Tag: humanity

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“And”

It often seems that “or” is the preferred conjunction. It is “A” or “B”? Are you happy -or- sad? Do you want this -or- that? But, “or” draws a line. It divides. It claims sides. It is black and white.

But what this life has taught me, what fostering, mothering, nursing and living, has taught me, is that straight lines rarely occur in nature. In between two clearly defined groups, there is often a fuzzy divide. And shades of gray most commonly compose reality, instead of absolutes.

I believe we’ve far overused “or” and perhaps should instead consider another, more powerful conjunction- “and”.

This past fall and winter, my family entered the transition of closing our foster license and entering a relationship of permanence with our foster children (now just our children). And as we walked (and continue to walk) that journey, I was struck by the level of grief and loss that I felt. The inability of my children to reunify with their biological parents felt like a failure- not our failure, not even a failure of the system… but a failure nonetheless. That grief, coupled with the grief of closing our foster license, when I wasn’t yet ready to be done, when there were still more children I wanted to help… weighed heavy on me.

And yet with that loss, there was simultaneously relief- relief that I no longer had to comply with the foster requirements- of home inspections, health and finance records, required education, court approved travel requests and paperwork, relief that we could simply raise these children on our own without the bureaucracy of the agency, relief that we wouldn’t have to say good-bye this time, relief that safety and security could be provided at our hands and that these children’s futures seemed more certain than ever.

As I toiled with this inner conflict, I held the tear-stained faces of children who too felt “and”. They wanted to stay -and- they wanted to go back. They wanted this new family- an older brother and sister, zoo of animals and new adventures -and- their small, quiet family of origin. They love that they came to us -and- they hate that they had to. They wanted to fix what wasn’t able to be fixed -and- they wanted stability. They wanted “out” of foster care, and “in”- because they wanted to hold onto hope and possibility.

Together, we are both happy -and- sad, washed with relief -and- burdened with longing.

But this clarity of “and” didn’t begin with this most recent chapter. Instead, my reflections have allowed me to see that it was there all along.

On their day of arrival, their timid smiles relayed happiness -and- uncertainty, sadness -and- hope.

In times of leisure and recollection, when we gently and casually recall their early days and the new things they had to learn- like what “Pjs” were and meal and bed times, they laugh, confused by how it was once new and delighted by how far they’ve come… and other times they feel embarrassed… but it’s usually a little bit of both.

Holidays and vacations are often triggers. Behavior is often its worst during the times we give the most. And acknowledging that behavior lead me to affirm to the conflicted child that I held in my arms- “You can love what we’re doing here -and- be sad that it wasn’t like this at home. You can celebrate this moment -and- wish that things were different.”

My therapist, who was appointed to me from the agency to hep me dissect the tremendous load that came with my children’s story, and heard me grapple with understanding their parents through two different viewpoints, shared these words – “Parents can love their children very much, going to great lengths to show their affection and offer protection… AND do tremendous harm.” Parents can love -and- hurt, want to provide -and- be unable.

To my children, as they unpack the complexity of it all- You can love someone and acknowledge all the many things they did well -and- hate some of the choices, conditions or circumstances.

As I mother 4 very different children-3 teens and 1 preteen, each with unique personalities and character, I can affirm that all of my children are wonderful people who carry great strengths AND they are learning. They fumble, misstep, and all have their challenges. The straight A student has as many areas of concern as the one who struggles just to pass, they’re just in different areas. The child who’s been labeled a “trouble-maker” is one of the most compassionate I know. The one who’s a gem in school, often gives me the most fits. The natural born leader is taking an untraditional path. The academic genius is learning basic executive functioning.

And the “and”s continue…

When people discover what I do for a living they often say “Oh, labor and delivery, you work in the happy place!” And yet I hold a dual role of both a staff/charge nurse and a bereavement nurse. I watch life both begin and end and absorb the wails of heartache and cheers of celebration. I’ve aided families who have held birthday parties, complete with cake, guests and decorations, for a baby that was yet to be born, because they knew they wouldn’t survive long post-delivery- a joyful -and- heartbreaking event. I’ve received a baby from the sorrowful yet relinquished arms of a mother who couldn’t provide and placed it into the ecstatic arms of the adoptive parents whose dreams were finally coming true. And it’s always an AND.

What I’d like to see less of in the world is less boxes, less labels, less assumptions, less “or”s and … more willingness to see and accept the complexities and intricacies in all of us… the “and”s.

I can be a great parent/nurse/partner -and- feel defeated, overwhelmed and fall short sometimes.

I can adore the life I’ve built -and- need a break.

One can feel discouraged by life’s circumstances -and- proud of things done well.

In each of us, resides both light and darkness, beauty and pain. We don’t have to, nor should we ever, ignore one over the other. They coexist, one alongside the other. I can see one’s powerful light, without ignoring their darkness. I can tend to one’s pain without losing sight of the power and beauty they still possess.

A gain can simultaneously be a loss.

Tears can be shed for both sadness and joy and the two emotions can oscillate so quickly it’s like a vibration and you no longer know which one is causing the let down.

