Wrecked

Now and then I become wrecked all over again.  Sometimes it's a news headline.  Sometimes it's a memory.  Sometimes a conversation.  Sometimes a photo stumbled upon which makes the world stand still.  Today it's all of that, compiled and combined.  I'm collecting it all right up under my grieving nose.  Bringing it into a heap.  An ugly heap.  So I can get a good look at it.  

And my heart is being ripped to shreds all over again.  

With the strength of a great bird's talons
Or the persistent claws of a wild cat

And it turns out I can't actually bear it at all. 


Now and then the longing swells back up inside of me, telling me that I'm in the wrong place and that I need to go.  Go.  Lay myself in the dirt of that place, ANY place, and let it be my place.  Let the foreign words pass back and forth and settle into my mind, my heart, my soul.  Let the smells become part of me.  The sounds, smells, tastes, smother me in their new, fresh strangeness until they are my mine, until they are me. 

And my heart is being ripped to shreds all over again.
And I can't bear it. 


Now and then I'm faced with my smallness.  My utter uselessness.  My pointless existence.  Listen to me, I have something to say.  But it turns out all of my ideas have been spun out by better minds.  Ironed flat and given a bow.  Someone else is doing it all.  And I'm here with my longing, my ugly heap, my churned up insides, my green grass and fridge full of food...and I think I'll just be sick.  

And my heart is being shredded in this beautiful place.  Bits flying about.  Will it mend?
I don't know but I'm sure I can't bear it.

Groaning

All the pain
I'm trying to hold it
But everything is so broken 
The pieces keep slipping through the cracks in my fingers.

They fall and shatter
more fragments
more broken bits
because I dropped them
they slipped.

The pain of my people, my streets, my world
And all of my own small bit of pain
All the broken pieces filling up my hands, my head
They're sharp little pieces
Hard to hold

And I can't see anymore.
Where was I going?

"You're a good, good God", we sing.
I slink down in my pew.  
I can't make the words make sense. 
But I need them to be true 
But the pain is too heavy.  
I'm pinned under it.  
And I want to stay here 
Because the freedom I preach of is eluding me.  
I can't see it.
I don't feel it.  
It's not mine.

Hey, God.  Have you seen this place? It's a trumped up mess.
God on your thrown.
I'd like to point that scepter at a thing or two.
Pick up that mighty lightning bolt and take aim.  

Example?  Just one... Aleppo.
I can't even look anymore at Aleppo.
Is that wrong?  
I can't watch them cower, get blown up.  
Starve.  
I can't look.  I'm covering my eyes. Shielding my heart. 
But how dare I?  
My God, 
ALEPPO.

Millions of shards.  Poking me, cutting me.  Sharp cuts festering into wounds and deep aches and impossible weight.  
I groan under the weight of it. 
And I can't get up.  
I can't look.
I can't.
   

"For while we are in this tent, we groan and are burdened, because we do not wish to be unclothed but to be clothed instead with our heavenly dwelling, so that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life."  2 Corinthians 5:4

There's a girl who spins flips and cartwheels across my mind. 

It's the last pass across the floor in her routine 
and she's giving it her all.  

The feat seems impossible, but her body is trained for this.  

All of what's inside, erupting out in power, strength, freedom, abandon.  

When everything is tight and pressed down, everything holding her down like a spider's victim. 

Then, there she goes.  

As she flies she is free.  
She is wild.  
She is agony and peace.  
Confusion shaken out and drained. 
Oppression confronted and discarded, spinning off her with her sweat.  
She is strange.  
She is beautiful.  

As she lands it with precision she knows it won't be her last pass. Because the twisting inside won't stop.  She wants to go on until she snaps.  Until her control is spun out and what's wild remains.   

There's a girl who spins flips and cartwheels across my mind.

My White Privilege Disorder

So, here's the thing.  I am confronted, yet again, with my own naivety.  I live in a bubble of white privilege- because I can.  My brown-skinned kids only buy me so much street cred in the diversity department.  You see, my disorder, let's call it WPD (White Privilege Disorder), is that I continuously fancify that I live in a world different from the one it turns out I actually occupy.  

