stuff white girls say

This picture is from a Corretta Scott King Award winning book. I think it is called, "Ellington was not a street." I have to go back to the website to double check.

Made me think of my little 7 year old who went to science camp last week in Minnesota. She came running to the car to greet me after the first day and said, "I made new friends. Three brown skins and some white ones." Ever since she was a baby, she has preferred brown skinned dolls and when she learned to talk she would ask, "When do I get to wear the brown skin?" That didn't stop me from feeling the immediate urge to say, "Shh!" so that nobody would hear her.

It wasn't meant in any offensive way. My 9 year old used to name other children by the color of shirt they were wearing when she was a highly verbal toddler. "Pink is goin a find the potty. Red is on the slide, Mommy. That red kid, he goin a go to the swings now. Now I can go on the slide. Watch, Mommy."

Not sure that has anything to do with anything--but I thought it was something. Where we live now, there are not many variations of skin or even hair or eye color in the classroom or on the playground. Most people are blonde and fair skinned. For my daughter, meeting people who didn't look the same was interesting and noteworthy. It was the first thing she wanted to tell me about when she ran to the car.

I was stuck without much to say about why I told her to, "Shh!" except that we just don't talk about people's skin. Kind of sad--because she wanted to say how beautiful it was to her.

Love and Mercy and Laundry

Some days the biggest act of mercy I am required to provide to anyone is when I don't say anything about how my husband tries to help me with the laundry by leaving it half dry in a basket unfolded without remembering that (if left that way) the clothes will wrinkle and need to be washed again to straighten out. I'm pretty sure that I am extremely fortunate in that my life provides me with many more reasons to see where I am loved than where I need to show mercy toward the people I share day to day interactions with--and I am deeply grateful for that. I know I am loved. I know I am blessed.

I am grateful that after a storm there is the smell of rain. Rainbows appear before the puddles dry up. It has been a long time since my life felt like one long rainstorm. Last week, when I went in to St. Paul, MN and attended mass at the cathedral, I felt the love and mercy of God pouring down on me through the light flooding through the windows in the dome above as I walked up for communion. It was a strange feeling, because I spent the whole summer avoiding God and not going to mass. I wrote a blog post about how much I was hurt by my mom and a priest and sent it out for anyone to see. {Whether or not this makes me a bad person--I felt like one because it is so deeply ingrained in me that love covers up wrong doing and doesn't expose it. I know I have to fight that--but it takes some brass ones to point your finger at the church or a priest with a rebuke. Even now. Even after so much has been revealed.} When I went back to mass, I didn't feel like I had earned God's attention. I thought I would just slip through the crowd unnoticed like a middle child. Didn't happen. He greeted me like a prodigal.

The next day, my husband and I went to mass in Chippewa Falls at Notre Dame Parish where Monsignor Pierce held mass and said a homily about being open to when you are called to do things you don't feel you have to do or want to do--as perhaps Jesus did when he was asked by the Canaanite woman repeatedly to show mercy to her and hear her request for him to heal her daughter.

{Depiction of a Canaanite woman that once was part of a piece of furniture. Found at the Oriental Museum at the University of Chicago.}

Mons. Pierce spoke about the woman who wouldn't let Jesus alone until he heard her requests. I have felt for years like that person. Like, "Hey, I might be a dog in this scenario--but even the dogs get the crumbs that fall from the table. Please listen, Lord." I feel like Jesus heard me. Something lifted.

This makes me want to show more mercy when I am called to show mercy. I have been shown heaping amounts of mercy. I didn't cause the harm that I describe in earlier blog posts, but in repeating the stories there have been times (despite my good intentions--which are to get to a greater place of understanding and to stop feeling inappropriate shame about things I didn't choose) when I have allowed my pain to create pain in others. In my younger years, I felt entitled to act out in ways I look back on with shame. I don't want that.

The crossroads of mercy and justice and love seem like very dangerous intersections to me. I have been marching on the justice road for a long time. My upper body strength really developed from holding up so many protest signs over the years. My legs are thin from walking far. My feet hurt from traveling.

I'm ready for change. At the same time, I feel like making the turn toward love or mercy is frightening. It is going to require faith. When I think of the story of the prodigal child in the bible, I think of myself (I think of pride in the negative sense.) I have thought of myself as the one who didn't go off with all of the love and support and material possessions given to me and become an drug addict who steals from his family or lies and hits people and then acts like nothing happened. I wasn't the one who decided to manipulate others and use them selfishly for my own advancement as a way of life. I feel proud and a little vain because I had the courage to speak about what seemed unjust. Sure, I may have been set up as the fall guy to take the consequences of being the person who did that...but I had the courage no one else did. I wasn't completely unaware of the cost. I don't often identify with the sibling who demanded (and received) money to go and travel the world only to find himself hungry and envious of pigs but certain that he would be received by his parent with love and forgiveness nonetheless. I don't see myself as the parent who loves the child and wants to receive the child despite what has happened--what has been lost and what has been taken for granted. I kind of resented hearing that story growing up. It made me feel nauseated. I was never considered, "The good kid" in my family. {So that's not how I identified with the older sibling.} I identified with the older child's desire to see things be fair and to be appreciated. So who am I if not that person?