As my children learn to navigate their new lives and the telling of their very personal stories, I hope that the people who are so privileged to know them in that way, hold space for their trauma and loss and the byproducts brought on from it- the anxiety, the insecurity, the compulsions and unusual coping skills… AND I hope they see them for all the wonder that they are and behold, their resiliency, their character, their humor, their intellect, their humanity.

And I hope each of us too, see and are seen, both for what we do well -and- where we struggle- for that is how we are both nurtured and aim for improvement. When together we see light alongside the dark, our focus can shift from a good vs evil, black vs white mentality to a focus on complete personhood, humility and humanity. When we stop comparing and dividing and feeling as though we have to prove ourselves, we promote a society that both allows fault and fragility -and- encourages its members to learn from one another and grow.

When we don’t have to pick whether we’re the creature that crawls on its belly or the magnificent one that flies… the caterpillar or the butterfly…. but instead acknowledge that in all of us, we are both, the sooner we can become.

When we can sit in the open and restful place of “and”, we can more quickly and more clearly see ourselves, in all of our beautiful complexity… and take in the very same from the world around us.

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Thanksgiving

I actually wrote this post in August and amongst the busyness of life, am just sitting down now to complete editing it. Upon re-reading it, I was struck by its timeliness.

In the midst of a global pandemic, working the front lines and home-schooling my children, we also moved from our home of 13 years… not to mention a plethora of life’s “other” challenges that we continue to work through.

The content of this post was inspired by my bi- monthly grocery shopping trips,  a stark change to life before the pandemic. “Sacrifice” takes on yet another new meaning now (and I’m not just referring to groceries). After such trips, the teeming fruit bowl reminded me of a stuffed cornucopia. Upon further reflection, the meaning and historical references associated with the word “Thanksgiving” yielded similarities and meanings far further reaching than a full fridge. Beyond gratitude, it is an acknowledgement of our hardships and a cautious and calculated hope for the future.

I remember being a young pupil, sitting cross-legged on the floor of our classroom, while my teacher with thick, beige panty hose, held up a large picture book and taught us about the “First Thanksgiving”- with “Squanto and friends”, an indebted invitation for their fishing and planting skills, extended by the newly settling Europeans who dreamed of religious freedom but struggled to survive in this new land- a peaceful meal was shared between them-the pilgrims and the natives.

Later that day, we made headbands out of construction paper to resemble feathers and pilgrim hats. And we wore them home proudly… telling our parents about the smart and resourceful natives that saved the sick and dying settlers and the pilgrims’ kind gesture of thanks. It was such a simple and sugar-coated version. “They taught them how to grow corn and how to fish and then they had dinner together and became friends.” It was a sweet lesson in gratitude, working together, accepting outsiders and trying new things.

So much of what we learn as a child is a lie… or at least so turned around, smoothed-over and overly-simplified that it hardly represents the often complicated and ugly truth.

Last summer, our 50 states escapades took us on a New England Road Trip. There, we spent some time in Plymouth, Mass. As per our norm, the trip consisted of part leisure, part local food and part history. So in addition to munching on fresh seafood and eccles cake, we did a bit of studying while we were there- and Thanksgiving was of course one of the subjects. What we learned was, while we don’t really know exactly what that first Thanksgiving looked like, there are two written accounts of the event-one from a participant who mentioned it in a letter and another account thought to have been written about 20 years after the event. And neither of these accounts really got noticed until about 200 years after the fact.

Whilst still a great story of our country’s early beginnings, we learned that the story we were told as children wasn’t quite accurate. We learned that many of these early New England settlers called themselves “separatists” at the time, not pilgrims. And that they wanted to make money as well as create religious theocracy (government by divine guidance/a legal system based on religious law), not just gain religious freedom from the Church of England. How very different this country would be if that had been achieved!

Most historians agree that the “invitation” to the famous meal was probably less of a formal one by the settlers, and more of an acceptance of the natives (who far out-numbered them) being in the area- for their own harvest, as well as keeping an eye on the Europeans who were reportedly, loudly celebrating and firing their guns (some things never change lol) during this 2-3 day harvest celebration.

The relationship between the natives and the settlers was often tense, as the Europeans fought to conquer and own land and the natives to defend both their way of life and the sacred earth they believed no person could own. By virtually all accounts, Squanto was deemed to be a helpful mediator between the two groups, and did reportedly teach them about farming and fishing, but was also later captured. The fall-out for the natives, many agree, was tragic. We know that many natives died as a result of exposure to European illnesses and virtually all of them were eventually pushed off their land.

While as a nation, we have continued the tradition of celebrating this harvest meal, many natives mourn the loss of their land and people as the expansion of the new world grew more from selfish means than mutual respect. Thanksgiving for them, is and always has been, a daily practice of gratitude- not a holiday. Nonetheless, there were elements of cooperation and adaptation and the holiday became official when Abraham Lincoln signed it as a means to bring together a nation divided in civil war.