I'm wondering:

How many times do I have to travel to a third world country to believe people really are starving over there...oh, and dying of all kinds of preventable diseases like TB, AIDS and diarrhia? 

How many times do I have to listen to the back story of an addict to accept that it's legit not their fault and I don't get to judge them?

How many times do I have to be cat-called or grabbed (starting at age 10) to admit that sexism and objectification of women is a thing.. a real, sick thing?

How many times does my (black) son have to be stopped by cops walking home from school before I believe in racial profiling?
  
What's wrong with me that I get to walk out of these situations, these conversations, these heartbreak images, and pop myself back into safety.
What the hell, Woman of Privilege?!
I guess it's cause I get to.  
I think it's self preservation.  
It's not wanting to be on edge, on defense all the time.  
It's wanting to believe the best (cause that requires less of me).
It's denial.

Well, enough.  Two days ago our country elected a racist, sexist, narcissist for our next president.  We fully knew he was all of these things, and more, and yet we voted him in anyway.  So my bubble just popped...again...and I face reality again.  Turns out it's never gonna be time for denial, self preservation, getting off of defense. It's always gonna be time to fight.  And even if I'm tired, I'm not half as tired as my friends, my family, my fellow humans who walk around in their minority skin, their marginalized identities, their shltty circumstances.  So, for them, I'm gonna fight.  Not sure exactly how yet...but I think it starts with keeping a pin with me so that I can continuously pop that damn bubble.  

Dear fellow Christian who supports Donald Trump

Dear fellow Christian who supports Donald Trump,

You are destroying our witness for Christ.

And here's why: Jesus told us to preach the gospel. Gospel means "good news". The true gospel is good news to all people. But your Trumped up gospel is bad news. It's bad news for women. It's bad news for black people, Hispanic people, Mexican people, refugees, people with disabilities, LGBT people, and the list just goes on.

I think what you are forgetting is that Jesus cares about people. He spent his time on earth healing, restoring, blessing and serving people regardless of where they came from or what gender they were. He was (and is) a progressive thinker who spoke to women when it was taboo, ate with "sinners" when it was forbidden and healed people when it was against the law.  Jesus was all about people. 
All people.

What has happened? Did you loose sight of people when you feared so much that gay people might be able to get married? Or when transgender people might get to use the bathroom of their choice? Did you forget about people when you feared that Roe V. Wade might not be overturned after all? What else do you fear? The loss of your security? The loss of your rights? Can you look past your fear into the eyes of people? The people that Jesus loves?

Let me tell you what I fear. I fear that you care more about the unborn than the person in front of you who may never know Christ because of you. I fear you care more about marriage "sanctity" than about the person in a loving, committed relationship who wants to make their commitment legal. Because of your fight against them, they may never soften to hear how Jesus loves them and wants to take away their shame. I fear your words and your actions are so opposed to the redeeming words of Christ that the thousands of people who need to hear them never will.

Because of your fear they will never know Christ's love.

My fellow Christian, I have to apologize to my atheist friends because of you.  I have to explain to them that Jesus isn't like this...this Trump-ness.

So I'm wondering, do you want to be a witness for Christ on earth so the people in the world will know him? I do! So, let's simply do what Jesus taught us to do. Start loving our neighbor. Gay or straight. Legal American or illegal immigrant. Addict or sober. Christian or Muslim or any faith. Let's start standing up for the rights of people whose identity is mocked and whose rights are abused. Let's show all marginalized people love over shame.

Do you care about the unborn? Good! Me too! Advocate for teen mom counseling. Fight to make adoption the norm. Teach healthy sexual activity to young people. 

Jesus did not come in political power like the Jews of the day expected the Messiah to come. He came humbly and showed us how to love people in the midst of whatever was happening politically. He showed us how to love people radically. He showed us so that we would go and do likewise. How are we doing?

