Choose joy. Do you really think so?

Henry Nouwen said:

Joy is what makes life worth living, but for many joy seems hard to find.

They complain that their lives are sorrowful and depressing. What then brings the joy we so much desire? Are some people just lucky, while others have run out of luck?

Strange as it may sound, we can choose joy. Two people can be part of the same event, but one may choose to live it quite differently than the other. One may choose to trust that what happened, painful as it may be, holds a promise. The other may choose despair and be destroyed by it.

What makes us human is precisely this freedom of choice.

I DISAGREE. I COULD NOT DISAGREE MORE. How dare he? I did not choose to have major depression, it seems to have chosen me. But I know I have to choose to fight it like it is an enemy that wants me dead. Yes, I have something inside me that surfaces from time to time. I feel powerless against it but I have learned that I am not without choices.

I did not choose to be an addict – though in recovery – I have to accept the fact that I can’t drink. Not ever again. The very fact that it still bothers me and I feel sad about the loss, well that reminds me that I’m an addict if I had any doubt. There was a time when I thought I couldn’t live without alcohol. Now I know that I can. I choose to be a recovering alcoholic.

But I have not found joy. I am not choosing joy. I am choosing life. I am happy. I feel a certain level of contentment. But I am restless. I do not feel joy. At least not yet. Perhaps I am failing to CHOOSE IT.

Choose joy – okay – I suppose on a certain level I have to agree just like … I choose LIFE. I choose not to smoke which is slow suicide. I choose not to drink which was a death sentence. I choose to get up, even when I want to sleep forever. I still have those mornings. And I choose to create, and love and … I choose to think that what I do matters even when the ‘voices in my head’ tell me it is all worthless. And it wouldn’t matter if I stopped. Stopped thinking. Stopped writing. Stopped shooting. Stopped.

Some days it is still just choosing to breathe.

That little girl above – a chubby toddler gazing out of that airplane door — innocent, curious, tentative, that’s me too. She had no idea how hard it would be to choose.

Some other things I have written on the topics above.
Eulogy to Life,
Winter Comes,
Splintered Truth,
This Epic Grief,
No Dignity,
I Need a Filling,
Addict.

Why a blog?

Friends (new and old),

A writer is dear and necessary for us only in the measure of which she reveals to us the inner workings of her very soul.

~ Tolstoy (pronouns changed)

I am inspired by Tolstoy’s regard for the role of a writer and the implication that confession is crucial to our impact. I have been writing all my life, mostly for myself and at times for teachers or others.  But as an adult, I found poetry to be an incredible outlet.  I have most of my poetry here.

My writing at times errs on the side of being very honest and open.  But I can also promise I offer up my soul.  Writing is renewing and life-giving to me.  And sometimes I simply become so exercised that I can do nothing else but put pen to paper.  It’s unpredictable and often surprises me!  Although a good process for me, but I always have a wider audience in mind that might be challenged, prodded and poked.

This is my journey but you are invited along! If it becomes somehow rewarding to you, by making you think differently or challenging ideas or a simple ‘huh’, then I will be more than content.

A old friend from when I was in high school wrote  to say that she had just spent an hour reading here, chronologically back to the elections.  That’s so cool!  Thank you for the time you take to read my words.  It’s such an honor and pleasure.  Thank you for telling me if you are moved.  Comments, however infrequent, are cherished.

Be well,

Melody

Leo Nikolaevich Tolstoy was a Russian moral thinker, novelist and philosopher, notable for his influence on Russian literature and politics. (He lived from 1828-1910.)

P.S. I speak recklessly at times.  I don’t  usually regret it, for I think too many people limit themselves from expressing the truth.  I’m not saying they lie, just don’t open up to everything they could.  I want to move people and I don’t think I can do that without total honesty.  I have spent too many years constraining my thoughts and being controlled by my dictatorial father. If I err on the side of too much truth, that’s why.  But I have hurt others with my words over the years and this is wrong.  I hope to dance on the wire of that difficult balancing act.

I needed [too late]

FATHERS

I needed a father who would love me for who I am, not who I might become.