The massive killings, plagues and pillaging are a part of history that we must acknowledge. And I implore the textbooks to be changed, so as to reflect as honest of a representation as we can provide. But those are not ones I’m going to dwell on here. Instead I will choose to focus on the slivers of goodness- cooperation, coexisting, adaptation, togetherness and searching for reasons to celebrate, even if those reasons aren’t perfect; because there’s enough hate and sadness right now.

As both a frontline worker in this war and a human being with my own struggles and challenges (many of which never make it to this page), I relate to the first settlers who came with a goal and suffered tremendously- whether from their own ignorance, arrogance or simple misfortune. Suffering, no matter the causation, deserves compassion. Life can be fortuitous, but it can also be terribly cruel. While they likely came with what they believed were good intentions, they paid a hefty price in the beginning, with a mortality rate of over 50%.

And the natives, strangers to the setters, who were better off at the time, offered them help. For a time, they negotiated and shared the land and resources peacefully. They bartered and traded… a practice we are seeing again, as resources are again limited and people try to minimize their trips out of the house. The natives saw people who looked and acted very differently than themselves, but they helped them all the same, because they saw that they were suffering. And we are here today because they did! While they taught the settlers how to help themselves, by teaching them how to grow new crops and hunt in this new land, it is documented that the natives also brought whole deer for the colonists to eat. (A real life example of “You can give a man a fish AND teach him to fish-it’s easier to learn how to fish when your not starving“). And the colonists (whether from desperation or not) were willing to listen and learn! Then, with those goods and skills, by working together and negotiating, they began to flourish as a colony.

The early settlers’ survival laid in the hands of accepting help from others, learning new skills and ways of doing things, accepting their new reality and embracing change. Are those not lessons that apply to us in this pandemic and current state of politics?

Many years later, Abraham Lincoln saw this story as an opportunity to bring together a divided nation… a new holiday to celebrate, when the north and the south were divided by more than just land and the issue of money and slavery pitted brothers against one another.

And here we are again… divided. Our blue and red have never seemed so far away from one another.

I don’t have all the answers on how to fix it and I hate politics. I come from such a mixed group of friends and family and embrace such a moderate viewpoint, you might as well call me purple! But I do know this:

Selfishness and hate have never helped. While selfishness may provide a short-term gain, it likely brings on a greater long-term loss. But working together for the greater good, mutual respect and love for humanity always puts us on top in the end. Many times in history, we used the way we treated natives and minorities to justify helping the economy and leading to progression. As a result, we left a huge shameful stain on our country and the repercussions continue to shake our culture. When we focused on rapid progress, we usually made big mistakes. When we focused solely on ourselves, we destroyed others. But when we considered the possibility that we could change directions and actually improve rather than combust, when we stopped talking numbers and started seeing faces, when we listened to other’s points of view, we made great strides as a nation.

While division has created much pain and damage, unity has always been our saving grace as a country- from the colonial period, to the revolution, in war times, civil rights and post 911. We survived and thrived when we came together for the greater good. Our forefathers literally advertised unity in the newspapers, because they knew how essential it was to our success as a country. And in our most trying of times in history, it was unity that allowed us to rebuild.

Fighting for the rights of minorities shouldn’t be a blue thing… nor should wearing a mask or quarantining (if science supports it for the public’s protection)… and being concerned for the economy and the over-stepping of the government shouldn’t be a red thing. Instead, considering both sides of the argument, honoring both science and freedom of religion, understanding that your liberties only go so far as to not infringe on another’s, having respectful and intelligent conversation and working towards the good of all humanity, celebrating whatever we can, that should be the American thing.

If you’re not afraid of the virus, wear a mask to respect the people around you, it literally causes you no harm. If you don’t believe you’ll get it, take pre-cautions out of respect for the healthcare system that is treading water, the same system that will fight to save your life if you do need it. Don’t think the virus is a real threat? Talk to a nurse on the frontlines in an affected area. If you don’t think the economy is a concern, why not talk to some small business owners, get their perspective and find ways to help. Instead of riots, why not build charity to assist the people you are working to defend? If you think your life is more important than another’s, try looking their mother in the eyes. Pause to read, listen and think, instead of spouting blind hatred on social media. And for every story, perspective, person you struggle to understand, I encourage you to invite them to your table-a Thanksgiving (perhaps virtually, at least for now). See them, listen to them, imagine their struggle as your own. You may not end in agreement, but the more we strive to understand one another, the more we cooperate, share ideas and work towards solutions, the stronger we become as a nation.

And be kind. While technology, healthcare, access to food and our individual freedoms have come a long way since the days of the Mayflower, life is still hard for us right now. We all need a Squanto in our lives- to teach us and lend us a helping hand. And each of us, in return have skills and ideas to share with others- hatred shouldn’t be one of those.

I am incredibly blessed to have a healthy family, a viable means of employment and a very happy and lovely new home. But I’ve also got two teenagers who have had virtually no contact with their friends in 8 months and their mental health is an every day concern of mine. I’ve got one virtual learner and one brand-new home schooler and I am overwhelmed, teaching an 8th grader by day, working night shift at the hospital, cooking healthy meals to keep us well… just living for god’s sake. I’m tired of caring for patients looking like an astronaut and I’m tired of explaining to people that this virus isn’t a farce… I see it every day people- It’s f***ing real! And yet I’m sick of my own paranoia as every ache and tickle is a covid symptom- and I’m mandated to report and get tested. And that’s just my one little story… people are out of work, businesses have folded, families have lost their loved ones, everyone is spread incredibly thin.

