny kitten face peeked out. It took me a few moments to process what I was seeing. A kitten. A cat. In a hat. In a library. This was just enough to nudge my thoughts out of the despair I was experiencing. Just for a moment, but it was a moment like oxygen to a suffocating person. So I'm grateful to "Grandpa Morton" (the kitten's name), and his (or her...too soon to tell) entire species. Also, cats have proven themselves uniquely suited to the 21st Century environment by making themselves irresistible to the Internet. Grumpy Cat, nonononon cat, Maru, and just fluffy kitten after kooky cat has appeared in meme, video, and personal photos. With all the vitriol that has popped-up on my Facebook feed, as I scroll down and see a kitten photo, I'm reminded that even when I sometimes doubt there's any good left in the world, at least there's cute. Pets (dogs probably beat-out cats in this regard) love us no matter what; regardless of who we voted for. Maybe that's because, except for a few evil freaks out there, we treat our pets with affection, kindness, and mercy. I hope that our cats and dogs and bunnies and gerbils and even goldfish, in their being objects of love for their humans, can teach us, their humans, how to better love our fellow humans, as well.

November 11:

For Friday's thing I'm grateful for: my parents. Thankfully, my mother is still with us, living in Florida, serving her church and community, and writing poetry. I was blessed to sing with her again a few weeks ago.

My father passed away several years ago. As I was doing random repair work today, I remembered "helping" him around the house/church. That's where I learned most of my handyman skills (or at least, gained the confidence to do things like crack-open a wall to see what was behind it, believing I could patch-it-up again).

There's so much I could say about my wonderful parents, and my interesting childhood with my cool "little" brother Harry. But I'll keep it simple and say I'm grateful; grateful to Mom and Dad, and to God, for the gifts of life and love bestowed upon me.

November 12:

Today's thing I"m thankful for is AIRPLANES. And, by that, I mean the whole gamut of aviation.

In May of 2001, my husband bought me a 1/2-hour introductory flight lesson as a Mother's Day gift. It was THE most thoughtful gift he'd ever given me (and he's pretty good at gifting).

Several years before, maybe 1996, I took a den of Tiger Cubs to the local airport for their "transportation themed" event. My interest must have been obvious (by the way I kept feeding the kids answers to the flight school owner's questions and having to sit on my hands myself), because the owner drew me aside as we were departing.

"You sound like you'd be interested in becoming a pilot," she said. "ME? Oh, no. I could never do that!"

"It's something you should think about. Your interest is obvious [see, I thought so]. I have only been involved in aviation a handful of years. But they have been the most rewarding years of my life" (paraphrased)

I mentioned it to my husband. But always had some legitimate excuse for not trying (raising a family, not much money, etc.). But...I couldn't shake the thought, and kept suppressing my desire.

Then, Mother's Day, 2001. I redeemed the certificate in July, on a horridly hot day. And my first flight was something of a disaster. My flight instructor was a 20 year-old bored hot-shot (and I didn't know enough then to realize how bad his judgment was). I got suddenly, and violently, airsick as we turned to "final" (just before landing). It was bad! I remember telling him I was so embarrassed. His reply: "I'll bet you are." Then, as soon as we parked, he ran from the plane. I was horrified, ran to my car for a box of baby-wipes and sponged off the plane, inside and out, and myself (as best as I could) before going into the school to settle the bill. If the CFI didn't tell the staff what happened, my overall appearance did. When I asked to schedule another lesson, though, they must have figured I was insane or just insanely hooked. Probably both.

Then 9/11 happened. I had maybe flown a grand total of two hours, but I felt the anger and betrayal that surged through the aviation community, too.

That first CFI was soon dismissed (smarter students reported his risky maneuvering) and over the next several years I had a progression of perhaps 8 different instructors. As soon as I got near to soloing, the CFI would get an airline job, and the next one would want to backtrack to assess my skill/judgement. And I didn't get to fly very often, substitute-teaching in the local schools when I could, working around my family business and volunteer work, to raise extra money (one day's work paid for about 1/2 a lesson). And I'm not a "natural born flier" (not having been born with wings); my landings were....exciting...for a long time (until I started renting a slightly larger airplane, which made things much better). If anything, I was always more "book smart" about aviation as opposed to experienced (one fellow student liked to call me Hermoine, as in "Harry Potter"; the trick is, you can read and study for free!). I did solo (several times). And, finally, I nailed some landings so beautiful it was like God just opened his palm and rolled me onto the runway.

When I took a full-time (my current) job, scheduling became even more difficult. Then college tuitions and a tanking economy resulted in my flying trickling-down to a halt. It was hard to justify my "hobby" when there were too many bills to pay, and it's not like I was ever going to have a career flying. I do have some regrets; things that if I knew "then" that I know now, I'd do much differently. And I'm not saying it's completely over; but I don't see the clouds parting anytime soon.

However, once the flying bug's bit you, you stay bitten. When working on my Master of Library and Information Science degree, my first major paper was on the information behavior of pilots (got an A). My first website design project was about becoming a pilot (also an A). I'm still a member of the Aircraft Owners and Pilots Association, and enjoy their monthly magazine. It's amazing to follow how much has changed in the field through the last 8 or 10 years.

The thing is, I have LOTS of hobbies, things I enjoy; I'm a bit of a dabbler. But I'd always wanted some all-consuming "thing" to focus my diverse interests; some passion. Aviation fits the bill for me completely, perfectly. The science, the complexity, the machines, the focus and discipline required, the community, the challenge, the sheer fun, the smell of avgas.

But, it's not "Oh, I'm free! Look at me! Flying like a bird!" No. That's not aviation.

It's the "OH, I'M COMPLETELY 'ON' AND RESPONSIBLE FOR EVERYTHING" that sharpens the senses and frees the pilot to getting-down to the task at hand. Flying, put simply, requires (and gives permission) for you to leave everything that's bothering you, all the crap, on the ground.

And, I'm grateful that I still dream of flying.

November 13:

Trees. I'm grateful for them. I have always loved them, from the tall stands of Southern yellow pine and Spanish moss-draped live oaks and magnolias of my younger childhood, to the palm and banyan and cypress of my older teen years. Now I am sheltered and showered by towering walnut and maple, oak and sycamore on my strolls around town.

Not long ago, I prepared a presentation on the subject of youth development inspired by the astonishingly beautiful redwood and cedar trees in northern California. These monuments to time and tenacity left such an impression on me, it was imperative to channel my awe in some direction. I responded by casting them as metaphors for an even more precious gift: children. They grow, you see.

I have a few favorite trees. The big banyan in east Bradenton, Florida, sorely neglected and abused, yet magestic. A spectacular specimen at Thompson Park in New Jersey, where somewhere there are pictures of me perched on a cannon-sized limb. The generous pecan tree in the back yard of my South Carolina home. The magnolia in Jacksonville which dropped shoe-sized leaves and whose fragrance was so thick and sweet one could almost see it. The unassuming ginkgo at the curb here in Freehold, bearing witness to cousin-trees that survived atomic fire in Japan; and standing as the sole surviving line of ancestors in distant, ancient times when the earth spun much more quickly from day to night; which were seen only by eyes now long extinct.

In these difficult times, where painful confusion seems to reign, the changing, and falling, leaves seem to say: wait. rest. it looks like loss. it seems like death. but it is life. it is change. and spring is certain.

November 14:

Grateful-for thing du jour: my wheels.

By that, I mean my car(s)/vehicles.

As a child I literally would dream of how great it would be to grow-up and drive a car.

Cars were frequently present in my dreams (as cars, not like in some Disney-like animation). They often appeared as "that which took a loved one away." But, whatever. I still loved cars. They framed many childhood family adventures, rescue missions, and life-lessons. I remember most of our family cars as one would a cherished pet.

I learned to drive (in Florida) at 15 and had my full license at 16. The only restriction was I had to wear my glasses (duh). Because I worked through most of high school, I was able to buy a car: a lily-white 1973 Cadillac Sedan de Ville. It was a beautiful car with white leather interior. I installed a CB radio (with public address; it was the early '80 and CBs were still a "thing"), and listened to the included 8-Track Tape of big band/swing music as I cruised around Bradenton, greater Florida, and, later, to college in Virginia, and, finally, my newlywed home in Manhattan.

Manhattan, however, is the death of cars. Not because of traffic, but because of the high cost of parking. I sold my dear "Gilded Lily" and went horribly car-less for the first time (except for a very brief but horrible stint in college). Moving out of New York (I should have just garaged the car in New Jersey, but I thought we'd be in the city longer) my husband and I bought me a little stick-shift putt-about constructed out of cardboard and plastic. But that was ok; it was wheels (teeny-tiny wheels, and no radio, but it ran). Over the years, there were other rides; unremarkable in themselves, in most ways, but still they were the engines of a busy family life and instrumental in me keeping employment. Then came the Era of The Van.

My 2000 Chevy Express Van, now with over 200k miles, shares something--some meaning--with that Cadillac. Things like Girl Scout/Boy Scout trips, family adventures, laughter, songs, games (the invention of "Homophones"). The Van ("The Free Candy Van"), like the Caddy, is the setting of, or an actor in, many important stories in my life.

I have friends for whom their vehicles are (rightly, I suppose) just machines to get from point A to point B. But for me, my "wheels" have always meant something more. The thing is, nothing at all has meaning in this universe except as people assign meaning; there is no "meaning" outside of human experience. So, if I want to attribute said meaning to a hunk of steel and rubber, that's my prerogative.

When my van finally does reach the point of no-repair, that will be a hard day. I won't go vehicle-less for long, but my stories will have to change in a way I'm not ready for. Not yet. I must prepare myself to give-up the hope of uncomfortable bench seats bouncing with eager passengers; cargo-area crammed full of camping gear; tools, supplies, furniture and equipment loaded-up to haul pretty-much anywhere I want. My next vehicle will be more suitable to my "needs" now. It will be smaller, more fuel-efficient, and have fewer squawks than my aged blue beast.

But, honestly, whatever vehicle follows The Van, it will be story-filled in no time at all. In the final analysis, it's entirely about who I am, and not just what I drive. As children, with those expectations of "how great it will be to be a grown-up," there are a lot of compromises and disappointments as we negotiate into adulthood. In my case, being able to drive, and to usually have a car at my disposal, is the one adult circumstance that has lived-up to its dreamed-about anticipation with unqualified success. I don't take it for granted. And I'm grateful for the automobile-actors who have played roles in my life, and those which haven't yet rolled onto the stage.

November 15:

I'm grateful for humor.

It's a very subtle thing.

Sometimes it seems to flow naturally between people. At other times, an attempt at humor may leave feelings hurt, or at best cause confusion. Some people just seem gifted at it, while others, perhaps trying too hard, illicit awkward and uncommitted scoff/grunt sounds ("Did he/she really think that was funny?")

Of all the things that humor is or may/can be (art, communication, commentary, ice-breaker, entertainment, pleasure, connection, etc.) there's something that it must always be: a transaction.

Humor isn't just something issued, or something received. It exists exclusively in the intersection of give-and-take. When you tell the greatest funny story in the world, and your listener doesn't "get it," it doesn't mean your story isn't funny; it just means that the transaction failed to occur. You were selling the story, but the listener wasn't buying it--not as humor, anyway (and, hopefully, not as an insult).

This is why it isn't genuinely humorous when someone makes fun of another person. Oh, sure. People might laugh. But laughing at someone in a demeaning way is contempt, not humor.

It's also not humorous to inappropriately say something to someone from the wrong perspective or place; in the wrong context. People very often fail to understand this. If I were to tell a "black joke" to a black person (someone who doesn't know me, anyway), I'd likely just cause offense. I very well may not be able to "get away" with that kind of humor because I am not positioned to properly engage in the humor-transaction with that audience or person. Sensing my failure and feeling my mortification, I could easily blame the other person, saying I was a victim of "political correctness," or blame the other for being "too sensitive." But really, even if I didn't have bad intentions, I'd have been ill-equipped to offer the story because I couldn't sell it as authentic. And unauthentic just isn't funny.

Where humor works best is when the person who is humorous (or attempting to be) has credibility. Jews can make fun of Jews, rednecks can make fun of rednecks, lawyers can, well....ok, everyone makes fun of lawyers. But, seriously, if you're not in the group, especially, attempts at humor are risky. How, then, do some people manage to "transact humor" with broad swaths of people? I think that, fundamentally, they tap into universal or common experiences. Even much ethnic humor that, on the surface, seems specific to one culture really reaches beyond an ethnic community. How many of my Greek cousins would identify perfectly with stories about a Peruvian man's abuela and tia fighting over who makes the best tacu-tacu? (All of them would, in case you weren't sure of the answer.)

Successful self-effacing humor is a transaction where personal traits that many people share are brought forth. Though it may sometimes seem like compliment-fishing, the successful transaction occurs when there's a subconscious "secret handshake" shared; the "Yeah, I know what you mean" involuntary nod, with the humor arising out of that sharing in spite of obvious differences.

So many times when I think I'm being funny, I learn I am not. It is mortifying to realize this. The expression "put one's foot in one's mouth" was coined just for me. However, I'm still extraordinarily grateful for humor. When it works, it is sweet, soothing, rejuvenating, and promotes community and unity. And when it doesn't? Well, that's what forgiveness is for.

November 16:

"Time is the fire in which we burn."*

Really, it is. When you think about it. Or perhaps it is better described as the mist in which we rust. But, nevertheless, I'm grateful for time.

I won't attempt a scientist's explanation of what time is; I have read books about it, about Einstein's Theory of Relativity, and I've experienced almost 52 years of it. None of this prepares me to really understand how it works. Sometimes, however, I do wonder. Maybe time is just some illusion; maybe our perceptions are only patterns of electrons or waves of energy interpreted by our brains in some fashion we label as "sense."

As a huge fan of science/speculative fiction and fantasy genres, time travel is often part of the story. Paradoxes caused by time travel in these tales create interesting challenges for characters to negotiate.

In truth, we are all time travelers. We simply travel in the same "direction"; toward and into what we call the future. But it's completely elusive. As soon as we get there, it's gone again. Gone into a more distant future.

But we can also travel backwards in time, though only as observers. Unfortunately, we don't have perfect clarity (owing to the faultiness of the lens, and all backward-looking lenses are flawed; hind-sight is NOT 20/20). We can learn from history thanks to oral tradition, written language, and more recently other recordings, but we don't know what we're missing and, to our disservice, don't acknowledge that fact enough.

Also, though we can't literally "change" the past, we can ignore bits of it, or manufacture or slant "history." So, in a way, we can change the course of the past by interpretation or outright lies. Or we can interpret it differently than our forebears by filtering it through new theories or adjusting it for newly-discovered information.

However, regardless of what information is presented to us, we can entirely control how we judge and value the things we believe occurred in our past--in history. This is why we have so many diverse opinions on what history or past events mean. Ultimately, the question is: Do we want to be constructs or victims of time? attributing everything we are to circumstances of history?

Would we maybe prefer to be manipulators of the present (which really only exists long enough to think "oh, there, it's gone again!") by determining how we want to be "today" regardless of past experiences or knowledge?

Or, maybe, we can be Time Lords (sans the sonic screwdriver and tardis).

How does one become a Time Lord?, you may ask (Please do ask, because otherwise I'll feel like I'm imposing on you by giving you my theory).

One becomes a Time Lord by deliberately moving forward into the future with the expectation that simply because of our intention to be the thoughtful and deliberate gifts that we are to time, the future will be more robust, more just, more beautiful.

So, we can burn. or rust. or succumb to the chaos though time.

Or we can incandesce. or evolve. or manufacture entire new worlds in time.

The thing is, we're either Time Lords, or dust waiting to happen. I'm grateful because, regardless of yesterday, or three seconds ago, I can assert my right to be a Time Lord anytime, because there's nothing to prevent me; nothing to prove I can't or won't do it, as we go into the next second, or hour, or years. ---- *excerpt from "Calmly We Walk Through This April's Day" by Delmore Schwartz; perhaps better known as quoted by Dr. Soran in Star Trek: Generations.

November 17:

I know the thing for which I'm grateful for today causes mixed feelings. But I'm going to put-it-out-there anyway, as it is undeniably a world-changer; an almost miraculous substance. Plastic.

Technically, it's not just "one thing" that is "plastics." There are all kinds of formulas and types, beginning with Bakelite in 1907. Telephones, radio cases and parts, and many consumer goods came to market with Bakelite components. This was a really hard, rigid plastic that became equated with modernity. There was Bakelite jewelry.

Since Bakelite, the role of plastics in our lives has apparently expanded so naturally, so extensively, that we hardly notice.

And there are so very many types of plastic, with a dizzying array of uses. Right now, my fingers are tapping plastic. My chair is covered with plastic. My shoes (with plastic soles) are resting on a plastic carpet-protector. There is nowhere in my home I can look and not see plastic (especially considering I'm looking through plastic eyeglass lenses to see anything at all).

The mixed feelings elicited in many in regard to plastics center on environmental concerns. Most plastics are petrochemical-based, meaning they ultimately come from crude oil. Also, plastic tends to be very durable, which is good if you want something to last, but bad when it's something you want to dispose of. Wildlife often suffer because they eat colorful plastic bits. It's not so much that the plastic poisons them, but can cause internal injury or, perhaps more often, the animal literally starves to death because it's full of plastic and not nutrient/calorie-rich food.

If you look deeper, maybe some wildlife have actually benefited. Things that had historically been made from animal parts could now be "artificially" produced. As one example, ivory billiard balls were replaced by Bakelite and other plastics. So elephants probably like plastic more than sea-based animals such as whales (who are often trapped in plastic fishing line/netting), fish and birds. At any rate, the story of humankind's impact on the environment, be it with plastics or anything else, is usually complicated.

Something else merits mention. The word "plastic" has come to mean the object/substance, but the noun comes from the adjective which means malleable or shape-able. At some point in a plastic's "life," it is a liquid or some soft matter that can be molded, extruded, etc. While there are many properties that may make plastics desirable, this is what makes them "plastic."

Sometimes, "plastic" is used to denote "cheapness," as in, plastic is a cheap substitute for something else. But, again, it depends. Plastics have become so wide-spread, and there are so many excellent products and suitable uses, that to bemoan its utility any more sounds like misplaced nostalgia or snobbery.

Another thing: the value of a plastic object is widely variable. A sandwich plucked from the case of a convenience store may be sealed in sheer, thin plastic wrap. A vehicle bound for space may have critical plastic components. A plastic connection protects a home from electrical short-circuits. Plastic comprises a flexible container for toothpaste. A heart valve part. A piece of adhesive tape. A contact lens. A gasket in a soft-drink bottle's cap. A disk that holds huge amounts of data. A basket that holds huge amounts of dirty laundry.