And in thinking through that and taking it to prayer in mass, I received a little nudge in response. I don't know why I didn't hear this news from God many years ago. Maybe I wasn't ready. Maybe I needed to keep holding up my protest signs a little longer. Maybe I'll never be ready to let those go...but I will keep trying and I know that he will keep giving me the courage to do that if I let him.

The message I received was that our families don't always give us what we want or need. God, in his mercy fills in those gaps. He gives us a new identity. I felt that when I was in mass last week on Friday and Saturday (bonus points for me for going twice in one week, right?)...that this was the message God wanted me to carry away and not just keep selfishly but to share with those who need it when I am called to show mercy myself.

For the first time ever, I even considered that I might be wrong in one way about the priest I have long believed to be so harmful to my family. I was exposed to some pretty unusual wickedness. That's certain. Still, he may not have been as strong or as powerful as I believed. I have to believe God is bigger and his love is stronger than the pain I experienced or I won't recover. I have to want to be healed so much that I trust God will take care of the injustice for me. That's not the kind of thing you can tell another person without creating resentment. It has to be something the person realizes God is trying to tell them. I feel like God was trying to tell me that.

I am not writing this blog to further expose or whine about all of the ways that I have been harmed or wronged in life. I am writing to find what God meant for me to learn through the experiences I have lived. That's what I believe he did for me in a quiet way. I'm not sure how I will be asked to show mercy, but I know that refusing will be more difficult after last week.

St. Bernard is quoted as saying, "The prophet does not exempt himself from the general wretchedness, lest he be left out of the mercy too."

I have tried this many times in my life--to leave the past behind. It's like I throw the laundry in and the detergent and take it to the dryer when it is time but forget to fold it and put it away before the wrinkles set in so deeply that I have to rewash. It isn't a one time effort. I have to stay focused on this and not let my attention wander. Maybe somebody I know has been praying for me--because I'm catching on. I'm grateful.

Scrabble

Growing up, Scrabble was a family favorite in my home. I learned a lot from my older siblings and other people who would play Scrabble with me. I remember a few games vividly. I remember learning things about people, like who was willing to cheat and who would never and how much I wanted to understand why.

So in the last few days, my oldest has become really hooked on Scrabble. We have been playing together over and over again. I can do laundry and put away dishes and cook between turns. We can laugh and be silly and try to use words in a sentence to figure out if they are real words. She is nine. She's a great little player. Better than a lot of people who played with me just because I asked when they didn't really didn't care to play.

I won't name names, but there are a few kinds of players who come to mind.

--The 'I won't bend any rules and we have to play with an official dictionary' player. (That's usually me, but I don't play that way with my daughter.)
--The 'I'll teach you some tricks I learned along the way,' player. (That's how I play with my daughter and it is humbling when she wants to play that way back to me...I have to let her help me. Not easy at first, but she is really good.)
--The 'I'm not someone you should turn your back on because I'm probably going to steal letters from the bag or hide them under my leg and slip them in to the bag later or onto the board when you are not looking,' types. (You don't know who they are until you play--but once you know who they are be wary of them in all avenues of life.)
--The 'I'm just passing time and don't believe this game is so hard but holy, crap, now I hate you for making me play this game that makes me feel stupid' players. (Again, hard to know who will be this player in advance, but once you know...do not go there with that person a second time. You will lose that friend.)
--The 'I'm going to wipe you off the floor when I am done with you' player. (Well, they are out there. I don't meet them too often, but they are out there and they aren't very nice people. I would just let them win and let them gloat and move on. That's me.)
--My favorite are the ones who can be described as, 'I am pretty sure we are an even match and I think this is going to be fun' players. I hope that's the kind of player I am raising in my daughter. So far, so good.

If I don't post again soon, it is probably because I am playing more Scrabble.

Nancy Lee DeMoss' current series on Joshua--thumbs up!

Our local Christian radio station has been broadcasting Nancy Lee De Moss' work on the book of Joshua (find at this link: https://www.reviveourhearts.com/ ). I used to listen to her when I lived in Chicago. I have been tuning in again recently.

This am, the message was titled, "Don't Fight the Battle Alone". Made me stop and think of how I have been keeping away from church because I am just so sick of all of the ways that people can be inauthentic in church. The radio program really addressed a lot of the roots of some of these behaviors. Trouble is that the people who need to hear or grow from lessons like this one rarely pay attention to exhortations like this--even when they are framed in the most positive and cheerful and loving ways.

Listening to church on the radio is probably not the best way to serve God--but I am grateful that there is this option. Just a little ironic--I love the radio program that exhorts the listener to not fight the battle alone--but I'm not in any way convinced that I myself need to go back to church where it feels like all of the great teaching you hear when you sit in the pews or in other churches--the plush stadium seats--rarely lines up with what you see in practice.