We need to be kinder to one another. 

And we need to be kind to ourselves. Many of us are plagued with fear, anxiety and uncertainty right now. It is effecting both our psychological and physical health. “Give yourself grace,” I often remind myself. Every day I fight my demons by practicing self-care. I reframe by struggles as “challenges” and I remind myself that most things are temporary. And like so many others, there are days that I fight to keep my head above the water. But when I’m able, I do try to keep helping others, because I know charity in-turn helps my spirit to be soothed and it helps humanity as a whole. Quiet, reflective, alone time is necessary for my ability to process and de-compress. Utilizing my therapeutic outlets and creating boundaries is essential in creating a work-life balance. Pampering always helps… whether it’s a soak in a hot bath, a yummy treat or zoning out to some meditative music for a few minutes. And in the spirit of the holiday, daily gratitude and celebrating small victories is proven to improve mental health. We must remember to take care of us, while tending to others.

 coping strategy; but togetherness is required for family function and survival. And I look Fleeing from where they came, with no modern medicine or amenities, the early settlers helplessly watched person after person die from illness, elements and starvation. And the natives had no defense against small pox or massive artillery. We have research labs, experts in virology and economy, vaccines and medicine, hospitals and government assistance. We are going to be okay… but we must learn from our mistakes and mustn’t let our fears cause us to turn on one another. We must always respect one another and remember our shared loved of humanity.

Unlike my childhood version of the first Thanksgiving, I don’t mean to overly simplify solutions or sugar-coat any of the challenges we are currently facing. In fact, I acknowledge just how ugly and complicated the truth likely is. And like everyone, I am very cautiously calculating my hope for the future. Still, truth, goodness and growth as a country are worth pursuing, always.

It has been a harsh, harsh season, and there are more hard days ahead. But like the famous meal, let us come together, count our blessings… and celebrate our victories. Because in this great country… there are so very many!

Happy Thanksgiving USA!

https://www.google.com/amp/s/www.history.com/.amp/news/first-thanksgiving-colonists-native-americans-men

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Guest blog: “I may be Asian, but I’m not your Christmas Chinaware” By Abbie Pfau

It is with great honor that I post my first guest blog. The writer is both talented and intelligent, witty and kind. She is gorgeous and current and she just so happens to be my little cousin. I give you Abbie Pfau:

My mom always said that when I was a girl, my joy was infectious, but as a woman my wit has become deadly. Through 9 surgeries, a month of paralysis, and 23 years as an adopted, differently-abled individual, I’ve learned that I don’t have to be so dichotomous. Instead, I’ve set out to try and use both the wit and the joy to share a point-of-view as someone who’s just trying to make it through every open door in life, without having to press the “handicap accessible” button. After all, who has the patience for that?

I never do.

Always be graceful, but don’t be afraid to be reckless…

Abbie

Photo credits: http://images.huffingtonpost.com/2015-09-23-1443029669-9258368-Dollarphotoclub_75515307.jpg

I May be Asian, but I’m Not Your Christmas Chinaware

            “Abbie Pfau, get over here right now and give me a hug. You’re not actually crippled.” The moment those words left my friend’s mouth and traveled across the high school piazza, a couple hundred confused faces turned to stare in horror. I picked up my crutches and traversed through a sea of people, hopping over bodies and laughing with her as we enjoyed the uproar she had just caused. All of those poor bystanders had thought they had just witnessed the biggest display of rudeness against a disabled woman, but what they don’t know is that it was actually a great compliment. On the contrary, it was their horrified faces that conveyed the unintentional insult. They all actually thought I was crippled.

I have crutches, so I must be broken. I am broken, so I must need help with everything.

It’s a very common misconception, so please, don’t feel bad if you’ve made this mistake. I understand the logic; everyone’s trying to make life easier, and truthfully, my condition does make certain things like carrying heavy objects and bending over to pick my clothes off the floor a bit of a struggle. If I’m being honest, I’m in some degree of pain every day, even when I go to sleep. But nothing hurts more than people’s (un)conscious discrimination against my ability. Most of the time, able-bodied people don’t realize they do it, because to them it feels like they’re being considerate and inclusive. However, there’s nothing that feels more exclusive than when someone tells my boyfriend he shouldn’t make me go on a hike with him. There’s nothing kind or helpful about scowling at my family for expecting me to wash my own dishes. Someone isn’t doing me any favors or any justice by sneering at my friends for laughing with me after I’ve gloriously “McFallen” in a McDonalds. There is this overpowering belief that my family, friends, and significant-other should never “make me” work. They should never “make me” get up to let the dog in. They should never “make me” go out and have adventures that would require any physical activity…because it might hurt. My fragile self might break, just like Humpty Dumpty.