I needed to be able to express my thoughts; to actually have opinions, and not feel I was being held captive,

imprisoned by your ideas being right.

I needed a father who would not yell at me.  At my sisters. At my mom.  All I can remember is that noise.

I needed you and what you gave was distance, scowls — a cloud of disappointment.  All the time, you were so angry. Will I ever know why?

MOTHERS

I needed a mother who didn’t push people away; who wasn’t always afraid. Of him. Of me. Of living. Of her life.

I had a Mother who was dangerously sad;  We all knew it. Because of it, I was always afraid. Always tired. Scared of life.  If she couldn’t manage, how could I?  She’s still afraid, but at least, I know why.

PARENTS

I needed parents who knew how to laugh at themselves. I am slowly unlearning that legacy.  Able to poke fun at myself. It is so simple. So satisfyingly good to gaze at my imperfections, and know its perfectly okay.

I needed a father who came home and wanted to be there; who gave hugs that didn’t feel WRONG, because they didn’t jive with constant anger. Hot cold. Hot cold. The sting of speculation.  If only you wouldn’t feel ‘rejected’ and understood that your deeds didn’t match your words.

I needed someone to watch me grow, with joy.

I needed you to remember me, daily.Not every day but often enough to not let me get lost in books and fantasy, in forgetting. In weary striving for what’s unattainable, impossible.

I needed you to help me on the trip of life.  I kept falling down, over and over, stumbling, until I thought I couldn’t do anything right. Plunging into failure and living up to your disappointment with your life.

I needed a mother who would remember my birthday.

I needed a father who didn’t make me cry.

I needed.  I needed so much, and when I allow myself to imagine how much I needed you,

my heart feels full of gravel;

insides closing in;

my heart bursting with confusion, anguish;

my heart full of your unthinkable, backbreaking life.

It is something that I can’t put my full mind to, yet. Perhaps because I don’t want to discover that I needed, and it is too late.  Too late for what I needed. Too late.

Too
late
for
need.

10/06/08 MHH

I’m 42 today and considering my life

Originally uploaded by M e l o d y

I am 42 today and considering my life.   I was born in the highlands of Papua New Guinea on this day in 1966. I am the 2nd daughter of missionary parents. I spent the first eight years of my life there in PNG. It was a wonderful beginning. The middle was kind of rough, but it is improving every day!  Perhaps it is kind of silly to ask “Who am I?” at my age, but today this is what I did.

– Melody

I AM

• I am a step-mother and a mother, hopelessly lost some days because I wasn’t parented that well. I have no Compass.
• I soak up ideas and solutions from others, mostly my friends, my sisters, because I am afraid I will “mess up” my children. (Yes, the way I was messed up.)
• I am fearful and insecure; in my core believing that I am a screw-up, a loser, a horrible friend, and an even worse mother. The voices in my head say I am the worst in-law, daughter, sister or friend anyone could want (except I don’t nag or bother, rather the other end of the spectrum. I simply act like others aren’t there.)
• I am an alcoholic and a child of an alcoholic and this affects every single thought and decision that I make.
• I am a writer, a thinker, a philosopher.
• I make things like photographs, and gardens, and poems, and that makes me happy.  I love to share these things with others.
• I am spiritual, preferring old thoughts and music to anything contemporary or new.  I am not religious, or even very faithful. But I do believe in Jesus. And I try very hard! Perhaps that is my problem …. I try. I don’t understand Grace, not really.  So on those days when my unbelief overwhelms, I entertain thoughts that can be desperate and decidedly unfaithful.
• I do not let go …. I want and I need to be in control at all times, about everything, in every way. When I am not, I feel I have failed.  Losing control personally, emotionally, mentally is one of my worst crimes.  Don’t get me wrong, I know I am not all bad.
• I am thoughtful. I am usually open and honest with others, when asked.
• I take risks and try new things.
• I love competition! Sports (watching), playing certain games, setting personal goals. But I’m afraid I get too into it, and at times it’s not so pretty.
• A long time ago, when I worked full-time, I was a visionary, a pioneer, a competent person, a leader. I was loyal and capable. I accomplished a lot.  Surely, I am still those things.
• I embrace and actually love cultures other than my own, soaking up the ideas, art, food, and music through books, travel and most of all friendship with those who are unlike me.
• I usually help others as I see their needs.
• I cook well, even better than well. I am a great cook.  My family & friends are well fed.
• I organize & prioritize my children’s lives well, putting their needs first,  advocating and challenging others about my children’s needs.
• I encourage others.  (At least when I am not selfishly thinking about myself.)
• I want some day to know myself well enough that I can speak out, act, embrace, find and give all that live has to offer!  I want some day to be able to laugh, and cry, and feel the spectrum of emotions found on that damn feeling wheel!