It's really just amazing stuff, and I'm grateful for all the inventors, chemists, manufacturers, designers, and visionaries that have brought this unsung hero of modern life into being.

November 18:

One of the best things I learned in junior high school (grades 6-9) was how to type. Typing (office skills) classes were required for every student as part of the "pre-vocational wheel," or rotating sampling of vocational skills through the course of a year. Courses included home economics, metal shop, wood shop, and typing.

Home economics was a complete joke (though it needen't have been; the facilities were great, but the teacher should have retired a decade before). We stiched with big needles on burlap and made slice-and-bake cookies (for which she made us wear aprons!).

Metal shop was kind of cool. I learned how to do long division then. The instructor was aghast: none of us had quite figured it out (in spite of several years of math teachers believing we had conquered it) so he just kind of got it done. And I made a cookie sheet. It would have come-in handy for the slice-and-bake cookies, but, as it turns out, it was too large for an average household oven.

Wood shop was fun, too. I made a little stool, and designed a jewelry box, and got to play with bigger tools than my dad had. I'd probably handled a Skilsaw and power drill at home by this point (with supervision), but the planer, big table saw, scroll saw and (my favorite) the band saw were really fantastic. I also learned that 12 x 12 = 144 (a square board-foot had 144 square inches). I never bothered learning times tables, but eventually that one stuck (it is pretty clear to me now that math and I only have long-term relationships when there is practical application). Oh, and that one day when one of the football coaches cut off his thumb on the table saw (I was in the hall when he came running, and dripping, out of the shop. Boy, was he mad!).

But by far the very best part of that series was typing. We had the quintessential typing textbooks that stood-up like an "A" with exercises like, "The big red fox jumped over the brown fence." Over and over and over. But after a bit we started copying real-looking business letters. That was more fun; it was like peeking at someone else's mail. Then came the time tests. I was always one of the better students. I remember my early scores being in the mid 40s, and I got steadily faster.

The school's machines (oh, the glory!) were IBM Selectrics. They were early versions, without correction keys, and we used hard stick erasers (with the little brush on the end). Though erasing wasn't awful, it incentivized us to make fewer errors. How I wish I still had one of those typewriters!

It didn't take long to realize that typing was a true modern life-skill. It also became important to my employment. I never intended to be a "typist," but typing did help me get a very nice job as an administrative assistant with a non-profit organization. That job led to in-house promotions for which I'm very grateful (thanks, Celeste Smith, for the big break). And, of course, typing for school, work, and personal tasks such as these "grateful for" journals is possible better because the Duval County (Florida) Public School District thought it important that students learn how to touch-type.

I think at my fastest I was at about 90 WPM. I have slowed down considerably; I don't tend to type lengthy material as copy-work anymore. But I enjoy typing; I type much faster than I can write (even cursive), and I can hope to understand what I type, whereas my handwriting is pretty awful.

Oh, speaking of handwriting, the same class that taught me typing tried to teach me Gregg Shorthand. After conquering the typewriter, shorthand taught me humility; I was truly terrible! All the more reason I am grateful that I learned to type.

November 19:

I got new eye glasses today. Just the latest in a long series of lenses. The last several years I've made progress, if that's what having "Progressive" lenses means. No? Oh. I didn't really think so, either.

I'm honestly thankful that the knowledge and technology which enables my vision to be corrected to 20/20 is available. I take my glasses off and, dang, the world's a mess. I put them on, and, well, the world's still a mess, but I can see it in clear focus.

I know that vision isn't just "mechanical"; that how the brain processes information and adjusts to stimulation via the senses isn't entirely understood or simple. What we "see" or "hear" or "feel" depends on how the brain interprets various signals. Perhaps someone with my biological vision (or lack thereof) could function quite well if he/she didn't know it was so bad. Maybe the brain adapts and adjusts to whatever the eye takes in, interpolating missing information to send a clearer message: hey, that big grayish blob; that's a rock. Go around it.

Either way, I'm glad my brain gets high-quality visual images, thanks entirely to my glasses (well, them and the sun and other light sources). I'm very, very grateful.

November 20:

Today I'm thankful for all the women who came before me.

Normally, I'm not what I consider a "feminist." My not considering myself a feminist, is, I realize, a luxury. A luxury I owe to so many courageous women who stood, and marched, and pioneered, and excelled; who sat in jail; who were ridiculed and tormented and demonized. Women who voted. Women who excelled.

I bask in the sunshine of their hard work. When a child, I never heard "you can't do that because you're a girl." Or, maybe I heard it (I must have, as I was born in 1964), but because I had the blessing of being raised by parents who never sold this lie, I scoffed and ignored any contradiction of the truth.

That's a good thing, because I mostly don't like "traditionally girly" things; not because I scorn them, but just because...I like other things. I like cars. I like tools. I like airplanes. I like wearing pants. I like having a job and working. I tend to not love things that are considered more "girly," such as sewing, shopping, cooking, etc.

As I make these lists, I'm doing so from my impression of "society's" old notions of what are boy vs. girl preferences. I observe that tasks (with very few exceptions like peeing standing up or being pregnant) aren't one sex or another. Tasks are tasks. Jobs are jobs.

Now, let's be clear. There are differences in male and female that may predispose one sex for kinds of work that, most often, will not produce exactly equal results. If my house is burning down, I kind of expect a 320 lb 6' 4" firefighter could drag or carry my unconscious, x-lb body out of the building easier than a 5' 6" person. But a 5' 6" person would manage because he, or she, would train specifically for that task. But in nearly all cases, women and men can do the same tasks and expect similar results; most jobs don't require the extremes of physical size or strength.

The personality differences between women and men are, honestly, more just personality differences between humans. Maybe men tend to be more aggressive. Maybe women tend to be more methodical. Maybe men tend to be more direct. Maybe women tend to be more nurturing. But pre-judging a person's abilities based on generalizations is illogical, wasteful, and unjust. That's what "prejudice" means: judging without knowing.

All these women who came before me: they knew better, but lived in a society that didn't. They had to demonstrate, with faith, perseverance, skill and determination, showing the truth to both men and people of their own sex, that women, for all our differences and similarities, are gifted with the same inalienable humanness as all God's children.

Does all this seem obvious? Good. "Our daughters' daughters will adore us and will sing in grateful chorus, 'Well done, Sister Suffragette!'" (from Mary Poppins)

But let's not fool ourselves. There are plenty of people who harbor a deep-seated belief in "the good old days." You know, when a woman knew her place, and that place wasn't in the board room. Or in the cockpit. Or on the bench. Or in the White House. Just listen. Just watch. Sadly, it seems to be too early to rest on the laurels of the feminists.

So my "not considering myself to be a feminist is a luxury" thing? It turns out that it's a luxury we cannot afford. I'm coming out: I'm a feminist. And I'm grateful I'm not alone.

November 21:

Today's "grateful" might surprise you. I'm grateful for the Internet and all the information we can receive via it.

But it comes with some strings (even if you use WiFi...get it? No? Never mind).

I've often described the Internet to nervous new users whom I've helped at the library like this: "The Internet is like fire. You can use it to warm yourself, cook your food, light your way. Or you can let it burn you, get out of control and destroy your house, or make so much smoke you can't see through it. The Internet is a tool to use, for better or worse."

Lately, we've had a lot of Internet wildfires. And I can't say I'm an innocent. I'm a meme junkie, and I surely let these funny pictures color my thinking more than I should.

I've been speaking to people who made different political choices than I, who I assumed had different opinions than I do, opinions which, I thought, informed their choices. But, in the closer analysis, they more often seem to be recipients of different information, too. To a large degree, I believe this is due to people "living out their stories," and in the course of that, when we come-across other "stories" that capture our attention--stories that excite or enrage us, we feel our stories, our feelings, are validated. We feel heard. We want to align with others who share our stories, which means sharing our frustrations, outrage, anger. Misery loves company.

Back when I was in "library school" and studying information behavior, there were all sorts of theories. After digesting a bunch of these theory-papers, and comparing these to my real-life experience in a public library, and with 50 years of observation, I came to a a different conclusion. I suggested that most people (in spite of all the "theories" the professors presented) really just sought-out information to "prove" their own existing opinions. People don't want information to make their lives better, or to solve their own problems. I casually called my take on this information behavior "feathering their nest." An instructor suggested that could be my PhD subject ("I'm NOT doing the PhD, dear professors! Stop bringing it up!"). People, basically, often seek-out information that helps us tell our story, for better or worse, within the narrative that we feel we're living.

-->When I have out-of-control premiums and costs from my policy with the Affordable Care Act ("Obamacare"), especially when my prior insurer dumped me on the "marketplace," then my radar's up for anything attacking that program. I see an article on Facebook. I click it. I share it.

-->When I am a white family-man who has watched his standard of living not keep up, and I see some "illegal Mexican" getting government benefits, the injustice galls me. There's a link to a story about this guy gouging his way through the American Heartland, taking jobs from hard-working citizens. I can't believe what I'm reading! (Yes, I can, and do). Build a wall! like! click! share!

-->I'm a woman who has seen men getting promotions, while I'm stuck in my career, maybe because I am the victim of sex discrimination. Maybe I don't have the right "look" for a promotion (looks for women employees are so important, you know). Or, maybe because I took a lot of time to raise my children, so haven't had the chance to keep-up with the experience of the guys. Oh, this article is about how a different country gives paid time-off to mothers. It's so unfair in the USA! Oh! and look, this article shows how the government under this administration (or the next) wants to curtail spending on Women's Health! Outrage! share-share-share-share.

And, no. I'm not above this reactionism; I am lured-in by the bit of truth...or the bit of information that rings of truth in my life...with stories more-or-less like those above (which I just made-up; feel free to like and share).

But, as a librarian, as a responsible citizen, I'm trying to shake myself out of Internet insanity. I posted an article about vetting news (and so-called news) sources this morning. And I don't think I'm the only one trying to emerge from this e-chaos. Several friends/family have (completely spontaneously and apparently unrelated to my efforts) shared information, some of which I added to my morning post. Heck, I even commented on a comment (yeah, I trolled) on HONY recently (rare for me) with something of a "hey, let's step back a bit" suggestion.

The irony about posting/sharing information about posting/sharing information doesn't escape me. But as Facebook and (dot)whatevers have shown how thoroughly they are supplanting traditional news outlets (Facebook is believed to be the source of more than 40% of Americans' news anymore*), the responsibility to be News Correspondents and Editorial Boards is falling on you, me, Aunt Phyllis, Cousin Oscar, and that weird neighbor who you only accepted a friend request from because of all his great cat pictures.

We've all been playing with fire. We've all been burned. We're all still burning, and that s&#% hurts. Let's slow down, vet our sources, consider our personal stories and personal prejudices and try to move beyond "what we want to hear." Let's try to ease-off from our insistence that we always must be right. Maybe take some time to look at opposing views, or filter what we see through a prism held at a different angle. Maybe find a little saving grace in being the Devil's advocate.

Billy Joel said "We didn't start the fire." But, yeah. We did. Time to listen to Smoky Bear: "Only you can prevent wildfires."

I'm grateful for beginning to find a path through the insanity, and invite my friends to gulp at the smoke-free air, too, wherever we can find (make) it.

November 22:

I was contemplating how to phrase what I wanted to call today's "I'm grateful for" thing (which is actually a set of people), because I just wasn't quite sure how to describe them. Influencers? Role models? Mentors? Nah; not quite what I mean.

Then, coincidentally, I came across a post by Erika Armstrong about "thought leaders" and: EUREKA! (from the Greek `ευρίσκω, which means, "I find"; though I should really use the word for "it found me," but I don't know what that is).

Basically, these are the people who, for various reasons, I have allowed to change my mind. There are many of them.

I've always tried to keep an open mind, and have even sought-out challenges to my thinking in order to grow. When I'm really set in my ways about something, I want to test myself to see if my belief or opinion is deeply-rooted, or just some shallow cop-out-substitute for real thinking. Sometimes I can do this on my own.

Often, however, I need the words or ideas of others to plant themselves in my consciousness, or smack me up'side the head, or whisper in my ear as I sleep. (Ok, the last one sounds a bit creepy, but these are metaphors; let's just roll with it.)

I seek-out people who can help me challenge my thinking, and thanks to the innovation I mentioned yesterday (the Internet) it's easy to tap-into a vast pool of alternative thinking and world-views. It's a virtual challenge-thinking feast! A smorgasbord. A buffet. All-you-can-eat. And it can be overwhelming. But one reason why I am grateful to the Internet and the information available via it is that it has given me ready access to many people I consider (now that I know what to call them) my thought leaders.

I've had many thought leaders before the Internet (and of course have thought leaders who are accessible in other ways). Teachers, authors, pastors, celebrities, fictional characters (thanks to their creators) even. Friends (past and present), family members, and many others who have in large and small ways helped me shape my thoughts in a continuously evolving and "distinctly me" direction. And it's true: over time I have changed my mind (or maybe just clarified my position) about many things. If a politician does this, people criticize her or him for "flip-flopping." But this is a hasty judgement. People are capable of change and growth, if they want to change and grow. And I do.

If you're curious, some of my celebrity Internet-accessible thought leaders include Mike Rowe (the "Dirty Jobs" guy), Benjamin Watson (NFL Baltimore Ravens), Martha Beck (life coach), Rod Machado (aviation author/humorist), George Takei (Classic Trek's Sulu and contemporary Mr. Fabulous), J.K. Rowling (Harry Potter), Erika Armstrong (aviation consultant/author), Brandon Stanton (via HONY), and recently Dan Rather(news/commentary). This list will probably expand as I get some rest and let my mind wander on the subject more.

I won't list my non-celeb friends who qualify; that would be super awkward, especially because any such roster would be incomplete.

It occurs to me there's another connection to an earlier "grateful" post I made, and that's one about plastic. Our minds and personalities are, to varying degrees, "plastic," or capable of being reshaped or reformed. I guess I'm glad my brain is at least a little bit plastic, and that I have thought leaders I can learn from and be inspired by.

So, to my thought leaders, I'm grateful. You probably will not even know who you are, but a little bit of your thinking, as you have expressed or shared it, has rubbed-off on me, and is now a part of me. Thank you for your gift.

November 23:

I'd like to express gratitude for my mother-in-law, Jane Mulholland. Sometimes I joke that I married my husband so that I could get to Jane. The truth is, for more than half of my life, I'd have been sunk without her help, companionship and friendship.

My four children have been raised, essentially, by a three-parent household. Mom+Dad+Grandma Jane. In earlier days, when the kids were arriving or were still small, I worked full-time for what is now Ladacin Network. Jane wasinstrumental as a part of our cocktail of child care, stepping-in during the inevitable gaps. Often, these times overlapped days she was caring for my father-in-law or some of my children's young cousins.

For over 18 years my nuclear family has shared a home with Jane. Jane "came with the house" which my husband (one of her sons) and I bought from her. The initial plan was that we'd subdivide and build a her a separate house, but ultimately, we all stayed in the same building. This has been a blessing in so many ways to my family, and me particularly.

Jane is a career homemaker; she knows the ropes, and has taken-up so much of the slack that exists because, truth be told, I am a terrible slacker at housekeeping. She's the brains and much of the brawn behind the Thanksgiving feasts, and she's also the natural early-riser of us all, quietly checking on the pets, or the laundry, and ready with advice on the weather forecast before anyone heads-out into the world.

But lest you think Jane's a "homebody," she's also busy with her own life. Between volunteer, church, fitness/recreation, travel, social activities and engagement with other extended family, Jane is really very busy, and her outward activities and interests are demonstrated during her interesting conversations, humor and natural wisdom. Jane's executive/management skills, honed from managing a household, caring for relatives, and raising six of her own children (and, to various degrees, dozens of grandchildren), would rival those of any professional administrator.

But these things about Jane don't really convey how much I love and respect Jane. She and I have differences, of course, but I simply can't buy-into the "mother-in-law joke" culture, myself. She is a friend and ally; the matriarch of the Mulholland family, a wise soul and a generous spirit. I honestly can't imagine my family's life, or my own, without her. I am truly and eternally grateful to her.

November 24:

Today's expression of gratitude goes for my children. John, Grace, Dianeand Susie. I don't think I have to elaborate on why I'm grateful for them. They make me proud every day. [Note: this was an unintentional duplicate; can’t help myself...I’m just doubly grateful for my children! ~km]

November 25:

One of the best things about having a bunch of family visiting is playing games. This year's favorites are Bananagrams and Skip Bo. We didn't play much on Thanksgiving day due to the sheer number of people and the constant remixing of conversations and fatigue of preparation and clean-up. I think we squeezed in a few games of Bananagrams at midnight.

Today, however, was big for Skip Bo. It's a good game for when there's a lot of distraction, with individual turns so people can break-away to get a cup of tea or yet another slice of pie. So today, while playing Skip Bo with my family, I decided to journal about being grateful for games.

Playing games is a variety of regular "play," when we engage in an activity for sheer enjoyment. Playing together, or playing games together (be it cards, sports or whatever) gives people an opportunity to spend time and build shared memories in a relatively low-consequence, low-risk way (assuming these are for-fun games and not Hunger Games!). Enjoying time with others wires our brains to seek-out additional experiences with those people, and enhances the bonds of family and friends. When you have pleasant memories, you want to replicate those feelings by associating with the same people again.

This brain-wiring tendency is important. If you have family members with whom your experiences are frequently fraught with stress and angst, even if it's environmental and not just "relational," you'll be conditioned to associate those people with negative feelings. Families/couples who are dealing with hardship, heath trials, difficult decisions, or threats to their security find themselves "together" during these bad-memory-inducing times. While families can and do bond and pull-together through such challenges, relationships can also be over-stressed to the breaking-point.

This is why it is so important to make good memories, or at least spend non-imperative, lower-stress time with the people you love. Neutral and positive time together simply adds-up to "outweigh" negative times. Likewise, expressions of comfort, challenge, compassion, and affection can be shared in the course of playing a game that contribute to the subconscious awareness of "normal relationship" with the other; a subtle bond can form which may grow into a stronger friendship and camaraderie based on shared stories.

Also importantly, in gaming together, we can find ourselves in a laboratory of how to negotiate with, and listen and learn more about each other. It is just too difficult to place ourselves in "observation mode" during high-stakes disputes; games help us hone our "let's get along" tools.

For example, in the course of gaming interactions, we may learn that another just hates losing under any circumstances. This would be an important consideration if it is ever necessary to confront that person with a challenge to his or her opinion. To that person, changing one's opinion may feel like losing, triggering a great deal of resistance. However, knowing that a loved-one will resist an argument because changing feels like losing may help guide others into presenting a good idea as a "win-win" proposition. Perhaps with sensitive treatment and skillful communication, the person may arrive at the desired change without argument (some might call this manipulation, but that word has an undeserved bad connotation).