There’s an important lesson to be learned from Humpty Dumpty though. He spent most of his story just sitting on a wall…and he still broke. I spent a month of my life paralyzed from the waist down, unable to do anything for myself. I couldn’t get up to go to the restroom by myself. I couldn’t take a shower by myself. I couldn’t even roll over in bed while I slept without someone’s help. Nevertheless, with determination and resilience, I worked through the pain and regained my physical independence. That would have been nearly impossible without the help of people I love; they always pushed me to work harder, to be better, and to live life fully – and living fully doesn’t mean needing someone to do everything for me.

After my back surgery and paralysis, I wasn’t allowed to bend my spine, which created a great deal of difficulty in my daily life. My parents have a very deep top-loading washer; nevertheless, they still expected me to do my own laundry, so I figured it out. My loved ones are all very active; they love to be adventurous and go hiking, skiing, boating, swimming, traveling, biking, etc. Never intending to watch them from the sidelines, I’ve learned to adapt. Sure, it might take me longer to bike the trails or climb the hills, but it certainly won’t stop me. My bones might ache when I stand up to answer the door or bring in the groceries, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be expected to do it. My body might be in pain, but that doesn’t mean my life has to suffer. I may be disabled, but that doesn’t mean I’m dead. I’ve been given a life to experience, live, and love. I refuse to spend my days sitting on a wall waiting to break and expecting all of the King’s men to put me back together again.

I know I look like an innocent, dainty piece of china that you have to protect and lock away in your cabinet. However, the truth is, I – and the multitude of other differently-abled individuals around the world – am stronger than you know. Our fragile, eggshell bodies have held the weight of an adversity that most cannot fathom, but they never break under the weight. So please, don’t be afraid for us. Don’t make excuses for us. Don’t expect less from us. Don’t lock us away and do everything for us. Help us be the best we can by pushing us to be more than we seem, because the only disability in life is being enabled to the point of not experiencing all it has to offer – even, and perhaps most importantly, the challenges it holds. If we didn’t want the challenge, we would’ve let you know.

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Combating Racism: A response to the Charlottesville attacks

holding hands

I've been out-of-town for the past couple weeks and so when the Charlottesville rallies and the responsive actions of the nation occurred, I was for the most part "unplugged" (aside from catching a few headlines and Facebook statuses here and there). I needed this vacation immensely and my efforts to relax and disconnect were absolutely intentional and necessary. So, with late and limited knowledge and the desire to remain relaxed while contemplative and meaningful, it has taken me some time to compile a response.

After scouring multiple news sources, I have learned that the images I saw involved a group of several hundred people, mostly men, who gathered in Charlottesville, VA to protest the removal of a Confederate Statue – which was scheduled to be moved and sold after a city council vote determined this would be the course of action. They named this rally "Unite the Right". Despite the fact that Charlottesville is a very liberal town, multiple white supremacist groups (Neo-Nazis, KKK, etc.) from around the country were attracted to the area by the news of the impending statue removal and have used it as a gathering place. Over the past several months, they have on several occasions, convened there and at least one other time held a torch-lit rally with little-to-no repercussions. When counter-protestors (many from the near-by university) arrived and gathered, the number of torches grew and the number of injured and dead climbed. Amongst the various messages, the white supremacist groups, now collectively being dubbed the "Alt Right" were photographed performing the Hitler salute and waving Nazi flags.

Following the events that occurred in Charlottesville, several cities, including Baltimore, made the decision (through due process) to remove confederate statues from the city. The law does not require a vote from its residents in order to do this and given the attention the Charlottesville vote had and the unfolding that resulted from that attention, I think the Mayor made a wise decision for the safety of its residents, to remove the statues quickly and quietly overnight so as to discourage further rallies and potential violence. Baltimore after all, didn't handle the Freddie Gray rallies very well. And still in the name of history, in the name of fairness, the debate continues and our country remains divided.

And divided as this country may be, the problems here aren't new ones and the solutions I believe are simpler than we realize.

The kind of hatred and racism displayed in Charlottesville isn't new. It's not because of a certain president (though his attempts to rebuke the "Alt-right" groups that support him were pathetic) and it's not because a certain political party holds the majority. The inhumanity of our past has trickled down for centuries in the form of oppression, prejudice, and bigotry. Much the way drops of rain fall out of the sky and then work their way through the layers of earth, this hatred has continued to percolate the minds of one generation onto the next. And before we can begin to stop this flow and prevent further inhumanity, we must first acknowledge it's existence. Fortunately, thanks to cultural exposure and education, oppressive and racist ideologies such as white supremacy are less and less popular and acceptable with each coming generation. And yet, here we are two weeks post Charlottesville and it's obvious that there's still a lot of work to do.

I remember when I first learned about the KKK, civil rights and the Nazi regime. A child in a classroom, I was horrified when I learned what injustices and sheer evil had been done to our citizens of color and the jewish people, not to mention the other minority groups who were persecuted. As we stared at the horrifying images of nooses hung from trees, gas chambers and countless unmarked graves, I peered around the classroom sheepishly at my friends and classmates who came from such heritage. My heart ached for them, their history, their ancestors and I wondered how they were feeling – sitting in our predominately white classroom. I was only a child and still I felt the shame for the way some human beings, predominantly human beings of my color, treated others and I wanted to fix it.