What might you not know about me?

I’m addicted to coffee. Seriously it’s a physical and psychological thing and if I don’t have it, I might just come unhinged.  Of course being an alcoholic, I don’t drink.  But I do smoke and I know it’s a slow form of suicide. I don’t do it lightly (almost every cigarette comes with lucid acknowledgment of the consequence.) but I definitely cannot quit at this time.  I love to exercise and eat well, but I don’t (usually.)  I play music every day; all kinds and it is life-giving.  I am diagnosed with major depressive disorder, which means in layman’s terms:  I have a propensity for melancholia and if I don’t manage it, it will come back. At its worst this type of depression is like drowning in your worst nightmare, a stinking, dark hellish place to reside. Where truth becomes lies, and lies truth. You are incapable of doing, feeling, thinking, reading, sometimes even breathing.  Thankfully I’ve been depression-free for almost two years.  [I may regret saying this, but you have an open invitation to ask me if I am exercising & eating,because these are the first disciplines to go. Also, if you haven’t seen me in a while, it can be a bad sign because I begin to isolate.]

Depression, alcoholism, insecurity, damage, they are not my complete story, my story is just starting.

I believe God brought into my life the perfect person for me; he loves me by asking hard questions, telling me the truth about myself which usually means “good stuff” but sometimes even hard truths. He encourages my passions and interests, supports them as well, which is no small thing in this financial climate.  He is a warrior on my behalf and I love him more than I have shown him or will ever be capable of showing.

People have described me as aloof and private, which I am but mostly because I am shy and those demons of insecurity are playing out in my head more often than I would like to admit.

I am creative, intuitive, capable, kind, thoughtful, deep, at times extremely selfish & critical of others, but mostly about my ideas and my time.

My critical spirit, my insecurities, can and do hurt those I love and it is one of my deepest regrets; an Achilles heal.

I am passionate and always reading & thinking about things that are important to me, but I often fail at finishing and carrying them out. Books lay around unread, photographs unprinted, my book of poetry sits unfinished, and commitments become a burden, as I selfishly move on to something new.

I need community, long for it, work to develop it, but most times I fall short through my own weaknesses and broken heart.  You can be confident that I want to know you, be in your life, especially if I have told you, but my stupid S**T keeps me entangled at times.

All in all, I would say I am a good person.

As I learn what it means to be a child of an alcoholic I can acknowledge that I am still growing up, even at 42; still learning and discovering who I am and how I want to live.  I am slowing waking up – from a life-draining, sad, lonely, scared and cold childhood.  All in all, I am blessed beyond belief – with great love, friendship, abundance, talents and so much more.  I acknowledge that, even while I ache with the painful knowledge that I cannot fully embrace my life – yet – due to all of the above.  The most important thing people may not know about me is that HOPE is the central thing of importance in my life.  If I have even a tiny inkling of hope – a belief, a dream or something to hope for, I can put all of this aside. (Okay, not totally of course.)

Although this list isn’t complete, (how could a perfectionist “complete” a list) it is all true, as I know myself, today on my forty-second birthday, 2008.  Thanks for being a friend, getting involved in my messy life. Keep hanging in there, because I believe it’s on an upward curve and I am hopeful about the future.  It is simply a record of my thoughts, and perhaps will give you a glimpse at the ME I let very few in to see. You do not, should not, feel an obligation to reply.