This is my command: Love each other. John 15:17

The apology Donald Trump should have made... But didn't.

American People,
There is so much that I need to say right now to make amends and to reconcile.  My comments and attitudes toward women which were showcased by the tape released on 10/7 are inexcusable. 

To the women of America, I say this: I am sorry. In fact, "sorry" isn't enough. I have thought of you and treated you as objects but worse than that I have considered you my playthings. I have believed you existed only to serve me. I have used you repeatedly to stroke my ego and to feed my self absorption. I have repeatedly attempted to dominate you sexually as a way to elevate myself over you. I have consistently demeaned you as a way to exercise and demonstrate my false superiority. I have robbed you of your dignity and attempted to sabotage your self worth as individuals and as an entire gender.  My attitudes, behaviors, thoughts and words towards females have been infused with sexism and mysoginy. Because of my hurtful, demeaning, degrading and immoral, words, I AM SORRY. You should never be subject to this type of treatment. You deserve better in a president.

To men I say this: I am sorry. I have devalued your wives, your mothers, your daughters, your granddaughters, your aunts, your sisters, your nieces, your friends.  Because of me, women will trust you less.  I have modeled a man that you are ashamed to show your sons and from whom you need to protect your daughters. I have given you a despicable role model to follow. I am sorry. You deserve better in a president.

I know that an apology must be more than words.  It must be followed up with actual change in behavior. I hope that over time you will see how I have changed from the person you heard speaking on those tapes into a person deserving of your trust and the office of the White House. Time will tell. I hope that I will have that time. Please forgive me.

Omitted from this apology is:

The suggestion that your expectation of me is unrealistic, "I'm not a perfect person".
Allowance of my behavior because the incident was "more than a decade old".

Lots of stuff saying how great I am after all: "I've spent time with grieving mothers who've lost their children...etc, etc,"

A self inflated claim that "I will never, ever let you down".
Lessening the gravity of my crime by stating that it is "nothing more than a distraction".

Taking the heat off of me by claiming that other people's offenses are worse than mine: "Bill Clinton has actually abused women, and Hillary has bullied, attacked, shamed and intimidated his victims."

Here is Trump's actual apology transcript

Trump words VS. Jesus words

I created a little comparison chart today to see if I could spot any similarities in the words and/or thinking of Donald Trump and Jesus Christ on some issues that matter a lot to me.

What do you think?

Trump words VS. Jesus words

Trump on Immigration: "I will build a great wall -- and nobody builds walls better than me, believe me --and I'll build them very inexpensively. I will build a great, great wall on our southern border, and I will make Mexico pay for that wall. Mark my words."	Jesus on Immigration: “For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’ ... 'Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.' “
Trump re women: "You know, it doesn't really matter what they write as long as you've got a young and beautiful piece of ass." Also: “Nobody cares about the talent [in beauty pageants]. There’s only one talent you care about, and that’s the look talent. You don’t give a shit if a girl can play a violin like the greatest violinist in the world. You want to know what does she look like.” Also: “She’s really cute, I have to tell you, she’s really bouncy, really cute, She’s about 5-foot-1. Do you like girls that are 5-foot-1? They come up to you know where.” Also: “I’d like to take some money out of her fatass pockets.”	Jesus re women: “Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all of them; for all of them have contributed out of their abundance, but she out of her poverty has put in all she had to live on.” Also: “Leave her alone,” said Jesus. “Why are you bothering her? She has done a beautiful thing to me. ...She did what she could. She poured perfume on my body beforehand to prepare for my burial.  Truly I tell you, wherever the gospel is preached throughout the world, what she has done will also be told, in memory of her.” Also: “Let any one of you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her.” Again he stooped down and wrote on the ground….“Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?” “No one, sir,” she said. “Then neither do I condemn you,” Jesus declared.
Trump re taxes: When accused of not paying taxes ever, he replied, “that makes me smart.”	Jesus re taxes: “Then Jesus said to them, “Give back to Caesar what is Caesar’s and to God what is God’s.”
Trump re humility: "I think apologizing's a great thing, but you have to be wrong. I will absolutely apologize, sometime in the hopefully distant future, if I'm ever wrong." Also: “Every successful person has a very large ego.” Every successful person? Mother Teresa? Jesus Christ? “Far greater egos than you will ever understand.” Also: “I think Viagra is wonderful if you need it, if you have medical issues, if you’ve had surgery. I’ve just never needed it. Frankly, I wouldn’t mind if there were an anti-Viagra, something with the opposite effect. I’m not bragging. I’m just lucky. I don’t need it. I’ve always said, “If you need Viagra, you’re probably with the wrong girl.”	Jesus re humility: “You know that the rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them, and their high officials exercise authority over them. Not so with you. Instead, whoever wants to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wants to be first must be your slave—  just as the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.” Also: Then He poured water into the basin, and began to wash the disciples' feet and to wipe them with the towel with which He was girded. Also: "Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.
Trump re wealth: “Part of the beauty of me is that I am very rich.” Also: "I have a lot of money -- much more money than all of them put together, and all of their phony contributions put together -- but you have to understand, I want to be me,"	Jesus re wealth: “Take care! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; for one’s life does not consist in the abundance of possessions.” Also: Again I tell you, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God."