If you had asked me at that time what 2017 would look like, I would've told you we'd be flying in space ships and wearing rocket booster shoes. I would've thought we'd have a colony on Mars by now. Everything in my mind's eye saw progression, a world of unity working together to not just coexist but to thrive. I never would have believed that in this year there would be a mob of angry men carrying lighted torches and claiming their superiority over others based on the color of their skin. Seeing the images of Charlottesville made me feel like I had woken-up in a fucked-up version of 'Back to the Future' and Doc Brown had mistakenly sent us back two hundred years instead of forward. And in my mind I could hear the sassy voice of my friend/coworker, "What year is this?"

Obviously the images there were disturbing and disgusting. Any decent human being with even a fraction of a heart can see just how wrong it was. So to focus on that aspect of the attacks would merely be stating the obvious.

I want to focus on the solution. Once we acknowledge the problem, the semantics of "Who-did-what?" are less of a priority. What group gathered where, who was holding a torch and who was holding a bat really doesn't matter. The problem is that there is racial tension in this country and there are groups of people who believe they are superior and want to eliminate other races. That has to change. And in order to move towards the path of healing and recovery we must make a conscious effort to reach out to the other side. It is only after we bring together the edges of our wound that it can start to heal and mend. Concern, understanding, passion and a desire to repair can guide our hearts the way a surgeon's hands guide his sutures. And pure human love and kindness are the perfect salve. We must work together and we must work hard to protect our future generations from the perpetual ooze of hatred and sickening ideology that is festering in this painful wound and further contaminating our society.

But how? How do we start? Where do we start?

On a quest for answers, my heart searched for words of goodness. And my ideals were confirmed.

Gandhi: "Power is of two kinds. One is obtained by the fear of punishment and the other by acts of love. Power based on love is a thousand times more effective and permanent then the one derived from fear of punishment."

"I suppose leadership at one time meant muscles; but today it means getting along with people."

"A small body of determined spirits fired by an unquenchable faith in their mission can alter the course of history."

Haile Selassie: "Throughout history, it has been the inaction of those who could have acted, the indifference of those who should have known better, the silence of the voice of justice when it mattered most, that has made it possible for evil to triumph".

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p style=”padding-left: 30px;”>Albert Einstein: "Peace cannot be kept by force, it can only be achieved by understanding."

And then of course, there's the ever infamous and ever inspiring "I have a dream" speech by Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. As I reread it, I in some ways was again inspired by his powerful and influential words. Yet, there was another part of me that felt the speech was in some ways antiquated now ….. or at least it should be. The "For whites only" signs are gone and yet the subtle signs seen when a cab driver drives past a black family or when a police officer racially profiles someone….. or when white men march with torches …. proves that we haven't come as far as we should have.

"I have a dream … that little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers……"

Seriously? We're not there yet?  As a country, why aren't we there yet? Why do races who work and live side by side still feel uncomfortable with one another? Sure, in the scope of world history, it hasn't really been that long since white men owned black men in this country. But still … we need to work harder to overcome this.

 

So, here is my response to the Charlottesville and racial issues in this country. My response is in the form of a challenge. And it's for every person regardless of their color. My challenge is for you to step outside of your social circle. Find a person in your neighborhood, work, school who comes from a different place and who wears a different color on their skin. Initiate a conversation. Ask them questions. Build a relationship. And I don't want to hear "I have black friends." Find a new one. And enter that relationship with the purpose of trying to understand them and enjoy them, not just mingle with them and certainly not to judge or change them.

We all carry biases. We've all heard the stereotypes. We all have questions in regards to other people's cultures. And the best way to get answers, the best way to understand, the best way to tackle the stereotypes and understand where their origins lie is to explore them, not ignore them. Have you ever wondered why so many black people do something? Or are afraid of something? Ever wondered why white people have a certain tendency towards something? Stop hiding your curiosities. Stop joking about it amongst your safe circle of like-colored friends. Establish a trusting relationship with members of another race and you can begin to get your questions answered. It's hard to hate, it's hard to fear, what you understand.

Now. Once you have this relationship, once trust has been established and a solid effort has been made to nurture that relationship, take that relationship another step. Invite that friend into your home. Sit them at your table. Cook for them your best dish. Share with them stories of your upbringing and your family. Share a meal with them. Few gestures indicate kindness, generosity and love towards another human being more than inviting someone to break bread with you. There is a humility and vulnerability that comes with welcoming someone into your dwelling and sitting them at your table to share the foods and culture of your upbringing. And my hope is that as this relationship continues to blossom, your dinners will one day include more family members so that they too can learn.

We have statistics to show us the numbers of hate crimes that continue to occur, the crime ratios based on race, the number of interracial marriages, the racial breakdown of our communities and universities … but no where can I find a study that shows the number of people who have in the last year (or even lifetime for that matter), invited someone of a different race to share a meal with them. And my bet is that if we did conduct such a study, we'd be ashamed of the results. The segregation signs are down and yet we continue to separate ourselves – in the night clubs, in our neighborhoods, in our work place break-rooms. And my bet is that as we begin to hear other people's stories and ideas and feelings and we share our own in return, that we will begin to understand one another. That understanding will yield comfort and togetherness and ultimately loyalty. As Albert Einstein so geniusly stated, understanding is what will bring us to peace, not force.