An additional value is the resiliency of relationships that games can enhance, again, in a lower-stakes environment. If a person loses a game of Skip Bo, that doesn't mean this person has less value as a human, a companion, a friend. It just means that they didn't win a game of Skip Bo. A person may gain confidence that personal value does not relate to successful completion of objectives, but in the continued investment of time and attention by the other gamers/friends.

Of course, tempers may flare, and feelings may be hurt, during games as in other encounters. This can happen when any of the players fail to remember: it's just a game!

We may find ourselves in a state of believing that every decision is important; that every risk has dire consequences; that every challenge brings with it the imperative to conquer; that every goal unachieved is a reflection of our failure. When this happens--when we fell this way--not only do we refuse to accept defeat graciously, we never let our guard down. We can never truly relax. We can't have fun.

This is when we most need to remember that games are something we PLAY. That we need to play. And that playing not only teaches us how to lose, but how we win.

November 26:

I'm grateful for leftovers.

Leftovers mean there has been an abundance of food.

Last week I read an article about a Syrian refugee living in Paterson, New Jersey. She loves her new home. "There is so much food." I'm sure she was grateful for relative security, education for her surviving children, and a home to call her own. But "there is so much food" is not something that someone who never experienced such deprivation would probably think to remark about.

While Americans have varying degrees of struggle to meet basic needs, most of us do not truly face hunger. Many of us know leaner times, but not knowing when, or if we'll ever, eat again is not what most here will experience.

Don't misunderstand me. I acknowledge that poverty in America is real, and food-insecurity is just one aspect of that.

However, as bad as it can be in the United States, there are regions of the world experiencing environmental disasters such as flood or drought where there simply isn't enough food where it needs to be. This is, of course, terrible. However, it seems these kinds of deprivations capture the larger world's attention so that, often, planes full of bottled water and MREs are dispatched in response. Volunteers and NGOs arrive to help improve agriculture, develop food-distribution or clean-water infrastructure, or the situation improves with mitigation or resolution of the causes (the environment is improved).

But there are disruptions to food distribution due to political disasters: war and unscrupulous factions controlling the supply as a means to increase their own wealth, or as a way to subdue starving people into obedience. Or, the withholding of food is used as a weapon with which to commit genocide. These famines, resulting from deliberate human activity, are viewed differently by the outside world. These aren't starvation events; they're "political unrest." "Insurgent activity." "Civil war." "Internal politics."

I guess I struggle with this question: How do you tell a mother or father of starving children that their babies can't eat (never mind have a home or education or medical care) because they don't have the right kind of hunger? That their starvation is not the qualifying type of suffering because the cause of their neediness is complicated, uncomfortable, or politically-sensitive?

So I sit here, digesting my delicious dinner of leftover Thanksgiving feast-foods, and I'm grateful. But I'm also wary about the behavior of my abundantly-rich America going-forward. It's just too easy to take a nap and shut-out the suffering outside when one is lulled into complacency by abundance. It's too easy to blame victims of war for not being more like "us" and our splendid and civilized (?) democracy. It's too easy to tune-out the noise of the rabble, to call mass murder "unrest," and wrap ourselves in a thin veil of security.

I don't understand how I came to be born into this place and time where I've landed. I'm indescribably grateful to be here and now. But it didn't have to be this way. I could have been born as that Syrian refugee woman in Paterson. Or one of any millions of people who will never get the chance for a better meal.

November 27:

So, today's "grateful for." My husband John. I've hesitated to select him for this journal not because I'm not grateful for him, but because he's opposite from me in almost every way imaginable. Notably for this post, we're extreme opposites in our expectations about privacy, and have major differences in our tolerance for intrusions thereof.

I really don't have any inhibitions; there's not much I wouldn't share about my life with anybody. Maybe that's risky or sloppy. But, hey, I gotta be me. The only place I practice "TMI" (too much information) restraint (which isn't easy) is when my stories intersect my husband's on any personal level.

So, while I'm exceedingly grateful for him, there just isn't much I can share about him, or about our "coupleness," that won't make him uncomfortable, or even angry.

I will say this: opposites attract. But, there are many cases where opposites repel. This is where the "marriage takes hard work" line comes in. What makes the work "hard" is to accept that you won't agree on much. Sometimes this constant state of discord reaches a point of intolerable frustration and the only thing to do is "agree to disagree" (and we usually don't even agree on that, resulting in me just leaving the room). Other times, nothing gets accomplished because we can't agree on how to proceed.

Our best successes seem to be when we trade-off or take turns with decisions, each covering a different "department." For example, I've found myself happier letting him make any vacation/travel decisions, rather than trying to work "with" him. He's good at planning, finding deals, and digging-up interesting destinations and experiences. Since I like just about everything, this works for us. In another instance, he didn't interfere much in my decision-making with our children's religious education; I'm more active in my faith, and, while he places value on religious education, he'd just as soon not have to feel obligated to participate anymore (and he would have had to take the lead if he had insisted on raising the children in his church).

We do agree on some things; however, we typically arrive at agreement via entirely different paths of reasoning. He might invite me to dinner, and I'm glad to go out and enjoy a "date night." He's just happy that he found a buy-one-get-one-free coupon. Or, I might resist getting a new vehicle because I really like my 16 year-old beat-up Chevy van, but he's more acutely sensible of the strain another car payment would make on our budget.

John and I feel the most strain when we must merge tasks (we can't even move heavy furniture together without disputing when to lift it! But, really! Come on! How hard is it to count to THREE!), or have to make quick decisions of import without the chance to tease-out the details of the situation and come to some semblance of agreement from our opposite corners. When faced with these challenges, our personalities and styles sometimes cause the cogs and gears of our marriage-machine to grind and bind-up. Sparks fly. Smoke billows. Wheels stop.

And, I must admit, there are times when it feels like the best thing to do is throw in a wrench and say, "I quit."

But, fortunately, what "feels" best in a moment of frustration isn't usually what "is" best. And I'm very grateful that John and I seem to agree in this matter, if not much else. For even when the "work" of our marriage comes to an abrupt stop; when the machine overheats and needs a little time to cool off, we both realize that we're better together, even with our differences, than either of us would be apart.

It's just so weird. And sometimes so difficult. And, at the same time, perfectly glorious. In spite of our differences, and maybe, begrudgingly, because of them, I'm grateful for John. For who he is, and who is is to me.

November 28:

On the trip taking my daughter Susan back to Rowen University after our family Thanksgiving adventures, she remarked that it almost felt like we were taking a road trip. We were a bit crowded, borrowing my son's little beater 2001 Hyundai Accent, with standard transmission (stick shift), sitting almost shoulder-to-shoulder, with bags and beverages precariously balanced around and between us, and my frequently bumping her knee as I shifted into fifth gear. Apparently, this is what "road trip" feels like to her, based on her trips with college friends.

I can see it. Something about being in a little car, much closer to the asphalt than I'm used to being when driving my van, does make the connection to the road seem more...intimate. Bringing me to today's thing I'm grateful for: roads/highways, and in particular, the spectacular accessibility and connectiveness afforded to us because of them. 

Both Susan and I have long-ago confessed to each other a geek-level affection for roads, and the astonishment that one can travel from a starting point to any number of distant destinations with wheels never leaving a paved surface (barring any unfortunate events). 

The history of our nation's highways is complicated, but I'll spare you my armature-geek-level understanding of it. Like all histories, it is fraught with glory and with pain, depending on your perspective. If your home was seized by immanent domain to build a road, especially if you were not fairly compensated, you felt the pain. If your neighborhood was bisected by a superhighway, pain. If your struggling motel happened to be where the Interstate exit met the county road, whoo-hoo, happy days! And if you were a builder who landed a big road or bridge construction contract, well, clearly, this could make your year (or decade).  

America's romance with the road is, obviously, tied to our love-affair with the automobile. As I've mentioned in another post, I am clearly a fan of the convenience and mobility having a vehicle affords, and I'm aware of my psychological and emotional identification with "my car." But, even for people who don't dig cars the way I do, I think we must admit: the infrastructure of streets, roads, highways and Interstates that serves our addiction to self-directed transportation is a spectacular accomplishment. This is the result of various levels of government doing something right (with notable exceptions; yes, yes, I know). The establishment and maintenance of roadways and related structures meets a fundamental and important need, and is something that we all probably take for granted. 

Maybe there's some Star Trek type of a future when ground-travel will be quaint and obsolete. But, you know? I think there will always be roads. 

There's just something about a road trip that wouldn't be the same without them.

November 29:

It's difficult for me to describe what I'm grateful for tonight. I admit, I don't quite have a grasp on the concept. But I'm grateful for...things that...I don't know....cycle.

Things like a week in time. I'm grateful that we have a Sabbath, as instituted thousands of years ago in Judaism, and more-or-less realized in modern (and secular) times as weekends. I like that time as we measure it rolls-through in a repeating, reiterating fashion. When the work-week seems to drag, you have the weekend (or whatever days you have off, if you have a regular schedule) to look forward to. When the weekend is full of chores, you're ultimately rescued by having to go to work.

I also like that the natural seasons roll-through a year. Though I don't like being cold or having to rake leaves or shovel snow (penalties of my living Up North now), I like the near-certainty of knowing that spring follows winter follows autumn follows summer follows spring. I like the way the earth's tilt causes the seasons to change as our planet falls toward and flies away from the sun at the same time...a never-ending (so far, at least) roll around our large solar skating rink. 

I like having seasonal changes at work; "summer programs," where I pour a manic creative focus on themes and events for children and families. And when I'm about wiped-out and exhausted from all that, I like the relative predictability and routine of the school-year schedule; the time to help individuals learn how to use a computer mouse, or the annual search for pictures of New Jersey counties because of that one teacher's favorite holiday assignment. Or the opportunity for my teen group to make holiday treats for local soup kitchens. Or just the time to more carefully select material for my library's collection. And, of course, to begin planning for the next Summer Program ("Build a Better World" for 2017, if you're curious).

And I like the liturgical calendar of the Christian churches (and the calendars of other religions), where important rituals or historical events are revisited and mined for new spiritual relevance. Where the lectionary readings follow a three-year cycle, and the paraments (banners and decorations and such) change colors based on the liturgical season. It's Advent now. Minor keyed music. Hushed waiting. Anticipation.

I like marking time in years, with birthday and anniversaries. Not just because of adding-up the numbers, but by revisiting what those anniversaries mean. We've moved around the sun one more time together; may the next circuit be better than the last.

I like the phases of the moon, and the clockwork pull of gravity causing tides. And the spin of the earth, dragging us mortals from day to night and back to day.

And the cycles of the human body, some more understood than others. The circadian rhythm (though mine is busted). I grudgingly admit I appreciate (in a theoretical way) the much-maligned hormonal cycles of human females that make the continuation of our species possible.

Maybe I have adopted some weird misunderstanding of Hegelian philosophy, or perhaps I grew up hearing The Byrds' "Turn, Turn, Turn" too many times. Or perhaps I find some sort of comfort in routine, in schedule, in predictability.

But there's something about the chance to revisit, to return, to reunite, to relaunch, that feels like beginning again. Like the chance to do it all over; to do it all better. Rinse. Repeat.

Maybe it's not "real," but it doesn't have to be real for me to feel gratitude for it, all the same.  

November 30:

Today being the last day of November, it's also the last day of my month-long series of gratitude posts. I started this journaling effort on a whim. And, honestly, it hasn't been difficult to think of something every day. I just go with some thought that bubbles-up to the surface through the course of a day. 

The word that bubbles-up today is magic. I'm grateful for magic.

I can't just leave it at that (as you well know by now if you've read any prior posts). "Magic" has so many connotations, and there's much bias (some of it negative) about what it may mean. Am I talking witchcraft magic? Potions and spells and incantations? Harry Potter magic? White rabbit in a hat and card-trick magic?

Just so you know, I'm defining magic as those happy occurrences which I can't explain; those gifts which I don't deserve but I receive anyway; those surprise plot-twists where things come-together for good; those random, brief connections with strangers that stay with me; those rare moments when I stop trying so hard, and the universe just kind of smiles on me, and maybe winks. Maybe it would be better to suggest that I'm grateful for "magicalness" in my life than try to explain the sense of deep abiding magic that I'm sometimes blessed to be vaguely aware of. 

If you want to continue reading, just realize that I'm going to get a bit strange. It's my journal and I can be strange if I want to. So, here are some examples of the kind of magic I mean:

Faith. I know people don't like to hear words like "faith" and "religion" and "miracles" and "magic" in one sentence (but you just got through it, so, yay on you). Faith, as I experience it, is magical in its existence on a plane beyond thinking and even believing. It abides almost independently, tossing surprises and gifts my way. Sometimes those gifts are challenges. I'm a Christian, and as a participant in that religion, I grow and learn and worship. But, honestly, my faith is broader and richer than I'm able to experience, capture and honor in that context, or even in my entire living. You see, the divine is just much greater--beyond universal--than all this. Words fail. Ideologies fall short. Creeds dry-up and blow away. The faith that calls me into a relationship with the creation and the creator and the creating, well, for lack of words adequate, I'm just going to call it holy magic. 

Sentience. Being self-aware or mindful. There are those rare still, quiet moments, when the mind lets words fall away, and you can feel a "slipping" sensation, and the realization begins to present itself: you are whole and complete and perfect. And then your attention snaps-to, the world shrinks back and taps you rudely on the shoulder, and that edge of truth you could almost touch recedes; perhaps back into the pre-born past, or back into the post-biological lifespan future. But, for a moment, you are aware of your "eternal soul," or chi, or whatever it is that makes you distinctive among everything and everyone else. It's the magic of being.

Then there's the long-suffering magic which is the force that connects one to another, that works like gravity to pull us in different directions, that propels us to go, or to binds us to stay. This magic is love. While what "love" has been understood to mean has changed over time and through different contexts and cultures, what abides, and remains, is the magic that would cause one person to put the needs of another before one's own. Everything about our instincts, our reasoning, and our primal desires for comfort and security tells us to protect our selves; to take care of "number one." Whyever would someone not do that? Only through the magic of love. Some philosophies posit that attachment is the source of suffering. In the context of love-magic, this notion makes sense. Love is not attachment. Just the opposite: love is DEtachment: releasing ourselves as "the center of everything" so that we can serve and bless beyond our own self-interests; so that we can give of ourselves beyond our "original programming." Through my Christian lens, I see this love as the "Word of God."

So, since I look at magic this way, how can I not see it all around me? And, since I look at magic this way, how can I resist wanting to be a magician? 

Even if I have all of this--everything--wrong, I'm humbly, deeply grateful that, in being either right or wrong, there remains beauty, and truth, in magic.

[kathymommy]

“The New World Order”

On Laity Sunday (October 16) in 2016, I presented a very different kind of message in my church. It was an exceedingly risky approach. I tried to dismiss the idea, but time-and-time-again in the couple of weeks leading-up to the date, things kept pointing to the timeliness of this message. 

To summarize, this was a dramatization of a futuristic situation where our American society was turned upside-down in terms of liberties we take for granted today. The sadly not-so-crazy thing is, it doesn’t really feel not-so-crazy anymore.

This is quite long, but if you’re curious, here’s what basically happened during the “sermon” time:

Introduction (I spoke from the floor):

My message this morning is going to be something a little different. If you will remember the Orson Welles radio broadcast “The War of the Worlds,” this will be something like that. Just imagine we’re still in this room, but in the future. Maybe the distant future, maybe not so long from now. I hope you’ll listen not only to the words said here morning, but to your own feelings and thoughts as you hear them. I’ll ask the volunteers to take their places, please, as we begin. [I go to pulpit; 5 non-church friends who volunteered (John, Becky, Jeanne, Tracy and Kenny), dressed in black, take stations at the back of the sanctuary]

[During the dramatization, these messages were projected, in rotation, on the viewscreens: Your full attention is appreciated; Sign the “Friendship Pad”; Questions may be submitted at conclusion; Interruptions or disruptions are inappropriate]

Dramatization (I’m “acting”):

For those of you who don't know me, my name is Michaela Koulos, and I'm your lay leader. In case you’ve been living under a rock, you know about all the changes going on in the government. The Constitutional Congress has passed a lot of rules that affect us. It’s fair to say all religions will be dealing with this stuff for a long time. I don’t mean just the radical or violent groups like the New-Prophet Militants, the Divine Humanism Association, and the Radical Daughters of Miriam. No, the new laws don’t account for any difference between them and us, or any other mainstream religion like Islam, Judaism, and Hinduism.

Please just bear with me; this is gonna be really hard.

I've been tasked by the Bishop to read you the following statement while she and the pastor are away in Baltimore at the Religion Leaders' Briefing, Mid-Atlantic Region, on 34th Amendment Provisions. [I open an envelope and pull out papers to read.]

"Greetings, Americans of the Community of [Freehold]. Your attention is requested during the reading of this important notice regarding changes to your organization’s status under the provisions of the 34th Amendment to the United States Constitution.

“Your organization is required to maintain attendance information for this meeting for the purpose of ensuring that all members are informed of the following new regulations. Please, if you have not already done so, sign the attendance instrument provided [in this case, the Friendship Register located at the end of your pew]. Printed copies of this address must be mailed to any members of this community not in attendance today. Your signing of the attendance instrument saves your organization the expense of unnecessary printing and postage.

“This statement, as required by law under Article One, will be published in its entirety on your organization’s home page. Large print and other deliveries for people with sensory impediments will be made available, as needed, by your organization’s management.

“This statement is issued under the Article One Transitional Provision of the 34th Amendment to the United States Constitution as enacted last year. As you are undoubtedly aware, this Amendment is a product of the 3rd Constitutional Convention, duly approved by the U.S. House of Representatives and Congress, and ratified in all 47 states. The Amendment, among other things, articulates and clarifies definitions relating to the status of religious organizations and groups in the United States, as well as behaviors expected or tolerated of religious individuals.

“The overarching principle of the Amendment is that it definitively establishes that "freedom of religion" is to be better understood as "freedom from religion.” In practice, the Amendment guarantees protection from undue and/or unwelcome influence of religion. The First Amendment allows for anyone to believe as they wish. However, the history of abuse and conflict in the name religion has proven to be divisive and detrimental to the peace and well-being of the American Citizenry, both individually, and to the nation as a collective. The 34th Amendment should be considered applicable to the behavior of the religious minority, rather than, strictly speaking, to their beliefs.

“Therefore, it has been established in Article One of the 34th Amendment that proselytizing, evangelizing, and deliberate or ancillary recruiting, or efforts to convert others to any faith or religion, are to be deemed hostile behaviors, and are thus acknowledged as unconstitutional interpretations and abuse of the liberty of free speech as guaranteed by the First Amendment.