"real mom"

When the child I've raised for seven years says, "you're not my real mom" it makes me wonder what a "real mom" is. Maybe it's something other than I know how to do. Maybe being a "real mom" truly is DNA. Maybe it really is about sharing nappy hair and brown skin. Maybe it's true that I can't do it.

When the next sentence comes out though, and she says, "And I'm not your real daughter" I stop my questioning. With this one statement she uncovers what she's tried so hard to hide. She is so fragile. She doesn't know that real daughter is exactly who she is to me. Is exactly how I see her. Is exactly who she is. Nothing she could do could undo that truth. No amount of sass and back talk. No amount of hiding. Not that she comes from Africa. Not that I have a biological daughter as well.  Not that she has a biological mom who can't care for her. None of this makes her less my daughter.

Sometimes we need to hear love proclaimed out loud. And so I do. I tell her who she is. And all the beautiful, true words bring tears. We are a mess. Both of us. Real mom and real daughter.

White Mama

On July 6th, my teenage, African-American son said to his younger brother and sister,

“Police kill black people.”

And these are the stupid, white-mama words that I said.  

“That’s not true.”  

“Don’t teach your brother to be afraid.”

“Don’t contribute to prejudice by stereotyping all police officers.”

Then I went home and saw the news reports and learned that in fact,

it is true,

he and his little brother have every right to be afraid,

and that this stereotyping is founded in reality.  

I wanted to drive back along the route that we had just driven as I soap boxed through issues of prejudice and racism as if I knew a damn thing and find the words that flew from my mouth to his ears, to his heart, and catch them.  Catch them, erase them, swallow them back up, unsay them.  Those devastating, you don’t get it words.  

I don’t get it.  I won’t get it.  I can’t get it.  

Because this thinking, this systemic racism that he lives with and encounters daily but I can only hear about and read about, is foreign to me.  I don’t get it.  I don’t want to believe it is real.  It shocks me and baffles me every time and I sit and say, “surely, not” and “it can’t be”.  I sit in my naive bubble of white privilege and pretend that it does not exist.  Sitting here in my skin, I have that luxury.  I know quite literally nothing about what it is to be a young black man yet I am charged with raising one and clearly, I don’t know what I’m doing.  I am a naive little white woman skipping around in my pretty privilege.  It’s almost a joke that this is my job- to raise this boy.  And he knows it.  

After the stupid words flew out of my mouth, he had to get away from me.  Of course he did.  I fumbled out the false and impossible words of, “I understand” and then I stupidly said, “...but...” and he graciously replied, “ok”.  He practiced restraint in his response to me.  Just like he knows he has to do and will always have to do to protect himself and to stay alive.  Such control.  He has already learned such control.  Tragically, he gets to practice with me.