Imagine if everyone in this country picked just one person of another race and made it their goal to understand and enjoy them - Just one more person to learn from, one more person to share with, one more person to love. Imagine how the world would change if we could get our questions answered, if we could reduce our discomfort and our fear and expand our world views and perspectives. We can't wait for someone else to reach out. We can't wait to be invited. We have to take that leap. We have to be the one that reaches across the aisle. We have to be the one that tries. Learning to understand another human being, seeing them as a soul instead of a number or a color …. that's something no political party can fund, no history book can teach and no statue can build. That I believe is what will heal our country and make our children's world a brighter …. or shall I say, more colorful one.

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Learning to love like a Christian and live like an Atheist

cross picFor those that don't know me, I grew up in a devout Catholic home and attended Catholic schools for 12 years. I am now a Humanist/Agnostic but I often use the word "atheist" because I don't care to play semantics and it gets the point across faster. This post isn't meant to incite an argument or to offend anyone. Nor is it an invitation for you to convince me that I'm wrong or invite me to your church because your church isn't like the ones I describe. If religion works for you, enjoy it! Just don't judge me because it no longer works for me. Here are my thoughts and experiences. I hope you find them reason to love more.

"Thou shalt not….."……I memorized them all….all ten. And then there were the beatitudes and the prayers and the rituals of the mass. I've read both the Bible and Catholic Catechism in their entirety. There were family rules and school rules and outside rules. I learned how to altar serve, how to lector, how to be a liturgical dancer and how to earn the Christian Achievment award every year. In many people's eyes, I was the model citizen, the model Catholic, the model child.

People often times ask me why I left the church, "What happened?" Some assume I left because I didn't want to follow their rules any more. Others assume I acquired some unbearable level of shame and that I felt unworthy of returning. Neither of these things are true. The reasons I left are many, though they mainly stem from difficulties I found in church doctrine. My brain and science as I understand it just don't jive with the stories and rules taught by any religion that I have studied. And yes, I've studied quite a few!

But the reason I've separated myself so much from all organized religion and Christianity in particular, is that what I wanted for my life and from my church community more than anything, was to be loved and I wanted to love others in return. I felt like Christianity sold me on an ideal that it didn't deliver and I'm working hard to shed my disappointment from this.

"They will know that we are Christians by our love."… that's true … isn't it?!

I wanted more than anything for this to be true. The bible taught me about a man who didn't judge, who didn't hurt, who had no sin … and yet in my experience, fewer places are filled with as much judgment and as much hurt as the walls people flock to for salvation. Inside the institution I so dedicatedly belonged to, I found myself submersed in a sea of people all pointing their fingers, all criticising and judging one another. Either 'her make-up was too dark', or he 'didn't contribute enough' or she simply wasn't following 'God's ways'. Often the biggest sponsors, the loudest mouths, the most visible faces, were the ones living double lives and I just couldn't take it. They would stand on their pulpit and condemn while in their basement they held boxes upon boxes of sins and secrets. The sins I can forgive, the condemnation of others I can't. Don't get me wrong … the soup kitchens, the clothing drives, the pregnancy centers are all worthy causes. The church has saved many lives. And for some, the structure and community that it offers is irreplaceable. For those, I would never take it away. But there is still so much work to be done within the body of the church; and for me, I have done better without it.

My church taught me to love IT and it taught me to do things to gain God's praise …. but it really didn't teach me to love others, or myself. I wanted God to be happy. I wanted my parents and teachers to be happy and I got so caught up in what the rules were that I failed to truly love. And I'm not alone in this, I'm just more honest than most. For years, I followed this lifestyle, fooling myself that I was happy, that I did love everyone. But there was a storm inside of me …. an unrest. I didn't realize, while I was in the midst of it, just how hard it was for me to love without restraint. There were so many rules that excluded others- homosexuals, atheists, those engaging in premarital sex, divorcees, liberals. And as I left the nest and explored the world as an independent adult, I began to discover that some of the best humans I'd ever met just so happened to live alternative lifestyles, held different beliefs and subscribed to different politics than the ones I was raised to believe were the "one and true". The people I was raised to look down on, to judge, were kinder and more honest humans than the people who sat next to me in church every Sunday.

I had no idea how unhappy and weighted down I was with the judgment of others, until I escaped it.

Maybe it wasn't the church … maybe it was my background … where my parents came from. Maybe it was the church members who were attracted to me because of my role-model status, who were fundamental in their beliefs. Maybe it was me. A degree of self-centeredness and a lack of perspective is common in childhood, I believe. I suppose it's also common for it to carry into adulthood for a time. Maybe my loss of religion and gain of love for humanity was just 'maturity' and my faith was just a coincidental and unfortunate casualty.