[By about this point, I’m evidently appearing quite stressed and upset, and a little teary-eyed; one of the youth group is dispatched to bring me a package of tissues. I hadn’t planned this; a great spontaneous touch.]

“Furthermore, the tacit communication by individuals of religious ideas and ideology by the wearing or displaying of symbols, costumes, or garments overtly associated with religious groups is prohibited under 34-Article One. For individuals who subscribe to the [Christian] religion, some examples of prohibited displays include [crosses or crucifixes, rosary beads, clerical collars, the “fish” or Ichthys symbol, the Greek letters alpha and omega together, angel representations], etc. Attention should be paid to clothing such as t-shirts or caps, as well as insignia on vehicles, exterior home or garden décor, or any other item which may be visible outside of one’s own private dwelling.

“In essence, 34-Article One is enacted in the interest of protecting the liberty of all citizens to reject religion, and to be free from the influence and oppression of religion, or any unsolicited and unwelcome ideology. The provisions of Article One are to be enacted and enforced immediately.

“It is established in 34-Article Two that a Transition Period of three years will begin on January 1 of the coming year. By the end of this three-year Transition Period, any violation of any Article or Provision of the Amendment will be subject to legal action up-to and including felony prosecution. The United States Government recognizes that old habits, even bad ones, may take time to break, and provides this Transition Period in order for the minority citizenry affected to more comfortably adjust.

“Article Three of the Amendment addresses implicit government support, in sufferance of tax-exempt status, of churches, temples, mosques, covens and similar institutions. The Third Constitutional Convention established that tax-exempt status violates the First Amendment, as clarified in the 34th Amendment. Any publicly-funded institutions that promote or offer religious education, including schools, are to be unfunded by all levels of government, and their tax-exempt status revoked. This change will take effect January 1. Any organization for whom religious affiliations are an ancillary relationship may disavow such relationships and, after successful demonstration of separation and satisfactory evaluation by the District Supervisor (as empowered by 34-Article Eight), may be continued in or restored to tax-exempt status.  

“Under 34-Article Four, charters, articles of incorporation, or any legal instrument filed in or with any level of government, including deeds and contracts, or any claims filed in any court, established for the maintenance or furtherance of any faith or religious group, are declared null and void as of January 1 of the next year (approximately fourteen months from today). Provision for assignment and/or disposal of assets and properties, along with target dates and timelines, is addressed in 34-Article Six. 

“These provisions are made in the interest of protecting the citizen population from further undue influence by removing the acknowledgement, support, protections, and implicit legitimacy that legal recognition affords.

“In spite of the negative effect of religious thought and ideology, which has been plagued the United States and, indeed, the world, for many years, the cultural contributions and historic importance of traditional religious communities is recognized and valued. Additionally, it is important to our nation's well-being that disruption be limited, and order maintained, during this time of transition. Therefore, 34-Article Five provides for current religion-based communities, referred to hereafter as Parent Bodies, to be perpetuated as reorganized and legally-incorporated Beneficent Organizations, or BOs. These BOs will initially own no real property, but will typically utilize facilities formerly owned by religious organizations (to be known as Community Asset Facilities). There will be three BO types:

Cultural Organizations (COs): secular groups focused on arts, music, creative literature and expression, etc., and related study, training and education.

Heritage Organizations (HOs): groups focused on history, artifact and facility preservation, examination and interpretation of ancient and extant literature, and historical reenactment or demonstration of tradition-based observances; generally interpreted as archiving the traditions of the Parent Body.

Service Organizations (SOs): groups focused on providing food, shelter, indigent aid, educational support, mental-health and addiction counseling and treatment, foreign language translation services, medical and case-management services, etc. 

“The Government recognizes that there are some who make their living in the religion industry. Individuals who are presently employed as professional religious leaders, as well as faculty or staff in the industry, are encouraged to seek employment in Beneficent Organizations. These professionals often have years of experience and a wealth of knowledge in areas such as human services, social work, scholarship, management, and entertainment and the arts. It must be stressed that BOs are required to tolerate no displays of personal religiosity from any employee or volunteer, including former religious professionals. Former religious professionals are hereby and immediately declared to be under no further obligation to any organization, and are at liberty to negotiate their own terms of employment. They are likewise released from all contracts, vows, and obligations pertaining to their past religious affiliations.

“Furthermore, as addressed in 34-Article Six, for current religious organizations which presently own and operate facilities, a Facility Management Team made-up of knowledgeable leaders from among the Parent Body will be established for the maintenance of such facilities until appropriate disposition may be determined by the State Community Assets Board. In typical cases, facilities will be utilized initially to house one or more of the aforementioned Beneficent Organizations which naturally will have emerged from the Parent Body. Each Facility Management Team will oversee the correction of terms and filing of contracts, deeds and other legal instruments to identify any real properties according to their geographic location or other moniker of non-religious reference, as required by 34-Article Four. However, for ease of reference during the three-year Transition period, Article Two allows for casual reference to such facilities using the prefix "old" before a familiar name. Local examples may include facilities such as ["Old New Hope Baptist," “Old Jewish Center," and "Old Stone Church"]. 

“Facility Management Teams will be responsible for the efficient management and maintenance of all properties under their charge. They will also negotiate Facility leases and terms-of-use with BOs, families and individuals, including for such uses as weddings, concerts, entertainment, lectures, and death recognitions. If indicated, liquidation of surplus assets (such as former residences of religious professionals and burial grounds) may also be required of the Facility Management Team.

“Before the end of the three-year Transition Period, the State Community Assets Board, created under the 34th Amendment Article Six, is tasked to review the appropriate use of all physical facilities. To summarize, existing facilities that have demonstrated great value as viable community assets may be selected to continue operation. Any facilities that, at the end of the Transition Period, have failed to achieve a high level of success (as judged by the Board), or do not have overwhelming historic or other quantifiable value, will be taken by eminent domain proceedings by an appropriate government authority, or liquidated outright. Liquidation proceedings will be managed by the State Community Assets Board, which is further tasked with the appropriate distribution of any acquired assets.

“The changes aforementioned related to Articles Five and Six are to be initiated by January 1 of this year. All property and assets held by a Parent Body must be transferred to a BO or sold outright before January of next year, so timely attention to these matters is urgent. Any properties and assets not in compliance with the provisions of Article Six are subject to seizure with prejudice.

“There are a few more items of immediate concern. According to the recent Supreme Court interpretation Article One, Paragraph 7, of the 34th Amendment (Immediate Relief from Exposure to Religious Indoctrination Influences), all religious texts, symbols and artifacts will be removed from any location of public accommodation. Such places include meeting halls, auditoriums, classrooms, gymnasiums, cafeterias, and other areas not specifically designated as private dwellings, or incidental to the historic study of such materials in facilities approved exclusively for the use of Heritage Organizations. Items which may be readily moved are to be relocated or disposed of; items intrinsic to a facility’s structure or installed in such a manner as their removal would cause damage to the structure,  must be covered or obscured.

“To facilitate this provision during the period of Transition, accommodation has been made in the case of certain texts for their sentimental, atmospheric or poetic value. Therefore, in the case of former [Christian Parent Bodies, Paragraph 7 allows for the retention of as many as ten copies of the King James Version of the Christian Bible] to be kept in public view. All other versions or translations of the text are to be reserved for scholarly study and stored in such areas that guests to the facility are not subject to their influence. Your assistance in gathering and turning-over any non-approved material is appreciated and expected. Boxes are provided near the exits today for this purpose.

“In addition, the local enforcement unit of Amendment 34, as empowered by Article Eight and commonly known as "Thirty-Four Eight," is intended to include a diverse sampling of a district's population, including those who have in the past expressed religious thought and ideology. You may have notice agents of 34Eight among you. Their task is to assist with compliance, and refer any questions about Amendment 34 to the appropriate office. Anyone wishing to serve on the 34Eight team is encouraged to speak with any agent after this briefing is concluded. 

“Going forward, more information will be made available to you through your local leaders, as well as additional official bulletins published during the Transitional Period. It is not appropriate to ask questions orally at this time. However, please note any questions or comments on the inquiry forms available from your visiting 34Eight agents. Be certain to include your name, address and contact information. After review by the appropriate authority, you will be met with a response. Thank you for your attention and compliance. This concludes this official bulletin from the President’s office regarding the 34th Amendment of the United States Constitution.”

[I then put down the papers I’ve read, take a deep breath and continue.]

At this point I’ll introduce a representative of Monmouth District of 34Eight. We are fortunate to have the local Commander, [Erika Cox], with us this morning. Commander [Cox], you have the floor. [Erika, dressed in black like the other volunteers, makes her way to the front of the sanctuary near the piano and takes a microphone from its stand.]

[Erika:] Hello and welcome on behalf of the Monmouth District 34Eights and all of your fellow Americans. It is with great pleasure that I greet you on this bright dawn of a new and greater America. I greet you not only as the commander of the local 34Eights, but it’s also my privilege to serve as the District Delegate to the Mid-Atlantic Region. Because of this dual role, I can give you some early inside information; information that may be particularly interesting to you here in Freehold!

First of all, it has already been determined by Mid-At SCAB that the Old St. Peter's campus will be maintained as an intact Community Asset site. That’s due to its well-preserved structure, historic significance, and central location. The icing on the cake is that recently expanded annex building. But don’t worry. Since Freehold has been approved for six Community Asset Facilities, your building’s chance of being spared seizure for sale is quite good, I believe. The attention of your managers to maintenance and preservation in the past will not go unnoticed during the Board's review. Having made your entire facility accessible to personal locomotive vehicles puts you near the front of the pack already! (Besides, I just happen to know, a certain other nearby facility has recently discovered serious structural problems!)

Something else! The facility at 2 Waterworks Road, due to their convenient location, has received early designation as an asset to be acquired by immanent domain--as an accessory to the Monmouth County Jail. The best part is, there is talk among that organization’s members of joining your group! This will add strength to your numbers, as well as a modest financial boost as you reorganize into appropriate BOs.

Believe it or not, I have even more good news! Not everybody knows this, but I’m a huge music lover. Because of that, I just had to attend your Initial Briefing meeting myself to tell you: Your 1967 M. P. Moller Organ has been selected (among many other specimens) for relocation to Hagerstown, Maryland. Your instrument will be used to keep the organ of historic 316 Memorial Boulevard Corporation, or “Old First” (another pre-selected Community Asset site), in good working order. Your organization will receive $1,000 toward the cost of dismantling and shipment of the required components! Just submit your receipts to the Mid-At SCAB (I can handle that for you). You should be proud that, no matter what, your group’s musical heritage will live-on in your instrument's future in Maryland. Besides, now you can joke that your organ was organ donor! [The congregation did produce some nervous laughter here!]

But seriously, you all have a great future to look forward to. As a part of that, I'd like to extend my personal invitation to join the Monmouth District 34Eights. The main requirement is U. S. Citizenship and, as required by the 29th Amendment, the ability to read, write and speak English. That being said, anyone who knows a foreign language will be of special use. If you’re interested in joining-up, indicate that on the question-card you’re about to get, or just see me after this meeting.Now, the 34Eights in the audience will pass-out questions cards. [Erika signal the agents (volunteers dressed in black standing at the back) to pass out cards to the congregation. The inquiry cards are actually discussion questions and a note from the author; they are reproduced below.]

Thanks for having me here! And remember: When it comes to the 34Eights: We’re here for you! [Erika takes a seat. Once the cards have been distributed, I announce the conclusion of the dramatization, and the return to “normal today” time.]

Then we collect the offering and proceed with the rest of the service. 

Text from “Inquiry Cards” (hand-outs):

Questions to consider/discuss 

How did this dramatization make you feel? Did you “buy it” at all? Was it silly? Did you find it boring? Did you find it frightening? Did you feel anger?

Do you think a future scenario such as portrayed this morning is possible? Why or why not?

What was the world like twenty years ago? Did you have more or less personal liberty? Did you feel more or less safe?

Twenty years ago, what did you think “today” would be like?

How do you feel when other religions, or atheistic or secular humanistic ideologies, get more “air time” or representation in the media than Christianity?

How would you respond if, today, your rights to believe in God as you choose, discuss your faith, or go to church were threatened?

How would you respond if, today, your neighbor’s rights to believe (or not believe) in God, and express that belief, were threatened?

How do you feel the government should respond to “hate speech” or “harmful rhetoric” coming from religious groups? How should Christians respond?

Who are the “heroes” of faith today? Are there any risk-taking modern-day prophets?

What are your thoughts about the freedoms or restrictions of self-expression in other countries? Is the ability to freely express one’s faith a “Christian” value, or just an American/democratic value?

How do you avail yourself of the freedom to exercise, share or express your Christian faith with others, now, in this place and time (where it is entirely legal)?

[reverse side]

“The New World Order”

October 16, 2016

Special Thanks to the “34.8s”: Erika Cox (Commander), Kenny Fishman, Kristy Matthews, Jason Meyer, Tracy Tiedemann Moriarty, John Mulholland, Becky Peterson, Jeanne Vigeant, and Chris Young. 

A note from the presenter

Clearly, I’ve taken a risk presenting such an unconventional message this morning. As I told a friend, this experience will either accomplish my goal (provoke thoughts or feelings that may be useful to you in your faith journey); it might bomb (nobody “gets it” and you end up just dazed and confused); or you may fervently hope I will find a new (different) church home.

Post-apocalyptic/dystopian young adult titles have been popular for a while, and , as a children/teen librarian, I’ve read more than a few with a “that could never happen” attitude. However, the events and rhetoric leading-up to the 2016 election has caused me to rethink what horrors could possibly be unleashed on our future.

In addition, the ideas of freedom of expression and unfettered access to information are core values of library professionals. This speculative dramatization grew, in part, out of my reflection on those concepts.

We also see plenty of tension between religion and government (or, perhaps more accurately, between religious people and politicians). Prayer in schools. Ten Commandments on public  buildings. Religious diversity in school holiday schedules. Roselle Park’s Veterans Memorial Library and the removal of their “cross” statue (just Google that).

But also there are plenty of genuinely harmful messages coming out of religions. I’m not just talking about “radical Islam,” but hate-speech coming from people who claim to be Christians--people who read Jesus’ gentle words, but then insist on saying and doing something entirely different.  Westboro Baptist Church is just one well-known example.

The reason for the dramatization approach is that I hope to give you the opportunity to use your imagination to put yourself in an entirely different situation. By using imagination, we can “sample” different challenges and test how we might respond. Even if you didn’t play-along with the storyline, perhaps you might think about some of the issues associated with freedom of religion, and what we might, or should, as Christians, do with that freedom.

                                                                       ~Kathy Mulholland

==============================

(Copyright Kathy Mulholland, 2016. All rights reserved.)

#laitySunday #USConstitution

[kathymommy]

Idolatry and the Word

[message delivered to First United Methodist Church of Freehold, September 18, 2016]

Many of you have heard about San Francisco 49ers quarterback Colin Kaepernick taking a knee during the National Anthem. I’m not particularly fond of football, or most sports, I must admit, but this player’s action inevitably gained national, if not world-wide, attention. Kaepernick has said, "I am not going to stand up to show pride in a flag for a country that oppresses black people and people of color”… 

Patriotism-fueled debates about appropriate respect for symbols of our nation aren’t rare. We’ve even had the Red White and Blue Five Hundred Pound Gorilla in this very room. The display of loyalty and patriotism is something that Americans are passionate about.

Recently, I got in a bit of an argument with a neighbor about the whole hand-on-the-heart thing for the national anthem. Upon researching it afterwards, I learned that, technically I was wrong. According to the US Flag Code’s statement about customary behavior, you’re supposed to put your hand on your heart for the National Anthem. I don’t; I just stand at attention. I’m not losing any sleep over it, and, frankly, that’s just my habit.

Much of what we do to show respect, or to just get through the day, is done not by force of feeling, but by habit. If you think about it, anyone deliberately choosing to stand or kneel, put their hand over their heart, salute or just stand there, is at least putting in the effort to consider the effect of their behavior. If you were to look at the audience attending the San Francisco 49ers game where Kaepernick took his knee, it wouldn’t surprise me to see many people with hands-on-hearts chatting, texting, digging out their wallets to pay for hot dogs and sodas, yawning, and otherwise being un-present for the National Anthem. I bet many of those same individuals would condemn Kaepernick for his demonstration.

But here’s the thing: The symbols of America are supposed to represent greater ideals; ideals that transcend those artifacts that represent this greater meaning. Most of us, however, still feel uneasy, or even threatened, when our national symbols are disrespected. But shouldn’t we really be more concerned with threats to our liberties, such as the freedom of speech? The freedom to take a knee or raise a fist or keep one’s seat during the National Anthem? The freedom to say the Pledge of Allegiance, including, or not, the “one nation, under God,” part?

Perhaps we should consider that, when we offer whatever show of devotion to our country, we should not do it out of simple habit, but as an active affirmation. When our hand is over our heart, we’re then celebrating the freedom to keep our hands in our pockets.

But enough about the pledge and the flag. This is church, and this is Sunday morning, and this is the message time. Let’s talk about religion stuff.

How about we review today’s scripture reading from Jeremiah:

“My joy is gone, grief is upon me, my heart is sick. Hark, the cry of my poor people from far and wide in the land: “Is the Lord not in Zion? Is her King not in her?” (“Why have they provoked me to anger with their images, with their foreign idols?”) And it goes on like that a while.

Well, that’s kind of angsty. Kind of hard. I should have never agreed to preach from Jeremiah! Instead, let’s look at something else. How about the good old Ten Commandments? From Exodus 20:

“I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery; you shall have no other gods before me.

“You shall not make for yourself an idol, whether in the form of anything that is in heaven above, or that is on the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth. You shall not bow down to them or worship them; for I the Lord your God am a jealous God, punishing children for the iniquity of parents, to the third and the fourth generation of those who reject me, but showing steadfast love to the thousandth generation of those who love me and keep my commandments.”

Wow. Still pretty severe, and I don’t really like reading that “punishing children for the iniquity of parents part.” Let’s look for something kinder; something gentler, from the New Testament.

I know! First Corinthians Chapter 13: “If I speak in the tongues of mortals and of angels, but do not have love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give away all my possessions, and if I hand over my body so that I may boast,but do not have love, I gain nothing.”

And while I’m in the New Testament, let’s visit one of my favorite passages. Here are the opening lines of the Gospel of John:

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.”

Isn’t that just beautiful? You should read it in the Greek it was originally written it. I studied koine Greek in college, and when I first translated that passage, I was brought to tears. The author of the Gospel of John was not the most literate in written Greek (which is why our class started there), and if the words sound simplistic, they are. However simplistic these words are, they are elegant. I don’t know if the language study made me love this passage more, but it has, since my youth, been one I visit often. You see, to me, this passage is the perfect example of someone who is trying very hard to describe the experience of God. Trying, and, in a self-conscious and self-aware way, failing. Because, really, how can God be captured in words? How can God be described in text?