Over the weekend, I went to the Creighton University retreat center in Griswold, Iowa (near the Nebraska border). My husband was welcomed in to a community of Ignatian Associates. He has been in faith formation for two years in preparation for this past weekend. It was a lovely weekend. I was able to walk in nature where I saw a red-headed woodpecker. I saw fireflies at night with my kids--which was exciting to me because the firefly season is so short and ours was already over back home. Everything about the teaching and the masses really ministered to me. I enjoyed the conversations with people a lot and more than that--I saw how much my husband loved being part of a group that values him and wants to stand by him. We enjoyed s'mores and a bonfire and saw the kids making new friends with other kids whose parents have like minded values.

Since telling my husband when we were dating that I wouldn't marry a non-Christian because we would be unequally yoked and that would cause the marriage to fail...a message he responded to with the sentiment that, "That has to be the worst break up line ever. You're using GOD as a reason to break up with me? That has got to be the lowest thing a person can say." (A conversation that makes us laugh now.) I have seen my husband not only embrace his faith but also give of himself completely over and over again to people in churches. I have seen him devote time and energy that nobody said he has to devote. I have seen him go far beyond what the average person gives to his spiritual 'family'. I have also seen him get used, scoffed at, mocked and disrespected by people of faith and by people who think he is wasting his time because they do not believe in God and never saw him as a guy who would, either.

I have felt that I did him a disservice in asking him to consider seeking faith. I have asked him to stop giving to people who don't appreciate him. This past Spring, we learned that his dad has terminal cancer. My husband went to a priest who has worked closely with my husband on many projects and who knew what my husband put in to the community. The priest said, "I don't expect my parish to be there for bad news like that when it comes in--that's when I go to family and friends." He appeared to be saying, "Look, Charlie--this is a relationship where you give and that's it. You will have to find another place to have more equal or reciprocating relationships." Meanwhile, the pastor and friends from our church in Chicago reached out to Charlie with genuine concern and offers of prayer. They hadn't been in contact with Charlie for years--but the bond was the same as if we never left Chicago. Fortunately, Charlie does have a lot of family and friends who did make that time more bearable for him. They are the ones he is traveling on this journey with now.

The IA's do not appear to be unable to connect to people in the way that the people we were in a parish with for the past few years appear to be toward us. Charlie has found his place where people work to form intentional community. His faith is growing. He has grown tremendously over the past two years. It is ironic that when my faith is nearly out--my husband's is often a full blazing fire. I can't get through valleys like this one without him. At this point, I am spent when it comes to spiritual community. I'm really hoping God will help reignite the fire. I know you can't fight the battle alone. I am sad to send Charlie out without me at his side. I'm just empty. This frightens me because it sounds a lot like being, "unequally yoked".

Link to John O'Keefe documentary on the Congo

https://search.yahoo.com/search;_ylt=A0LEV0_9aOFTdDMALaVXNyoA;_ylc=X1MDMjc2NjY3OQRfcgMyBGJjawM4ZmVrazg1OXNscDBvJTI2YiUzRDQlMjZkJTNEYTdVWDJxbHBZRUp3T3NSZ1IuTnBrcTcxbnJKazNMWWM4VnBkOEEtLSUyNnMlM0RrOSUyNmklM0QyNjBINXZicHBYeGZkR1FQdFpregRmcgN5ZnAtdC0zMTYEZ3ByaWQDcjNhUXJBMEZUeDIxVVdBdW12UjJ2QQRtdGVzdGlkA1NXSU0lM0RTTUU1ODkEbl9yc2x0AzEwBG5fc3VnZwM0BG9yaWdpbgNzZWFyY2gueWFob28uY29tBHBvcwMwBHBxc3RyAwRwcXN0cmwDBHFzdHJsAzIyBHF1ZXJ5A2pvaG4gbydrZWVmZSB2aW1lby5jb20EdF9zdG1wAzE0MDcyODQ4MTI4NTAEdnRlc3RpZANTTUU1ODk-?gprid=r3aQrA0FTx21UWAumvR2vA&pvid=08W9ZDk4LjGHupRBU8rkGAMGNjYuMVPhaP3_2fuI&p=john+o%27keefe+vimeo.com&fr2=sb-top&fr=yfp-t-316

Unfortunately, I have not yet figured out how to copy a link in a less clunky way than this...but I wanted to share this link. I got to see it over the weekend. It is a film made by John O'Keefe at Creighton University. The subject of his film is his recent trip to the Congo where he documented the desperate need that people have who live there for clean water, medical care and food. War and extreme poverty have swept through and wiped out millions of people there in recent years.
Corporations that make parts for our cell phones negotiate with the corrupt government and take from the land while not returning anything to the people. I don't think anyone could watch this and not be moved by the subject matter. Still, it seems that the world has little awareness of its inability to see the suffering there.