Wherever their origin, those judgments clung to me and hung from my neck like weights. Until, through my own adult journey, I learned to disrobe them. You ask me why? Why I left?… Why I changed?… Why I still get angry at the church sometimes? Because the moment  I became aware of my own judgement towards others, I felt the burden I was carrying and it became unbearable. It cut into my neck and I struggled tirelessly to rid myself of it. Every day I looked for a new perspective, a new understanding, a new love. I was tired of hating my fellow man because he didn't follow the rules I was taught. I was tired of being a part of a community that spent more time telling people what they should and should not do than simply loving them.

And I was tired of being loved conditionally. I was a "good girl". I wore my medallions and walked to church … before school even! I studied my faith every day for 12 years and I subscribed to what I knew was "holy". Their words instructed me to be honest, to respect, to obey and to be faithful. I knew what they wanted to see and I gave it to them. I thrived on positive reinforcement and I longed for structure. And I did it, knowing that if I didn't, they'd dismiss me like all the rest. I did it, because I wanted to be loved and I wanted to feel worthy. My home life was nothing for people to be proud of … nor were my academics … I was an average student; But my dedication to my faith made people proud. And I loved that.

As I began to venture outside of the church community, I expected the world to eat me alive. Afterall, that's what I was taught would happen; instead, they accepted me. Outside the walls of the sanctuary, I learned that I was loved and I was worthy, regardless of the medallions and the commandments and the mass schedule. Wearing short shorts, using swear words, having a sex life … didn't take away from the fact that I was kind and generous and honest. My worth wasn't based on those things anymore. Outside the church community, I could help people and still be "me". And I could do so without the sideways glances and the whispers and the disappointment. And believe you me, those whispers are deafening when its you that they talk about.

Without a church, I learned how to love like a Christian and live as an Atheist.

I am lighter now and yet I still carry a heaviness in my heart because so many still don't understand their hypocrisy. They don't understand the unspoken lessons they carved into my soul and the journey I took to erase them. What I would like them to know, what I'd like them to see, is that its the way they treat everyone else that speaks volumes. It doesn't take a saint to love babies and it's only human to feel compassion for the homeless and the destitute. But what about the un-holy, the un-faithful, the falling but not quite hitting rock bottom yet? Do you work as hard to catch someone when they're slipping as you do after they've hit rock bottom. It's not hard to help someone when they've got nowhere else to turn … but what about when they have a choice? Will you love them just the same if they fail to subscribe to your teachings?

What I want the church to know is that its walls are filled with little girls and boys who are watching. I was once that little girl and I learned the most by watching. Every time someone shook their head at that "other girl", I learned how to pass judgement on her. With every patronizing giggle, I was taught to feel insecure and inadequate. When they were "embarrassed for her" and "felt sorry for her mother", I knew they'd one day be embarrassed of me and I felt sorry for myself. When they said they were "proud" that I "wasn't like her", I saw myself in her. They ministered to the poor and yet they abandoned the girl next-door. Silently, not so silently they taught me. They said they were "proud" of me … but the conditioning had already been set, my sense of self-worth already tarnished. "Be yourself" they said …"but not like that". "I've never judged you", they said, but I'd watched them judge the world and I was afraid they wouldn't love who I really was.

They told me that if I laid with a man who had failed to put a ring on my hand, it only meant that he would leave me. Girls that did that were trashy whores. Only men worthy of waiting with me, were worthy of marrying me. It was a valid possibility, but when pounded and pounded with no other alternative it seemed to be an absolute truth. So when I did lay with a man prior to marriage, my expectations were set. And when he did leave, I felt nothing. They told me so. To avoid the hurt, I learned to be defiant and then to be numbed.  I didn't know then, that the man who would fulfill all my dreams, would be a sinner just like me …. and that he wouldn't leave, but instead beg to stay.

They taught me that while abortion was a grave sin, sex before marriage was also a unnegotiable one. And so without instruction or even self-awareness, I learned as a child to look for a ring when I saw a gravid belly. When the un-wed in our community ended up pregnant, we were embarrassed for them … less concerned because of the difficulties their future would hold in education or love or finance, but embarrassed because it was evident that they had sinned. That evidence which stuck out in front of them, a round belly, for the whole world to see and pity, held a miracle … but people only saw that when they stood outside the abortion clinic. Despite leaving the church several years before, when my own bare hands held my own swollen belly,  I felt ashamed. And it left me pretending to be something that I wasn't – either unashamed or betrothed.

With the storm brewing inside of me, I felt like a wild animal who was tethered. Pulling, pulling, I broke free and when I did, I ran, never to go back to that place again. I don't want to be a Christian anymore – but I want to love like one is supposed to. It is my journey to understand not to judge. To listen and to forgive, not to justify. To see and to help, not to turn my head. To lend a hand with no expectations of changing ones beliefs. The world as a whole is a much larger picture than one altar. And I am better person because I cut the ties that taught me to judge and learned to love without rules.

This atheist is going to show to world how to love …. like a Christian should. And if I do, if I can learn to love all people without restraint, including the Christian, than their god tells me, they will see who I am. And I guess that's all I really wanted …. to be seen and loved for who I really am and for others to love in return.