We even enlist art, music, and all our senses, in attempts to communicate the divine. However, we still fall short of understanding or articulating what we believe. We simply fail at describing the everythingness of our God. We’re really no better equipped, after all these years, than the writer of John’s gospel who took a stab at the darkness with his small words and enormous message.

While we’re in the Gospels, let’s refamiliarize ourselves with this one from Luke chapter 10: “[Jesus] answered, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself.”

In this message, so central to Christian thought and tradition, Jesus basically instructs us to “give it everything we’ve got” when it comes to loving God.

So, here we are. We’re wholly inadequate, as a species, as the creature, to express our experience of the divine, of the creator, let alone actually comprehend and describe God. We’ve used every tool in our toolbox: words, sounds, images, sensations. But we still fall short.

Nonetheless, we are taught that we can know God, somehow. That if only we work hard, and study hard, and read the Bible hard, that we can achieve this knowledge; that to know God is in our reach!

Now, I guess I’m deep enough into this message to start pulling things together. I mean, it’s not unlike me to just offer random, scattered bits of information or rant from streams of consciousness. That’s really my style, as those of you who know me well, or serve on any committee with me, can attest. But let me try to make some sense out of all this.

First, we have today’s scripture from Jeremiah. In the passage, God is credited with lamenting, “Why have they provoked me to anger with their images, with their foreign idols?” So, God is displeased with the people’s worship of idols. This is no surprise. It’s classic Ten Commandments stuff, as we just read in Exodus: “You shall have no other gods before me….You shall not make for yourself an idol….”

And we’re told in Paul’s letter to the church at Corinth that without love, our words are like noisy gongs and clanging cymbals; that even with understanding and knowledge, without love, they are nothing. Sacrifice and certainty are empty and meaningless without love.

And back to John’s Gospel: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” John tries so hard to explain, but he isn’t really able to express the whole of God fully because, really, who ever can? But it’s still beautiful, and we hear a shimmering ring of truth in it.

And as we hear in the three other gospels, we should love the Lord our God with everything we are.

To summarize: There’s just no room for idols, because we’re called to give God all we’ve got. And it is God who is the Word, and it is the Word that is God. And we only speak nonsense, and believe foolishness, and work and sacrifice and achieve nothing without the love of God which is made real to us in God, as God-the-Word.

These confusing statements may just be the best I can offer as one of the creatures, with the small heart, mind, soul and strength of a creature, in my inadequate efforts to cry out to my creator.

But I’m not done yet.

However, before I go on, I need to say this: I’m taking a very great risk in being misunderstood now, or perhaps in being perfectly understood and possibly being judged a heretic as a result.

Most of you in this room are here because you are at least curious about Jesus or about the Christian religion. Some are here with a solid history of devotion and a foundation of strong and confident faith. Or maybe you’re here for some other reasons; reasons you don’t consider quite honest or authentic.

Maybe you just like the snacks at coffee hour. Maybe you like to see your friends. Maybe your family drags you in. Maybe you feel you should go to church, and the music’s good and the air conditioning usually works, so, sure, why not. Or, perhaps it’s just habit; you wouldn’t know what to do with yourself on a Sunday morning, otherwise, just as you wouldn’t know what to do with your hand except place it over your heart during the Pledge of Allegiance. But one-way-or-another, this is a room full of pro-Jesus, pro-Christian, pro-Bible type people.

Besides that, many of you have known me for 20 years. You’ve heard me put my foot in my mouth, seen me make a fool of myself, and be downright mistaken (once or twice).

So, with these apologies in mind, as I continue, feel completely free to disagree with me on the basis that I might be wholly wrong. I’m no theologian. But, I do hope you’ll at least think a little bit about what I’m sharing with you.

Remember what I said a little while ago about habit? How maybe we salute the flag, or stand for the National Anthem, out of habit, without really thinking about what we’re communicating? Or maybe we react negatively to those who don’t stand for the anthem; to those who take a knee, or raise a fist? It’s our habit to recognize those behaviors as unpatriotic and dangerous.

Well, I’d like us to examine our habits today. Specifically, I’d challenge us to question our habits about things we take for granted in our relationship with God, and with some of the ways and means we communicate of God.

What I’m about to read are the words of C. S. Lewis as found in a letter to a Mrs. Johnson. I don’t know who she was. You probably recognize the name of C. S. Lewis as author of the Screwtape Letters or the Chronicles of Narnia. Lewis was a theologian, so maybe this will weigh a little more with you than my speculations.

“It is Christ Himself, not the Bible, who is the true Word of God. The Bible, read in the right spirit and with the guidance of good teachers will bring us to Him. When it becomes really necessary (i.e. for our spiritual life, not for controversy or curiosity) to know whether a particular passage is rightly translated or is Myth (but of course Myth specially chosen by God from among countless Myths to carry a spiritual truth) or history, we shall no doubt be guided to the right answer. But we must not use the Bible (our ancestors too often did) as a sort of Encyclopedia out of which texts (isolated from their context and read without attention to the whole nature and purport of the books in which they occur) can be taken for use as weapons.”

Let me repeat this part: “It is Christ Himself, not the Bible, who is the true Word of God.”

The Bible does support this. In those beautiful, simple words of John. “…And the Word was with God, and the Word was God.”

But what about the text collection that is the Bible itself? Isn’t the Bible the “holy, infallible word of God?” Lewis, a bona-fide theologian, says the Bible isn’t so much the word of God. But Lewis isn’t trying to discredit the Holy Bible. No, he spent most of his life in love with the text, the history, the messages in the Bible.

But maybe think about it this way: The Bible is a vehicle for us to know God. The Bible is special and Holy. But it is not, in and of itself, God. In a similar manner, the American flag and “Star Spangled Banner” represent the nation we’re grateful to call home, but they are not our nation, actually. Those symbols, and how we respond to them, are communications about us as a people and about our nation. When we quote the Bible to defend our opinions, are we really citing what the Bible has spoken to us, or are we holding up a protest sign with Bible words on it?

I believe that we Christians, and people of any faith with a holy canon, make a huge mistake in confusing the words of our faith with the WORD of God, which is God. Our finite and limited understandings, when confronted with the infinite, the divine, settle on something that we think can satisfy our need to know and love God. We settle on words, even words in the Bible.

However, we can’t stop there, at the Bible. We can’t stop at the Bible if we want to love the Lord our God with all our heart, soul, mind and strength. We can’t stop at the Bible unless we want to be a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal.

Can we cast the Bible as our only understanding of God? Can we identify the Bible as that which captures God? That which contains God? This would be to hold the Bible up AS GOD, even after we are told, and we know deep in our souls, that the WORD of God is, quite simply, profoundly, and completely, GOD. To hold scripture up as God, instead of holding up the Living Word which is God, is, frankly, idolatry. And the scripture itself tells us God’s mind on idolatry. We read about that just a little while ago.

I honestly believe this unrecognized idolatry of the words about God, which are being confused with the Word that IS God, is the reason for all the division in the Church. When Christians use the Bible as a weapon to assert something we think we know about God, while completely ignoring the Word of God living in and among and through us, we not only fail to be “good Christians,” we hold up a false god; an idol. And we stupidly assert that God is small, and spiteful, and inconsistent. Instead of infinite divinity, we show an image of a god that is plagued by human insufficiency.

Similarly, we hold the church itself up as an idol, and do everything we can to protect that idol, never mind the very all-powerful Word of God which doesn’t need puny humans for protection. While we jab at different opinions, and fearfully attack Christians who disagree with us, pointing to chapters and verses, those among and around us who hunger and thirst for the Living Word see only our foolishness and waste. We look like moths buzzing around a flame, distracting ourselves from the work of the Kingdom, and misleading those who stumble around, blinded by our frenzy and hypocrisy. We obscure that very “light that shines in the darkness.”

Then, we Christian types have the temerity to expect unbelievers to buy these idols that we’re peddling, as if these things were the authentic Word of God. They don’t see, hear, taste, feel and experience God in us. Why, then, should they believe? How can we claim the Kingdom of God when we are doing far less than knowing and loving the Word that is God with everything we’ve got?

Now, before you go running to the pastor, or some committee, or corner some church friend in the parking lot to complain about me, let me say this. I am NOT suggesting that the Bible isn’t divine, or inspired, or that it is anything less than Holy Scripture. I am not saying the Church is an abominable institution of deception and falseness. What I am saying is that when we read and learn from the Bible, we must do it in a spirit of active and anticipatory listening to the dynamic and present Word of God in us. What I’m saying is that we must be the church that doesn’t just say the words in the Bible, but that lives and moves in the Word of God that is God.

Furthermore, we must not close our hearts to the word of God which God may choose to bring to us by other means than the Holy Bible.

It’s just not enough to read the Bible for its chapters, verses and stories. We need to listen for the Word of God to speak to us, in us, through us. To fill our hearts, minds, souls and strengths. We must stop delighting when we find a sentence that supports our argument, or justifies our opinion. We must not weaponize the canon of our faith to distort and misrepresent the will of God, the love of God, the Word that is God. We must not build the church into a fortress, presuming that the God who creates all things needs our management and protection. Instead, let’s open our hearts to Jesus Christ and let the words in the Bible, and the entire singing creation of which we are part, bring us to voice the Word of God which is in us and among us.

Amen.

--------------

Reference:

Collected Letters of C.S. Lewis. Letter to Mrs. Johnson, written on November 8th 1952

[kathymommy]

imagine

I meant to post this article to a different blog, but figured I’d leave it here, too. To view the Kathy+Grace blog, visit: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/porchready

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Kathy says-->Grace challenged me to write a letter offering advice to my 24-year-old self.

Very difficult to do.

For one, there's a nerd-brain concern over interfering with timelines and paradoxical conflicts and "butterfly effect" stuff. If I were to credibly tell my 24-year-old-self some things that I (for example) would tell my 24-year-old daughter, and if my 24-year-old-self would heed such advice, my life would have taken a dramatic turn. So, assuming I weren't to tell my younger self to "run like hell," or something to that effect, my advice would be more like how to better cope with the "bed I made"; some hints on how to navigate the consequences of the choices I made leading up to being 24 years old. 

But even that kind of advice seems to suggest that my life at 24 is adjusting to a series of several big decisions which might be considered mistakes, and as my 51-year-old-self, I don't want to give that impression.

Upon reflection, I do have some advice for my 24-year-old self. It isn't really earth-shattering, but more an articulation of things that I have always known on some level. And that advice is this: Dear young Kathy: Nurture your imagination. Here's why:

Imagination is often not recognized for its worth in the list of personality/mental traits one may possess. This list includes things like creativity. Intelligence. Resourcefulness. Resilience. Integrity. Determination. 

But imagination is my favorite, and I've only recently, as someone in her 50s, seen how much of a survival skill it has been. Here are ways my imagination has served me:

1. Escaping. Because of my imagination, I've been able to retreat (for short, but important, moments) into worlds of other's making (reading, movies, etc.) or my own ("day dreams," writing). When so-called reality gets too oppressive, a dip into imaginative thinking is a restorative tonic. 2. Preparing. Imagining "what ifs" and possible consequences or situations has helped me ready myself to meet challenges. Sometimes I'm caught completely off-guard by a situation and I can "feel" the difference. Having had some imaginative practice has helped me cope with bad things happening. 3. Worshiping. I interpret "love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind and strength" to mean not just with our intelligence (for mind) but with our imaginations. God imagined the world into being. Since God isn't directly observable (only God's creation is), our imaginations are like senses that can be tuned to experience the mysterious, the divine. This is not religion-specific. 4. Discerning. We rarely know everything that there is to know about something. By using our imaginations, we can interpolate between facts and information. This is not a perfect way to know something or someone, but without an imagination, we really can't function well with the limited knowledge we're able to observe via our senses. 5. Empathizing. If we can't imagine what pain (or joy) may be like, we wouldn't be able to feel for others who are experiencing different hurts or emotions than we've felt. People who are empaths detect emotional energy as though their imaginations are one of their senses. 6. Envisioning. Using our imaginations to envision futures or options, we can picture a future or world that we want to be a part of. It's one thing to have a goal to inspire tasks to accomplish that goal. But by envisioning what that goal looks like, and feels like, we can use that vision as a model to work toward. For example, one might have a goal to "be happy." But one must envision what kind of existence that would be: what would "be happy" look like? What is in (or not in) that picture? 7. Untangling. With imagination, one may deconstruct complex problems and break-down complicated structures into strands or pieces, and see how they fit together. I "imagine" what a knot may look like, and use my imagination to sort through all the actions and movements required to simplify the problem. Untangling with one's imagination is a part of visualizing to problem-solve. 8. Resting. Imagination never needs to rest, but it gives rest. Dreams are crafted from unfettered imaginings. Letting-go of language-based thinking allows the imagination to soak through the more thought-based parts of the brain. Imagination can be a balm. 9. Liberating. This is not the same as escaping. The power of the imagination to show alternative realities can prove irresistible. This should really be considered a superpower of imagination, in that it can provoke life-changing decisions. Simply recognizing the authority of imagination as a valid way of thinking is liberating, too. 10. Bonding. This power of imagination is one that is the result of shared products of imagination. This is the bond between author and reader. Actor and audience. Composer and musician. It is also the bond many people feel when engaged in group projects or activities ranging from planning a baby shower to participating in a live-action role play event for over 200 people. 11. Understanding. Having the power to envision other people experiencing different pressures and realities is a humbling thing. One realizes immediately that one's own situation is not universal. Imagination allows one to view fewer lines between people, objects, cultures and norms. 12. Forgiving. An imagination enables tolerance of differences and sees perceived weaknesses in others in a new light. Imagination allows one to work-through hurts and slights, and to move on to more peaceful and productive ways of living. It would be difficult-going for someone unable to imagine anything better than holding on to resentment and bitterness. 13. Un-inhibiting. Granted, this is a word I've "imagined," but it's something like "thinking outside the box." Can one really attempt to explore a world, a universe, an atom, unless one can be open to observing the "unimaginable"? It takes imagination to allow a mind to have permission to leave-behind prejudice and preconceived ideas. As biological machines, our minds have limitations; imaginations are the best-answer to unlimited thinking. Without imaginations, we're stuck in a very limited perspective: that governed only by our biological senses. With our imaginations, we can open our minds to dimensions and realities that we can’t describe in language, and allow for their very existence; we can move beyond the bonds of logic; we can accept paradox, faith, and infinity. We can grow beyond our programming.

Since I like the number 13 (I imagine it as an unloved, unfairly maligned number), I'll stop there.

So, the advice I'd give you, my 24-year-old self, is to strengthen and honor your own imagination. It has saved me countless times, and even when it has cost me, it has always been worth the price. -------- Grace: I'd like you to imagine at least three different incarnations of your life, projected into the future. Picture yourself in your 50s, and speculate briefly on what your life may be like and how you got there.

#imagine imagination

[kathymommy]

“An Abundance of Options”

(Laity Sunday sermon I delivered at First United Methodist Church in Freehold, NJ, on October 18, 2015)

Last month Pastor Loraine informed me that October 18th was Laity Sunday. She also gave me a meaningful look and mentioned that she was not planning to preach that Sunday. While I tried to pretend I didn’t get the hint, it was a little too obvious that she took “laity Sunday” literally. I muttered something like, “I guess I’ll be in touch with some other lay people and we'll figure something out.” And, of course, because I am who I am, I smirked a little.

But to be honest, I wasn’t really worried about laity Sunday.

Perhaps more fortunately for me than for you, I’m one of those people who isn't afraid of public speaking. I have for many years theorized that there are really only two types of public speakers who will be remembered: those who are genuinely, exceptionally good, and those who are terribly, tragically awful. Only the extremes will stand out in anyone’s mind for more than a couple of weeks. After that, people forget anything beyond a vague recollection that “she gave a speech” or “he gave a sermon.” That being the case, odds are, I’ll fall somewhere in the middle. I’m not likely to knock your socks off with my wit, my profound wisdom, or my exceptional style; but I’m not expecting to stand here and stammer incoherently, either. Therefore, I can reasonably expect my “performance” will be soon forgotten. By this logic, I come to another reassuring conclusion: if my activity in the next fifteen minutes will soon be forgotten, what I actually say now probably doesn’t much matter.

Let’s look at the proposition a bit closer. Let’s say I stand here before you and deliver an acceptable, tolerable, and maybe a somewhat reassuring message. That’s a fairly satisfactory ambition for a lay person on Laity Sunday, right? If the goal is to land squarely in that “forgettable middle ground”…that place where I’m not required to be amazing, nor am I destined for infamy as ridiculous…then I must not only make sure that my “performance” is fair-to-middling, but I must avoid strong disagreement; resist being provocative; decline to be argumentative, or challenging, or unsettling. To guarantee that confidence-building anonymity in the sands of time, I must be, at best, mildly thought-provoking. Not only must I be forgettable, but so, when all is said and done, must be my message.

This is the safe harbor of my theoretical confidence as a public speaker.

However, in the midst of my bubble of safety and comfort in a situation that many of you probably would find terrifying…public speaking… some questions have lately floated-up to my consciousness. Some questions that, truth be told, I have found difficult to ignore. These questions have thrown a wooden-shoe into the cogs of my well-functioning scheme to manage the fear of speaking out-loud about a subject where I am certainly no master, no expert.

These questions include: •      Is hearing a sermon full of things my church friends already know and believe a worthy use of their time and attention? •      Is my sharing a mediocre message a waste of this opportunity to let God be known through me? Is this “Laity Sunday” event really just a check-box on the Methodist calendar, or is it an invitation for a lay person who feels called to do so, to stir the placid waters? •      Will I personally be satisfied to do less than the best I can to be honest and forthright and genuine before my dear friends in Christ? •      Does God really want me to be careful and cautious, or to be bold; to take a risk to speak of God and God’s presence in this world as I know it? •      Shouldn't, therefore, what I say matter? at least, to me?

Questions such as these have completely sabotaged my peace of mind as I approached my task this morning. I would rather represent myself as a sensible and perhaps mildly-entertaining, speaker. I hope that's what you've come to expect from me, as for many years, that's what I've worked hard to project. But these nagging questions are pushing me in a different direction. What if I feel compelled to say something...unsafe? Possibly disquieting? Perhaps even memorable?

I dare say that if Pastor Loraine were here, she might be growing quietly terrified about what I’m ultimately getting-at. She'd begin to regret that “meaningful look” she sent my way in September. She undoubtedly be thinking, "Uh oh, here’s an ungoverned layperson, armed with a wild-card home-made theology, addressing a house packed full of innocent captive church-goers. They warned me about this kind of thing in Seminary!" She would doubt the wisdom of ever inviting me to talk to you in this fashion. Ah, our pastor would have her doubts. And by now, you have your doubts, and I have mine.

And so, this leads me to my subject: Doubt.

I had a friend in college. His name, ironically, was Thomas. He and I made a pretty good team working on various projects around campus. He was outgoing, popular, smart, and though he was a little older than most of us (thanks to a pre-college stint in the Coast Guard) and could buy alcohol legally, he wasn't a drinker. While many of our peers were out partying or traveled home on weekends, he and I would just hang-out and talk. Thomas was a Christian, and was headed for seminary after he finished his bachelor's degree. I always thought that he and I, being such good friends, might have made a very good team as career ministers. The problem was, he was much more of a conservative Evangelical Christian than I. He was so certain about everything. Sometimes our discussions about religion ended awkwardly, with me making some excuse to leave the room, and him looking a little smug as I beat a hasty retreat. Thomas had no doubt that he was well-informed about the ways of God and his own, and everybody else's, place in God's plan. It was best to keep our conversations...unmemorable.

Three or four years after graduation, I reconnected with Thomas. While at seminary, he had taken a job as a prison guard; a job where he imagined he could apply the skills he gained in the military while witnessing to the lost about Jesus. That was his plan, anyway. Instead, after a series of terrible events, he completely lost his belief in God. I believe that because his faith in his religion was as brittle as it was strong, it could tolerate no doubt. There was room for no ambiguity, no mystery. Doubt made a crack in Thomas's religion, and all his faith poured out.

I remember hearing an anecdote as a child. It went something like this:

God was having a garage sale, selling-off some of his extra stuff. Like many garage sales, there was a table with a bunch of old tools. The Devil, always on the look-out for a bargain, walks over, picks up Hate, and looks at the price tag. “Hey, God, this here Hate, you’re selling it for a dollar?” God says, “Yes; just a dollar. It’s a good deal.” The Devil says, “Well, I already have plenty of that.” Then the Devil picks up another tool. “Hey God, this thingy here, this Fear, you’re asking two bucks for it?” God says, “Yup; two dollars. It’s a terrific deal.” The Devil scratches his head and puts it down, “I have lots of that already.” So the Devil continues to poke around at all the other tools on the table. There’s greed, lust, all the usual stuff. Eventually he holds up a little bitty wedge-shaped piece. “How much for this?” the Devil asks. God points to the price-tag. The Devil gasps in astonishment. “Five million dollars! Why so much? It’s just a little pointy-edged thing!” God says, “That’s Doubt. With this tool, you can pry-open the smallest crack, and work-in anything else. This is the most valuable thing here.”

This little anecdote, obviously not scriptural, kind of sums-up a typical Christian attitude about doubt. Doubt is bad. Doubt is weakness. Doubt is mistrust. Doubt is sin. If we have doubt, therefore, we’re not good, strong, faithful, righteous Christians. If we have doubt, then we're admitting that we just might be wrong! Doubt gives the Devil all the wiggle-room to do evil; to unleash all the wickedness the Devil has in-store for us. If we tolerate Doubt, we’re practically inviting the evil one into our hearts!

It was, after all, because of Doubt that my friend Thomas ultimately lost his belief in the very existence of God., right?

Let’s shift gears a little. Everyone here is aware of current events that suggest that the world is going haywire. We Christians, by-and-large, perceive threats to our way of life and our beliefs at every turn. We have people advocating for marriage equality, or for "traditional" marriage. We arm ourselves, whatever side of the issue we’re on, with scripture. We have ongoing conflict over abortion and the death penalty, and wave the bible in the air to defend whatever side we're on. Our bumper stickers demand “keep Christ in Christmas” and we get all indignant if someone at WalMart is instructed to wish us “Happy Holidays” because, hey, there's a reason for the season. Then there's that  county clerk who refuses to issue a marriage license to a same-sex couple based on her "Constitutionally-guaranteed religious freedom" to follow her Christian beliefs. But when there is a Muslim flight attendant who declines to serve alcohol due to her religious prohibitions, the same Constitutionally-guaranteed religious freedom does not apply; she should go work for some Muslim airline. There are Hindu and Muslim families petitioning that their holy days be added to their school district’s holiday-closure list, and not just Judeo-Christian observances. We have hysteria over “In God We Trust” not appearing on the face of a coin. And families suing school boards over the Pledge of Allegiance and the “One nation under God” thing. We have heated arguments in our churches over where the American Flag should be displayed.

What’s going on? This is a Christian nation, right? Right?

We here in the United States live in what is called a pluralistic society. This is, in our case, the kind of society that is specifically supported by the liberties and responsibilities established by our Constitution and Bill of Rights, and, theoretically, by the subsequent laws, regulations and legal precedents that govern our day-to-day lives here. Living in a pluralistic society has its advantages, as long as you’re the only “society” that has any major claim to power and influence. For many, many years, Christianity, in its variations, has been that most-powerful religious presence in our country. Our nation was formed by people who were, at the very least, profoundly influenced by Christian society and teachings. And, despite many hysterical claims to the contrary, Christianity is still the major player in our peoples’ religious and philosophical systems.

So why do we feel so threatened? Why are we Christians so afraid all the time? Why do we doubt our religion’s present and future place in our United States of America? In the world? Why do we feel we need to defend a god we insist is almighty. Omniscient or all-knowing. Omnipotent or all-powerful. Ever-loving, good, great, merciful, and faithful? Is there really any doubt that God's kingdom will come? That God's will will be done on earth, as it is in heaven? Oh, we of little faith! For a so-called Christian nation, we have such profound and painful doubt!

Last month I read an interview, the subject of which was an airline pilot named Erika Armstrong [that's her on the far left of the picture]. In the interview, she was asked, “What do you say to yourself, often, ‘in your moments of doubt’?” Her answer was, in part, “Doubt just means that there [is] an abundance of options.”

“Doubt just means that there [is] an abundance of options.” [pause]

This sentence resonated with me. Even as a child, I've always had a vague belief that doubt is a fundamental part of inquiry. Perhaps this was encouraged by my particular denomination's encouragement that Christians should read the Bible for ourselves, wrestling with the texts and praying for God's enlightenment. On the other hand, we should try to accept varying interpretations from other Christians as the truth revealed to them. I was raised believing, "how could I love the lord my God with all my heart, with all my soul, with all my strength and with all my mind if I did not ask questions?" But when you ask questions in matters of faith, the responses are usually frustrating, unsatisfying, and often nonsensical to a logical thinker. A "smart person," therefore, doesn't ask questions to start with, or, when met with answers that don't make sense, discards the whole notion of religion. But, here's my problem: I really, really wanted to be a smart person, but I also really, really wanted to believe in God. As I've said before, I grew up admiring Mr. Spock on Star Trek. I wanted to be a Mr. Spock who believed in God; I needed to discover the secret to being logical and smart, and still having faith. But there's all this....

Doubt. If we do accept that doubt is the wedge that the powers of evil can use to draw us into fear, hate, and ultimately isolation from each other and God, then doubt is, indeed, the most powerful of tools. Do we, deep-down inside, doubt that God is indeed almighty. Omniscient. Omnipotent. Ever-loving, good, great, merciful, and faithful? Because if we don’t believe this, then, logically, our god is puny and weak, and needs us to stick-up for him against all these anti-thestic playground bullies and upstart non-Christian religions. Or we can decide, like my friend Thomas, that there simply is no god at all. Problem solved. No god, no doubt.

But if “doubt” is simply the condition of being in the midst of an abundance of options, doubt loses its power entirely. Instead, “doubt” becomes an opportunity. Doubt gives us the ability to evaluate our own decisions. Doubt enables us to consider our choices. Doubt allows us to open our minds. Doubt frees us from being manipulated by forces that may not have our best interests at heart. Doubt detaches us from the temerity of believing we know everything.

But, isn’t doubt bad? It says so over and over again in the Bible! Jesus on the stormy sea: "You of little faith. Why did you doubt?!" Jesus also says “Truly I tell you, if you have faith and do not doubt---if you say to this mountain, ‘Be lifted up and thrown into the sea,’ it will be done!" And after his resurrection, Jesus asks his friends: “Why are you frightened, and why do doubts arise in your hearts?"  Aren’t we Christians supposed to have unwavering faith that can move mountains? Doesn’t doubt sink us under the waves? And leave us rotting in our graves? Aren’t we supposed to have NO DOUBT because…the Bible tells us so? Because our Sunday School teachers told us so? Because we hear constant reassurance of our salvation, in our belovedness of God, in our own righteousness and our own rightness, every time we come to hear the word of God in our churches? If we truly believe? In other words, if we have no doubt?

Ah, but still, doubt persists. And this is why we’re so afraid of everything. Friends, we’ve sold ourselves a bill-of-goods that tells us that IF we truly believe, we’ll have no doubt. And, if we have doubt, then we must not truly believe! And if we don’t truly believe, then how can we be good Christians? But we really, really want to be Good Christians! And so, since we can’t be genuine, honest-to-goodness good Christians because we loathe our own doubt, we must fight tooth-and-nail to prove our good Christianness to everybody else. And, ultimately, in our repugnant doubt about our religion, we lose sight of our God. At least my friend Thomas was honest about it.

Now, I have to make a confession. There's something that my relationship with doubt has taught me over the years, but that I rarely mention. I don't discuss this, in large part because I don't want my Christian friends to feel they need to awkwardly make up excuses and leave the room. But it's a conversation that may be important to one or two of you, and

so it's one I feel compelled to offer. My “religion” is not the same as my faith. I have many doubts about my religion. These doubts invite me to be in dialog or struggle with the literature and liturgy, art and artifacts, creeds and confessions of believers of my religion. The confusion and contradictions that I encounter invite me to choose which things in my religion I will believe. This "abundance of options" that I observe is something I honor as part of the very richness of my religious heritage and our community together. I believe my "doubt" is a necessary and fundamental part of my being a Christian. Let me be clear: I identify as a Christian, as a follower of Jesus. And I can “talk the talk” about the Christian religion pretty well. But if pressed to discuss some specific things I consider “nonessential” in my religious brand, I imagine the conversation would be uncomfortable, or even alarming, to some.

But because I have embraced doubt as a part of my Christian faith, I accept and celebrate that my religion includes “an abundance of options.” It is by honoring my own doubt that I can, with empathy and even mercy, honor the doubts and differences of others. It is by recognizing this "abundance of options” in my Christian heritage, and through my personal relationship with Jesus, that I can see God acting in this world even in ways I don’t understand. My acceptance of doubt as a gift from God liberates me from my impulse to always be right, to win the argument and have the last word when it comes to pretty-much anything, let alone when talking about God. In terms of scripture, doubt is one of the very first gifts of the Creator; it is a fundamental part of the human creature. In the Genesis story, Adam and Eve were given "an abundance of options": would they obey God, and stay in static paradise? or would they exercise their choice of disobedience, with any attending consequences? How could they ever contemplate a choice in the first place had they experienced no doubt?

I can cite chapter and verse, and use promises, guilt, fear and even that powerful tool of doubt, to cajole, coax and threaten others to think and believe as I do. I'm kind of smart, and I can be persuasive. I think I could pull that act off, for a while at least. And I like being right, so if more people agree with me, then I'm helping everyone else be right, too? Right? But, ah, the doubt. This doubt which reminds me that God is so far beyond human understanding that it is folly and hubris for me to claim sole ownership of the Word of the God who created this magnificent universe. For me to talk about my religion as if I had no doubt would be disingenuous at best, and would ultimately cause me to feel self-loathing as a liar. And this affects more than just me. It is the personal and institutional rejection of the possibility of doubt that divides our so-called "Christian nation," that isolates our churches, and that separates us believers one from another. And we think doubt is the sin!

But there's a bright side, a good and pure and powerful side to this. My Doubt liberates me, in a way, by giving me permission to own my own experience with God; my doubts about my "religion" open my heart to faith. My confidence that doubt does not separate me from the love of Jesus Christ gives my faith a resilience that I dearly wish my friend Thomas's faith could have had when the pain of his soul and the strength of his mind broke his heart for God. And, ultimately, I believe that the best we can do, the most we can do, and exactly what we're supposed to do, is to experience, witness and testify God in our lives, and in our living, and in our time. Wherever that takes us will be Holy Ground.

I doubt entirely that I've ever believed everything I’ve been taught about God. But I trust implicitly in the God who created me to own the gift of doubt. And I trust implicitly that this same God, knowing that I possess doubt, and therefore might choose to not believe and turn away, would love me nevertheless. Just as God loves my friend Thomas. Because God indulges my doubt, I find assurance in God's love for me that, in the final analysis, is beyond doubt.

#laitysunday

[kathymommy]

Why not rainbow?

I wonder if anyone is wondering, considering my open support and acceptance of the “issue” of gay marriage, why I haven’t “rainbowed” my profile picture on Facebook. I haven’t done that for some reason, and I figured it was time I thought about why not.

1) The stripes are horizontal. Horizontal stripes aren’t slimming. 

Just kidding.

There are some reasons which, when I ask myself, do surface to my consciousness.

1) It seems the popular thing to do. Generally-speaking, I’m not a fad/trend follower. Or, rather, if I am, it is because I really happen to like said thing. I mean, I love funny memes, and readily pick-up conventions of speech, and will at least consider reading popular books and seeing well-regarded movies. But there is a point where something becomes immensely popular and, simply because of that, I have a little less interest. A lame reason, but it’s there. 

2) There’s still such a long way to go to change people’s hearts, never mind any laws, statutes, policies, or whatever. There’s a long road of pain ahead for many people who just want to go about their lives as a family. It’s hard enough for “traditional” couples, but same-sex couples will still be treated poorly and unfairly at times even if the Law of the Land tolerates, never mind affirms, their relationship. After all, if “law” were enough to change the way people treated each other, we’d have no issues over racial bigotry. No fool would say we’ve achieved that.

3) The “victory” in the Supreme Court was barely achieved; recognition of gay marriage on a Federal level, while important in any number of ways (especially for practical reasons), a decision by 5 people vs. 4 is hardly a sweeping affirmation of majority. 

4) The creeping underlying issues pertaining to Judicial authority and states rights are showing-up again; showing that our commitment to be a truly “One Nation” has pain with it, and never one ounce consensus and perhaps not even a clear majority much of the time.

5) The “checks and balances” of the three branches of the government, especially on the Federal level, are always a bit strained. That’s the whole point. But there’s a real sentiment and feeling that “legislating by judiciary” is happening here. 

6) Ultimately, I just feel it is not in my heart, yet, to put on my let’s-go-have-a-rainbow-party colors. For one, my beloved United Methodist Church has yet to tidy-up its rule book to reflect the kind of church that it (by-and-large) is. Also, I have many dear friends who do not agree with this decision of the Supreme Court not because they are thinking about politics or “states rights” or whatever, but because they disdain the “homosexual lifestyle” (whatever that means). I’ve already engaged in at least one Bible-quotin’ duel (which I actually regret, because God’s word, to me, is something to be cherished, not brandished, and by citing chapter-verse I become one of those arguers who’d rather be right than be a loving word of God myself). 

7) Here’s the thing. I’m saving myself. I’m saving myself to wear the rainbow colors for when I see the rainbow. When I see love for neighbors outweigh the need to be right; our humility outweighing the need to win; our desire for peace to outweigh the need to be on the winning team; our faith to conquer our temerity in believing that God needs us to fight for anything except to love our neighbors as ourselves, and to love our God with all our hearts, souls, strength and minds. 

In the meantime, I hope to be a small part of the real rainbow. A rainbow not just for gays, or for liberals, or for Christians, or for American Values, but for all God’s children. If that doesn’t show without my wearing the colors, then I don’t deserve to wear them anyway.

[kathymommy]

sidekicks and shotguns

(a sermon-type message for those who want to know what you're getting into before reading any farther)

Ever since I was a child, I’ve always had a certain fondness for characters in books, movies or television programs that aren’t the main character. I never really thought of this as a “thing,” an identifiable trait or pattern, until I got older.  It gradually became apparent to me, when talking to my friends and family, that most people paid more attention to the star, the primary protagonist, or the lead roles. In talking about my favorite characters, however, it most often would not be the person or role that got the glory. 

Perhaps this affection for secondary characters in stories grew out of an understanding and appreciation for the roles they played in their respective settings. Secondary characters have a particular usefulness to the broader story that makes them quite valuable.  They aren’t just “extras” or people who blend-in to the background, but they aren’t the focus of the main storyline, either.  Their relationships to the main characters vary, as do their roles in their respective stories.  I’ve unscientifically sorted-out some different types. 

“Sidekicks”: These include Robin and Batman; Jimmy Olsen and Clark Kent/Superman; Ethel Mertz and Lucy Ricardo; Barney Rubble and Fred Flintstone; Piglet and Winnie the Pooh; Gabrielle and Xena; Ron Stoppable and Kim Possible. 

Perhaps the most recognizable kind of secondary character, these sidekicks provide a “lens of normality” to view the protagonist in their stories.  In these cases, the main character is the star of the show because of his or her special powers, or by virtue of the plot.  If there’s something important to be said about the main character, the sidekick is the one to say it, or at least witness it for the audience.  At the same time, the sidekick makes the main character approachable, bringing the hero within reach of a typical person. 

Similarly, there are“Shotguns”: Tonto and the Lone Ranger; Festus Haggen and Marshall Dillon; Daryl Dixon and Rick Grimes (The Walking Dead); Peeta Malark and Katnis Everdeen (Hunger Games); Ron and Hermione alongside Harry Potter; Samwise Gamgee and Frodo Baggins; Mushu and Mulan; the various Companions and Dr. Who; Sancho Panza and Don Quixote.

I distinguish this type of secondary characters in that they have a particular role as assistant or “helper” to the main characters, especially if they are on some sort of quest or journey.  The “ride shotgun” expression comes from old Western movies, where the “shotgun rider” was the stagecoach guard and traveled beside the driver.  The “shotgun” helps ensure that the main character reaches his or her destination, or fulfills his or her destiny. 

Another variety of sidekick is a group I cumbersomely call “Secondary Characters such as Co-Pilots and First Officers.”  Mr. Spock and Captain Kirk; CJ Cregg and President Jeb Bartlett; Deputy Barney Fife and Sheriff Andy Taylor; Goose and Maverick; Chewbacca and Han Solo; Agent Coulson and Director Fury; Tony DiNozzo and Jethro Gibbs.

In these examples, the sidekicks have a formalized relationship where they are clearly subordinate to the main character in the plot.  In many ways, this is my favorite type of sidekick.  These secondary characters are perceived as the people who “get the job done” while the main characters take all the glory. 

As a child, I had three primary influences on my character.  The first of these was, of course, my parents.  The second, which is undoubtedly an extension of the first, was the church.  But in third place was the television series Star Trek.  This program had a profound effect on me, and helped me decide what kind of adult I wanted to become.  It will come as no surprise, then, to anyone who is familiar with the Star Trek franchise, that my favorite character was Mr. Spock.  I liked Mr. Spock because of his intelligence, calm manner, and integrity.  But even more than the character in the story, Mr. Spock was a lesson to me and other viewers of the program that different isn’t bad.  This was particularly important in the mid 1960s and 1970s, when television media was blossoming as an undeniable influence on American culture.  Something that I instinctively understood was that a secondary character could get-away-with suggesting revolutionary concepts and unconventional ideas better than a main character.  The audience could accept subtle schooling from “just a sidekick,” but morality lessons from the hero could easily prove too obvious, confrontational or preachy. 

Other programs with remarkable secondary characters of this type include the Andy Griffith show, with Deputy Barney Fife.  Barney was the complete opposite of Mr. Spock, but it was only because of this delightful character that I ever watched the show.  A little more recently we have Star Wars, with Han Solo, a secondary character himself, with his own co-pilot Chewbacca.  One of my all-time favorites is Goose from the movie Top Gun.  I felt just as devastated as Maverick when Goose was killed.  And Agent Phil Coulson from the Marvel Avengers’ franchise struck such a chord with movie fans, especially as the result of his sacrifice, that the character became the object of much fan-fiction and a spin-off television series.

Other famous sidekicks are of a type I call Sounding-Boards.  They include Dr. Watson with Sherlock Holmes; Nick Carraway with Jay “the Great” Gatsby; and an example from Shakespeare, Horatio with Hamlet.  These sidekicks play an important role in narrating or telling the main characters’ stories.  The heroes bounce ideas off of their sounding-boards, and by virtue of their role in the story, the audience gets to know what the main character is thinking.  Very often these sounding-boards are rather bland or boring, which by comparison makes their main characters seem even more remarkable.

In comedy, the role of “Straightman” is the model sidekick.  Famous straightmen include Ed McMahon for Johnny Carson; Paul Shaffer for David Letterman; Mindy for Mork; One of the Smothers Brothers and the other one (I can never keep them straight); Drew Cary and the guest cast of Who’s Line; and currently, the characters Leonard Hofsteader and Sheldon Cooper from The Big Bang Theory.  These straightmen are basically representative of the general population.  People can identify with them in their reaction to the comedic character, and can even laugh at themselves in the process.  They are as much “every man” as straightmen.

Ok, so I’ve mentioned tons of television and movies, and a few books.  But another important “sidekick” role for me has always been in music: the background or back-up singer.  Members of the choir can tell you I often whine that I want to be an alto.  That’s not only because I can’t hit the really high notes.  I just like singing alto because I love hearing the harmonies that fill-out a chord and often make a song more interesting or beautiful.  As a result, while a little girl, I taught myself to sing harmony, more-or-less, to hymns in church.

Ah, church!  Now we’re getting somewhere.  By now you must be wondering how I’m going to relate all this to religion.  Alright.  I’ll mention a few Scriptural Sidekicks: In the book of Genesis, Eve was created to be Adam’s sidekick.  Aaron was not only Moses’ brother, but his helper.  And Joseph has the privilege of being perhaps the only Biblical sidekick to a female, as husband of Mary, the mother of Jesus. 

Jesus!  Now we’re really getting somewhere!  She mentioned Jesus!  She’s going to suggest that Jesus is God’s sidekick! 

Now, I don’t want to get too sidetracked, but there’s this: The suggestion that Jesus could be God’s “sidekick” is really profoundly complicated, theologically speaking.  That general concept or question harkens back to the early days of Christianity.  Church leaders battled over what it meant that Jesus was the Son of God, or the Begotten of God.  This interesting and headache-inducing discussion was slugged-out at the first Council of Nicaea in the year 325.  We have the famous “Nicene Creed” as an artifact of those ancient church decisions.  It was basically the early church declaring that Jesus is not simply a sidekick of God. 

So, since I’m not saying Jesus is God’s sidekick, where am I going?

Cast your mind way-back to the parable that Bob read this morning.  You remember….“The Prodigal Son.”  I have to tell you, as a child, this parable used to really tick-me-off.  I mean, the bratty younger brother has the nerve to approach his father for an early-cash-out of his inheritance.  He received his fortune, ran off and wasted every last cent.  Then, he comes crying back to Dad.  Oh, yeah, he was repentant and all that.  But he gets treated like a rock-star!  What about the older son?  You know…the one working hard, quietly doing his duty, keeping the farm running?  Where’s the fairness in that? 

In the parable, I recognized that older son--the one who stayed at home--was a secondary character, and, as I’ve said, I like secondary characters.  And I also identified with that older son.  After all, I was the responsible one…I was the Mr. Spock; the Agent Coulson; the sturdy, reliable back-up singer, and sometimes, when things got too serious, the Barney Fife.  I liked being the secondary character, but I didn’t want to align myself with the older brother who was subordinate in the story to that unworthy, squandering, wretched, sniveling brat.

What bothered me most was that this parable was supposed to be a lesson to me about my religion.  As a child, I thought, “do your Christian duty your whole life, from childhood, like I was doing…you know, love your neighbor, go to church, don’t steal, don’t lie…all that stuff.  And that’s good.  But then, all those non-believers, sinners and evil people can just swoop in at the end, be forgiven, and God will have a big party in Heaven for them.”  So, where’s the party for the loyal Christians?  Where is our fatted calf?

But then, while I was still pretty young, thankfully, my dad preached a sermon that made me re-think everything I thought I knew about this parable. I had always assumed that the younger, bratty son, was the main character, and the father and older son were the secondary characters.  I mean, it’s even called “The Parable of the Prodigal Son!” But because of that sermon, I realized that I had it all wrong!  The father is actually the hero of the parable.  By putting the main character, the forgiving father, in the right place, as he belonged in the story, those secondary characters fell into their proper places.  The resentment I felt for the younger son in the parable melted-away, as I realigned the character I identified with, the older son, to acknowledge the real hero and main character: the father.

What I learned was this: if you’re going to be a sidekick, you have to be very careful to pick the right hero.  You see, Jesus isn’t God’s sidekick; Jesus is the main-character; Jesus is God.  Who is the side-kick, then?  You are.  I am.  We all are called to be secondary characters in God’s story.  What kind of secondary characters depends on the various gifts God gives us, as well as our own free-will choices. 

Are you a sidekick?  Showing by your life the goodness and glory of God?  Are you a shotgun?  Working to establish God’s justice in the world?  Are you a co-pilot or first officer, assuming a deliberate role in moving-forward the kingdom of God?  Or are you a soundingboard, serving as a means for God’s story to be told to all people?  Do you think you may be a straightman for God, pointing others to the joy of God’s love, the beauty of creation, or the comfort in human relationships?  Maybe you’re a back-up singer, joining the chorus of many other Christians to swell the song of Hosanna to our Lord?  We each have an important and valuable role in the story that God has written for God’s world.  How we choose to act-out that role, however, is largely up to each of us.  But what a wonderful privilege it is to be God’s sidekick! To be in the story with God!

But there’s even more good news, as shared in today’s parable.  You see, even if, as secondary characters, we utterly fail; we run away; we squander our gifts, and find ourselves completely desolate and bankrupt in every sense of the word…even then, when we look at our own story, we see God, our hero, waiting for us with eternally open arms.

Amen.

c Kathy Mulholland, October 19, 2014

(This is the basic text of a message I delivered at First United Methodist Church, Freehold, NJ, for Laity Sunday)

[kathymommy]

journey to syndrome land

I've made it to age 49 without having any "syndromes" or really any chronic health problems. But I guess it was my turn. Truth be told, my little health adventure is not a disaster...not by any means. There are many people who "have what I have" who are really bad-off. I have a very mild case. But it's still annoying and frustrating. This is the kind of thing "other people" get (i.e., not me!).

The "thing" I've been coping with lately is called Guillain-Barré syndrome. Don't Google it; it looks kind of scary. I think mild cases like mine don't really make it into the "big enough to report" category. In fact, early-on I mentally crossed-out GBS because my symptoms weren't horrible, just weird and uncomfortable.

What's interesting, to me, about medical syndromes is that they are really just short-cut names to describe a set of symptoms. For example, Down syndrome is a list of characteristics of someone who has an extra chromosome 21. It's not a "disease" but rather a condition. An English physician (by the name of Down...see what they did there?) described the syndrome in 1862. Similarly, French doctors Guillain and Barré identified (guess what) the syndrome that bears their names. (GBS was actually identified first by a different French physician by the name of Landry, so it's sometimes called Landry Syndrome. I don't know why the Guillain-Barré name wins-out most often...maybe because it sounds more exotic.)

But naming the symptoms (even in a key-stroke way like calling them a "syndrome") doesn't by itself determine a cause, or suggest a course of treatment. In Down Syndrome, the cause is that extra chromosome, a genetic abnormality that really can't be fixed once it's there (which is from the very beginning). The treatment is basically to live with it, and mitigate any of the myriad symptoms that may occur (such as heart problems and, in social terms, educational and other supports). In the case of Guillain-Barré, the symptoms are things like numbness/tingling in extremities, muscle weakness, digestive problems, paralysis and sometimes death (due to paralysis associated with breathing). And a few other lovely things. But those symptoms which characterize the syndrome, again, don't point to the cause.

For some syndromes, such as with Down syndrome, the "cause" is fairly well identified now (if not fully understood). In the case of GBS, something (extreme stress, surgery, bacterial or viral illness, injuries) triggers an immune response in the body. That's all well and good...the immune system fights the bad stuff. However, sometimes the immune system goes overboard or haywire and attacks innocent bystanders such as nerve cells.  It's the body's equivalent of friendly-fire. That's basically what happens with GBS.

In my little case, the first weekend in June I was laid-low by an unidentified viral thing for the better part of a week. The day I felt "finally over" that, I noticed the soles of my feet went numb or tingly. I blamed something else and put-up with the symptoms a while, but when half of my face pretended it was full of Novocaine, I went running back to the same doctor who saw me for the viral thing, Lots of blood-work and an MRI proved nothing wrong that was detectable those ways (which eliminated some really bad stuff), so the next thing was to see a neurologist.

After an assessment with the neurologist and a close-up look at my gray matter on the MRI (I do, in fact, have a brain and it looks perfectly normal...go figure), I walk (stumble and weave, actually) away with this GBS tag, which is more specifically in my case (because we are pretty sure about the cause) post-viral sensory neuropathy. (When you put it that way, you understand why people would rather have a syndrome that sounds more like a name.)

What's next? We're in a wait-and-see mode. There are treatment options if this doesn't go away on its own, but they're inconvenient at best. I'll probably have symptoms for a while, but I expect to fully recover. In the mean time I have to be careful to avoid hurting myself accidentally because I have diminished sensation, especially in my feet (and ask me about my non-existent deep-tendon reflexes sometime). No more ladders and roofs for me for now. I'm also much weaker physically. Which stinks. So much for all those trips to the gym.

Now, I've pretty much whined and moaned my way through these paragraphs, but it's really in the spirit of giving a back-story to the point I've been mulling over. That point is coming-along as something like this:

People are pretty good at describing symptoms. Listing problems. Grouping things or people together by their characteristics (especially things that are uncommon or peculiar). We're somewhat less adept at describing the real causes of symptoms (it took a long time to discover chromosome 21 was behind Down Syndrome, and nobody really understands what is behind fibromyalgia syndrome, for example). But at least being able to describe symptoms in a set (and naming that set) gives people some sensation of control or power.

I know I feel better knowing that my symptoms are something "real" and not just in my head, and that they are likely to diminish and disappear over time even if I didn't know the cause. If nobody took the trouble to name this "syndrome" I might not know what to think about myself in this bit of mess I'm in. As it is, "I'm good." Still impatient, annoyed, and frustrated by my new and hopefully transient limitations, but I'm okay with it not because "it could always be worse" but because I have some idea of what's what.

In our lives we have many "syndromes" that we don't take the time or trouble to recognize. We have "symptoms" which are behaviors and decisions which may not be helpful. Maybe we have procrastination syndrome. What are the symptoms? We all know: delay, defer, engage in eternal "preparation" for projects and tasks when we just need to "get 'er done." There's also the guilt syndrome. Our symptoms are avoidance of people we feel we let down, self-blame, and a sense of hopelessness or unworthiness. Fear syndrome is perhaps the most prevalent. Symptoms include hyper-protective anger (striking out in advance of a perceived threat), hesitation to offer help to someone in need, paralysis in the face of taking small risks even if the returns are potentially great, and dread of letting-go of the familiar in order to grow. Perhaps if we think of these as "syndromes"...as sets of symptoms to be identified and managed, rather than personal failings or weaknesses, we would be better able to deal with them. It's possible we may find "causes," but even if not, acknowledging them and treating them in a deliberate way (just as we would a medical syndrome), we could make more progress mitigating the bad (or less than optimal) results they bring us.

So this small journey into Syndrome Land may prove useful to me as I recast some of my personal behaviors and traits. I'm going to sort-out and name some of my emotional or behavioral syndromes.  I don't have too many issues, I think, but this could be an interesting experiment.

Something that I've always heard, but lately learned, is that there is power in calling something by name. Guillain-Barré syndrome, you're going down, and you're taking some of your emotional brethren with you.

[kathymommy]

voters' memories vs. hopes

Many years ago, Freehold voters were told "pass this school building referendum; we know how much buildable land is left in Freehold, so we know this is the last addition we'll need" (I guess barring replacement costs). Taxpayers will have a long memory. However, nobody really anticipated the "densification" of our town due to (let's call it what it is) illegal immigration (whether the children are citizens or not is immaterial to the point that the numerical increase is a result of the settlement of so many new immigrants). Also, we had the addition of Rug Mill Towers, which brought new families into town (in spite of promises that they'd be "filled" with families then living in local substandard housing). Now we need MORE school space.  Too bad we can't sue the Federal Government for malfeasance, with compensatory damages to support our schools and social services outlay. Instead, our tiny town is bearing the financial burden and cultural impact of this federal failure.

Now, everybody go jump up and down and call me a racist, or an elitist. Get it out of your system. Internet trolls, go ahead and sharpen your comments (you'll need them one way or the other, I fear).

But here's the deal: Our situation in Freehold? It is what it is, folks. We can continue to whine and complain, or we can take responsibility to make our collective community the best in the County.

These families and these children, regardless of the hows and the whys, are our NEIGHBORS. These little children...regardless of what color their skin is, or how many there are of them...these children are our heritage and our future. They deserve a good education. If you don't agree, and want to be all racist yourself, consider that the only way to properly educate the apple-pie eating "American" children is to ensure that the entire school district is good....sweep up the "minorities" in with everyone else just so the kids you may actually care about get a good education.

You may wonder: why does Kathy suggest such a thing (voting YES to a sensible and truly forward-thinking, but costly, building referendum in our school district)? After all, ALL her children are now (almost) out of reach of both the Freehold Borough School District and the FRHSD. Also, you know I'm already one of (if not THE) highest residential tax-payers in the town. And you may also know about my family's personal "belt-tightening" of recent years.

Here's why: all our children in our town are gifts from God to us; they are gifts to our world and our future as a human race. Do we want to make excuses about why we did not accept our responsibility to educate this generation of Americans because we don't like their back-story? Do we want to complain that the men and women who will be our leaders during our own "old age" don't know crap--without acknowledging that we had the chance to make a difference in their futures but instead decided to turn our backs? Are we really going to whine forever "speak English...this is 'Merica!" and deny the reality that English must be learned...and schools...well, they teach.

Stop complaining about who your neighbors aren't and love your neighbors for who they are. Want to have a "great society" that you might (mistakenly) think our past was? Forget about that...the only greatness you and I can influence and control is the PRESENT and the FUTURE. Let's take responsibility for making Freehold Borough the showcase of all that is truly great. And let's take the next step by putting a good roof over our young scholars.

[kathymommy]

don't read this unless you want to read a long rant on religion and change

The local Boy Scout Council is offering a “Ten Commandments Hike” and tour of local houses of worship, and my church is on that tour.  In fact, I’m the liaison between the Boy Scout person and the congregation for the event.  At some point, we will be “assigned a commandment” to do a little five-minute talk on with groups of Boy Scouts who come through.  I’m really hoping we get “Commandment Number Two”: the, “You shall have no other gods before me” one.

I’ve been thinking a lot about idolatry and worship today, after a brief conversation with some other church folks about some of the “sacred cows” that may exist in churches, generally speaking.  Sure, change is tough, especially when we feel a sense of helplessness; when we feel change has been thrust upon us without our consent or participation.  This is true in any facet of our lives, but in something as intimate as our worship experience, it can be downright threatening.  It is often the case, in any organizational setting, that those who don’t like changes “vote with their feet.”  This is a scary proposition in the minds of church leaders. Though we cite mantras like, “What are the seven last words of the church? ‘We’ve never done it that way before,’” the evidence would suggest that we really do prefer to sail in familiar seas.

Ironically, today is Reformation Sunday.  To tell the truth, I’m not sure exactly what that means, but it was listed in our church bulletin.  So I’ve been spurred-on to thinking about the church and worship experience by a trifecta (I love that word) of influences: 1) Reformation Sunday, 2) “Commandment Two,” and 3) particular thoughts about what “change” may mean to a family of faith.

REFORMATION

As far as I know (and it’s good enough for my thinking here), the Reformation was about reforming, but more specifically cleansing and getting-down to the elemental, important “things” about the Church.  So “reforming” is not a complete reinvention, but rather taking what is there, squeezing out what’s not good, and forming the new thing from the best of the old.  Reformation isn’t reinventing the wheel and it’s not throwing-out everything existing or old.  It’s honoring who and what has come before us by revitalizing and reclaiming the “old” in the life of the “new.”  It is a process that is best done carefully (and in the church, prayerfully), but it is required from time-to-time as an organization moves through culture and time.  This is a complete amateur’s explanation, but that’s what it means to me.

IDOLATRY

On to Commandment Numero Dos.  “You shall have no other gods before me” (Exodus 20:3).  Sounds simple enough.   No Baal.  No Zeus. In fact, throughout the history of Judaism and Christianity there’s been quite a bit of argument about this (especially when it comes to “images” relating to “gods”).  But I want to talk about those things we hold in the status of idols.  What I mean by that is those things we use for faith, trust, security, satisfaction and comfort that are not of God (“the” God).  It’s easy to think of things like money, jobs, relationships, etc., in this context: we “trust” that our career will carry us safely to retirement; we “have faith” that we’ll find personal fulfillment and worth in our relationships with significant others/spouses and friends; we even believe in our own intellectual potential or strength to think we can work our way through challenges.  But each of these “things” can be described as personal idols.  And they are false gods: jobs disappear; health fails; friends betray.  Nevertheless, as these are tangible things, we continue to want to trust them, even as we say we “trust in God.” 

The church has its own set of idols.  Some of those idols could include: the worship bulletin (I list that first because I “need” a bulletin), organ music (which I do love), pews (as opposed to flexible seating/chairs), “memorial things” like placards on walls and stained-glass windows, alter candles, alter rails, pulpits, committees, etc.  Does it seem like I’m pretty-much describing everything in a church?  Why, yes, now that you’ve mentioned it.  Am I suggesting that our worship setting (“sanctuary”) has become a den of idolatry?  No.  But our dependence on these “things” has helped us turn our worship away from focusing on God and God’s goodness and mercy, causing instead a plaintive cry to keep everything relating to our worship comfortable, comforting and reassuringly-predictable.  Aren’t we supposed to trust God for comfort?  Grace?  Solace?  And, really, just who is our worship about?

CHANGE

In some organizations I’m involved with, the rapid-fire impulse to change seems an addiction; they are “change junkies.”  But more often than “too much change” is the presence of resistance to any change.  Perhaps a better way of saying it is the existence of a “line” that individuals and collective groups draw, where changes in certain ways, in certain areas, brings them into a “deal-breaker” situation.  In a church setting, this may mean: “If you change the time of worship, I’m outta here.”  “If you do Communion by intinction [dipping the bread into the juice], that’s meaningless for me and I won’t have it.”  “If you interfere with the lovely old-church aesthetic by removing pews or the alter rail, I won’t feel I’m at home anymore.”  “If the service lasts longer than the ordained one-hour that I’ve allotted to worship each week, then you aren’t considering my family’s needs.”  

Do you see where I’m going with this?  It is not that any of these elements of our wants and needs, our familiarity and comfort and expectation aren’t important.  They most certainly are, and everyone must have some concept or picture of how they will be involved with an organization, or how they’ll respond to changes in group culture or practice.  It’s just that for us to hold them to the level of risking fracturing the communion we have with our fellow brothers and sisters in Christ raises these matters to a level of idolatry.  Are we putting our faith in “things” that matter to us so much that they matter more than our opportunity to worship God together?  Are we such loyal servants to these “things” that we close our eyes and ears to the glory of God and the movement of the Holy Spirit?  Are our idols so precious to us that we can’t make a way through them for God to make things new among us? 

Can we sift-through our personal and corporate idolatries to identify what are the important elements of our corporate worship…those elements which give thanks and praise to God?  Can we trust in God to lead us, hand-in-hand and side-by-side, to sing a new song in a strange land called the future?  Or would we each rather “take our toys (aka, our idols) and go home”? 

It's hard for me to "like" anything from the Book of Revelation, but there's this: “And the one who was seated on the throne said, ‘See, I am making all things new.’ Also he said, ‘Write this, for these words are trustworthy and true.’  Then he said to me, ‘It is done!  I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end. To the thirsty I will give water as a gift from the spring of the water of life.  Those who conquer will inherit these things, and I will be their God and they will be my children.’” (Revelation 21:5-7). 

Amen!

[kathymommy]

lessons from the potato chip aisle

Today I was miserably going through the aisles at my local ShopRite grocery store.  I say miserably because 1) my cart had a crazy wheel that rendered it practically unsteerable (to turn I mostly lifted the back and pivoted on the front); 2) the store was exceedingly crowded; 3) there were those crazy cardboard (and subject to collapse) portable displays set up in the aisles everywhere; 4) it seemed everything that could possibly require restocking, ever, was being restocked at that moment (often resulting in large ladder trolleys in the aisle…usually directly opposite the in-aisle cardboard displays), and 5) I just don’t like shopping.  Compounded with indecisive shoppers, or “teams” of shoppers (sometimes with multiple carts) trying to stay together (i.e., to provide the most obstructive potential), the sheer act of negotiating a course through the store for the few items I wanted to buy was an ordeal. 

Trying to get to the front end (in order to search for and join the longest line, to save fate the trouble of selecting for me), I judged the least-obstructed path to be the potato chip aisle.  (Disclaimer: ok, I admit, I was thinking: If I must get stuck on some aisle, this isn’t a bad one to risk an impulse-buy on). 

While I was waiting for a mother-daughter dual-cart tag-team (and I think there was a hapless dad tag-along, too) to decide between cheese curls or cheese puffs, I noticed one of those restocker people.  He was a wiry guy, moving with efficiency and deliberation, carefully but quickly placing bags of potato chips in their appointed cradles.  He made the aisle a  trifecta of typical awful aisleness: several portable display racks on both sides, congestion of customers, and the restocking-guy. 

At least this guy was somewhat intriguing in the way he went about his work.  He seemed hyped-up; perhaps too much coffee, but I was impressed with just how precise and efficient his movements were (but not so captivated that I failed to be annoyed that cheese-snack-product family was now struggling over the pretzel twists versus stix dilemma). 

Having made it down a little farther, I noticed my all-time-favorite potato chip variety was on sale (this was my hoped-for reward for choosing the chip aisle!).  I snagged two bags of Herr’s Red Hot Potato Chips, perching them on top of the less impulsive things in my cart.  At the exact moment that the chips became (pre-paid-for) mine, the Chip Restocker Guy said to me, “Great choice!”  He smiled and pointed to the (my) chips with the same deliberate enthusiasm with which he went about his work. 

“Oh, these are my all-time favorites!” I gushed (I guess I’m not used to positive affirmations concerning my impulse purchases).  The two of us then had a quick, but spirited, chat about the virtues of Herr’s chips, the variety, the sadness I experience due to limited geographic availability (Hark! They’re expanding into Florida via WalMart and, double-hark! Wawa stores….my favorite coffee AND chips under one roof!), the variety of “zippy” and spicy snacks Herr’s makes (his new personal favorite: Kettle Cooked Cheddar Bacon Jalapeno) and how it all started for me with Salt and Vinegar for that “zing”…. oh, wait, where was I….

Anyway, after this quick talk with this very knowledgeable and enthusiastic man, it occurred to me that this guy really 1) knows his stuff, and 2) is interested and invested in his employment enough to pay attention to the company’s product development and growth.  This guy wasn’t just hyped up on coffee or whatever, and he wasn’t just trying to hurry through his day.  He took his job seriously, enjoyed the opportunity to do it well, made it a point to represent his employer and their products in a positive light, and did not hesitate to promote the well-being of his company by establishing good rapport with a customer.  He single-handedly turned a “purchase” into something of a relationship; I now have a positive memory to reinforce my already positive inclination to buy those awful-for-me but wonderful Red Hot Potato Chips (Herr’s, of course).

However, I soon realized I was becoming that most annoying of grocery-store obstacles: that person who talks to people and inhibits traffic.  So I simply told Herr’s Chip Man something like: “Thank you for taking such a great interest in your work, and for doing it so well.  You don’t always see that.”  He sort of smiled and went back to his work (actually, he never stopped working while we had our rapid-fire conversation). 

I’d like to think I go about my work with the same sort of enthusiasm, knowledgeableness, efficiency and energy that Herr’s Chip Man did his.  I wonder if he would attack any task/job with the same gusto.  I hope so.  I hope Herr’s Chip Man is not unique, and that I have the pleasure of encountering him at Gas Station, Airport Counter, Hospital, School, and elsewhere.  Because if the likes of him can turn my attitude around at a crowed ShopRite on a Sunday afternoon, that’s powerful medicine.

I was ruminating on the above while I waited to pay for my groceries.  The cashier held up my (almost mine; not paid for yet) Armenian String Cheese and, with some stress in her voice asked me, “What are all these black things in there?”  She was referring to the nigella seeds.  The woman seemed to think they were insects (I wish I had thought to actually tell her they were insects; that would have been fun).  She shrugged, tossed the cheese down the belt (almost crushing my precious Herr’s Red Hot Potato Chips), clicked her tongue and said, “Well, I’m not a chef.” 

Maybe Cashier Lady should take customer-relations lessons from Herr’s Chip Guy.  No; that'd be a waste of time.  She’d just roll her eyes in contempt (the same contempt she expressed for the now-entirely mine Armenian String Cheese).  Herr’s Chip Guy is who he is; Cashier Lady is who she is.  And that’s ok for both of them.  The differences and contrasts between people and personalities promote the “variety is the spice of life” quality that allows us to honor and celebrate distinction and quality in a wide array of settings and circumstances.  Another customer might have found Herr’s Chip Guy annoying, and may have nodded-along with Cashier Lady’s “whatever” response to my choice of buggy-looking cheese. 

Perhaps the potato chip manufacturers realize this.  After all, the same company that makes Kettle Cooked Cheddar Bacon Jalapeno and Red Hot Potato Chips also makes “lightly salted baked” chips.  It is nice to see that there’s room on the shelves for so many different varieties.

[kathymommy]

shrug/hug it off

This weekend I went to this crazy music festival called Souper Groove.  There were people in all kinds of costumes, and doing all these interesting dances with hoops and lights and such.  Lots of "hippies" but really all kinds of people.  I even bought some fingertip light-up gloves, which my son tried to show me how to use effectively (it's harder than it looks, and a surprisingly cool and intimate experience when seen in its natural habitat).

At some point, my son said something like: "See, people can be who they want to be here, and nobody judges." 

Then I saw this big guy in some sort of animal-print costume (who was totally not looking where he was going) smash into another really big biker-looking guy.  Biker-guy's drink got sloshed. 

So I was watching for the inevitable "Hey, look where you're going!"  But instead I saw these two big guys both shrug and then embrace. Not a non-committal man-hug, but a full-on full-contact embrace.

So, while I realize they were probably more than a bit stoned, I thought, why can't the church be like that (minus the stoned part)? 

Heck, why can't I be like that? 

So, next time you make me slosh my *drink, I'll try to just shrug and give you a hug (but you might have to remind me). 

(*Only please try not to make me slosh my Slurpee; that's asking kind of a lot.)

[kathymommy]

all that jazz

I'm one of those people who likes music.  Well, to be honest, I like the music I like.  And to be fair, I enjoy a wide variety of types and styles of music, though I am not fanatical about any one style.  I tend to like certain songs even within styles that I don't frequently dial-up on my vehicle's radio (though the lyrics can be a deal-breaker).  As much as I like music, and think about it off-and-on all day, any given day, and have to stop myself from humming or whistling while at work (I'm a librarian), I admit that I don't have an automatic intimate, personal appreciation of every style.  While I honor the talent and creativity of so many musicians, I don't always "get it" as much as some people who are, let's say, fanatics. Take, for example, jazz.  I've always thought jazz is a great expression of musical creativity, energy, and spirit.  It is a uniquely American art, with a rich heritage.  But I usually hear only snatches and snippets; samples which, except for a few famous pieces, pretty much all sounded the same with a few thematic or regional variations thrown-in.  Yes, it was pleasurable, but in the venues and circumstances I heard it, it never caught my full attention.  But thanks to a concert which I attended last night, I think I've started to "get it," at least a little, at least during those two-plus hours. The concert was billed as a "Sacred Jazz Concert" and was held at the large Presbyterian Church just a couple of blocks from my house.  I didn't look closely at the actual bill advertising the event (just attended on the strength of a reminder by the Freehold Borough Arts Council on their Facebook page).  I rather expected this was going to be their praise band doing a bunch of jazz-style pieces.  I even admitted to planning to "steal" some good songs to bring back to my own praise band. 

It turns out this was a performance of the [*] Quintet.  This is a group of five older/middle-aged white guys, and according to the program, they each had impressive credentials and interesting, successful careers.  OK, so I was in for some real top-notch jazz, I thought.  Certainly out of my league in terms of trying to pick-up any new songs for my own use, and there were no vocalists (the quintet consisted of trumpet, sax, piano, bass and percussion).  But, hey, I was there, and I could spare an hour or so to show my support of the arts and hear some good music.  I and the approximately twenty other concert-goers settled in for the show. The first piece was long.  These guys are great; they're pros and it shows.  The music was good; a complex original piece.  But long.  The second piece sounded kind of like the first.  And it was long, too.  The third piece: pretty much the same....good...long....each with solos/features of the different artists.  I was thinking the pattern for the night would be great talent performing alternating solos during these jazz songs that, to be honest, were probably four times longer than they needed to be.  Rinse and repeat. 

At this rate, the pew cushion was way too thin, and I drank way too much iced tea before walking over to the church. Then I sort of...settled in.  The fourth song was a little slower, a little more...melodic.  The sound changed somehow.  If you remember those "Magic Eye" 3-D pictures that were popular in the 1980s, it was something like the audio version of that.  Just a hint of...I don't know how to say it...a different dimension; perhaps the fringe-edge of a meditative state of some sort.  I thought "wow, what is this?"  The next song resembled the earlier pieces in terms of pace and intensity, but something had changed in the way I was listening.  I could detect more of the individual "voices" of the performers weaving together, and there was an ebb and flow; changing moods and a sensation of colors.  I wasn't tripping-out or anything; this was a very subtle thing.  As the concert continued, I kept noticing more; there was more communication through the music itself.  What at first felt like a "flawless" performance ("these guys are pros," after all) changed into something else.  Their performances became so personal; so intimate that I almost found myself feeling embarrassed by the contact, as if I were not meant to see (hear) this.  I found myself sort of laughing suddenly, for no explainable reason except that the music said something clever or funny; or in a little while, felt a wave of loss roll in and retreat just as fast as it arrived.  There was even one time when I was sitting with my eyes pretty-much closed, and something happened in the music; I'm not sure what it was, but it seemed like the "spell" tripped and faltered.  I looked up and saw the director "giving the eye" to the rest of the performers.  I realized there was some deviation or break in the song.  I'm not sure if anyone else in the audience felt it, and the music continued to be great, but that sweet-spot foundered for just a few seconds, and then was captured again. It occurred to me that it was "our little secret" in a way; I had connected with the music enough that my listening was participation, and my involvement in the music (though describable to no one else in the world) gave the experience a dynamic, almost organic component.  There was a brief intermission through this experience, during which I babbled incoherently to a couple of the performers ("Y'all are great!"  "Wish there were more people here," etc.).  How could I express what I was feeling or experiencing, after all, without sounding like a nut-case?  And would the intermission brain-wipe this...illusion...that the music was providing?  I was a little worried.  But the second set of eight songs also proved rich and varied and voiced, with deep moods, quick smiles, and something that felt like fond, old memories surfacing.  The last piece was just flat-out fun, like a party that I'd always imagined as the epitome but never actually attended. Then it was over.  Two-and-a-half hours later, before I knew it. Since the concert, I've concluded a couple of things.  One, that I've really never had the opportunity to appreciate jazz before; I'd always been with other (usually demanding) people, busy with tasks, in transit, or whatever.  I also tend to be rather guarded; I can see why people may enjoy jazz after a few alcoholic drinks: inhibition seems very important to this art form (as performer and audience/absorber).  But perhaps the most important "lesson" is really more of a hypothesis: can I duplicate this experience?  And what can I learn from it that I can apply to my own music performance and appreciation of other styles?  And I can tell you I also have an entirely new appreciation for live performance (though I've always "liked" it).  Just a day or two before this concert, I had commented on some art-related Facebook post that art is not a spectator sport, but a participatory or even contact sport.  I had little idea then quite how true that was.  __________

*The name of the quintet is redacted because I'll be embarrassed if they read this; I don't want this little essay to casually pop-up in an internet search of the group's name.  I just might have the whole thing wrong.  You can figure it out if you do a little digging, if you're that curious.

[kathymommy]

Lessons Learned

I find my self in a weird state of inbetween-ness right now, but with the odd sensation that I’m not sure what I’m “in-between.” 

I know I’m post-graduate school (thank-you-very-much) but the “next thing” is undefined, or at least unshaped.  I’m not completely drifting; there are some irons-in-the-fire…some things I’m working on; some responsibilities I’ve accepted; some to-do lists to knock-down.  But the Thing That I’m Working On Now is not so easily defined as it has been these last nearly three years. 

What that really means is that it is harder to articulate a good excuse for why I’m not doing all those things I said I’d do when I did finish that Thing That I’m Working On which kept me too diverted to do all those other things.  Why don’t I just…do them?

I think my main problem is that I became accustomed to a cycle of gratification and pleasure at the good results of my hard work during school.  I put a lot into my studies, and was rewarded in many ways including, ultimately, a 4.0 GPA.  With just a few frustrating exceptions, I found that if I put forth great effort, I’d get great results.  This was a logical, and ultimately a reliable, outcome in the school setting.  This was Life As It Should Be.

Unfortunately, most of my “do nows” are things with less reliable outcomes, and without that probability of good success awaiting me at the end of four month’s effort, my motivation is flagging, leaving me to my natural inclination toward laziness.  This realization began to form after a seemingly minor incident last night.

Yesterday afternoon, I made a relatively straight-forward plumbing repair (actually, there’s no such thing as a relatively straight-forward plumbing repair).  The stupid sprayey-thingy on my kitchen sink developed a crack months ago (while I was doing that Thing That I Was Working On), and I finally got around to replacing it.  The “universal part," however, wasn’t exactly universal enough, and late last night a family member turned the faucet on only to have the sprayer-handle shoot off in a geyser which, I’m told, reached the ceiling. 

My reaction to this inconvenient non-disaster was to stage a full-blown hissy-fit.  Well, it wasn’t that dramatic, but certainly out of proportion to the situation.  The situation indicated that I simply had to also buy a replacement hose, and go through the contortions and trouble to install it behind and beneath the sink (difficult, but doable).  

So my reaction to this set-back caused me to think: What has happened is that I’ve been tricked by my experience in school to anticipate success (not to say easy success), which has tampered with my tolerance for more subtle gratifications and increased my aversion for unsatisfactory results.

This is a throw-back behavior for me; one I thought I’d mitigated years ago.  It’s a complicated combination of perfectionism and procrastination that always interfered with any Big Plans or Big Dreams I had.  For much of my younger years, it was never the right time (I was never “ready enough”) to really start being the “me” I ultimately planned to become.

What “cured” me from this, beginning in 2001, was flying.  Not any romantic sense of “freedom.” Or even that it was simply very cool, but that it was a complex, challenging, engaging, at times exhausting endeavor that demanded a degree of competence and attention.  But the only way I could participate in aviation at all, given my circumstances, was in small bites.  The desire to learn to fly was great enough that I put-up with having to approach it in imperfect little snatches and bits.  And while I haven’t (yet) earned the pilot certificate (I’ve since had to put flying on the back-back-back burner), the approach worked well enough allow me to indulge my love of aviation.  And in that process, I learned that success, satisfaction, and growth are not precise designations that can be measured, but more like the barely-conscious realization that you are changed by your efforts.

It’s time to get back to the lessons flying has taught me, and put-away the unintended, and unhelpful, lessons I learned in school.