September 24, 2008

Melody Hanson

The Sky is Falling!! (part 1)

This is the best summary I have seen on the state of the current financial crisis, which I read online in Scientific Monthly.  Succinct with ways to fix things.

But before reading that article, consider this poem by Kipling. I loved it when I first read it.

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream — and not make dreams your master;
If you can think — and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same:.
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build’em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
And never breathe a word about your loss:
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on!”

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings — nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And which is more; you’ll be a Man, my son!

Rudyard Kipling

1865-1936, written in 1895

John McCain’s Temper

I just don’t quite know what to say.  I think John McCain is going Cuckoo.  Don’t get me wrong, I was a John McCain fan, back when he was truly independent, truly a maverick.  I have to admit I was crazy for the guy.  He really had me.  I was so seriously in love with John McCain, I even have a MCCAIN t-shirt and considering the options at the time I confess that I would have voted for him (though I almost can’t admit it now).  But I feel he has ’sold his soul to the devil’ in order to become the Republican candidate for president.  He is not the man he once was.  I’m not quite sure what has happened.  It can’t be as simple as a lust for power, but it is really distressing.  I’m not writing a treatise here on John McCain, just passing this YouTube video on.  He has done some really productive things for our country as a US Senator.  But growing up with a father who had rage issues, I must admit this video scares the hell out of me.

I know what rage looks like, feels like, sounds like, smells like.  It isn’t pretty.

I hope you’ll watch this video, it will take you less than five minutes, on John Mccain’s temper.

Suicide – A last goodbye.

Suicide, for most inconceivable.
A gruesome choice.
A last resort.
It’s not a cry for help.
By then, it is too late.

This is dedicated to my friend and colleague, Dave Foster who took his life last Tuesday, at 4:00 am. I worked with him for several years at InterVarsity. I loved & admired him. He was an innovative, interesting, delightful person. He was a real professional. Imperfect, as we all are. Rough around the edges. He loved his family so much and I always sensed a desire to protect and provide.

I can not imagine the grief that his widow and three children are feeling. It seemed to happen completely out of the blue and everyone is seeking answers.

What was the cause of this unimaginable act? We will likely never have the answers to this sad mystery.

Good bye Dave. At last you have found peace for your restless soul.

Dreaming in Color

Am I comfortably settled or am I stuck?  When was the last time I dreamt in full color?  Of things long forgotten  –  Of pulse pounding, scary, risky things?   Am I fully awake?   I used to love the smells, sights, and sounds of Different. Am I sure that this life right in front of me is the one I was meant to live?  I am blown by forces stronger than myself.  I am carried on the wind into a future I cannot not smell, or see or hear.

I woke up and my dreams today is are so good. I am frantic to see it, to record it and to somehow divine the world Out There.

It may become too unsettling, upsetting, and disjointed for a family to endure.  It may be selfish.  It may ignore the good places in my life  that I have forged with utilitarian sacrifice; sweat and tears given willingly yet with a price.  My past, my here – and – now is settled, sometimes stuck, but known and understood.  Am I fully alive, if I can not manage to live my Dreams alongside the steady pulse of Love that fills my life every day? Surrounding me. It protects me.  And covers me, and I lose myself.

I can breathe, so I must be alive, but I feel stifled by the collision of my Dreams and every day realities.  I am alive, but I grow cautious and ever more afraid like dreaming is dangerous.  Am I more afraid — to fly — or to fail? Am – I- settled- or- am- I- stuck?  Am I fully alive?

I breathe therefore I Am. But what then?

August 25, 2008

This is a poem about being female, and 41 and a mother. Having left my career for years of motherhood, I was still dreaming of things that I could only imagine. I fear my dreams and yet hope for, wish for and want to have it all.

Reaching

Daddy, I reach up with my whole heart and gaze at you,
eyes widened, eager; wishing for your arm hanging there happenstance.
I am filled with hope and I itch
for you to hold my hand.
I linger, waiting, with another glance up at you.
Will you look down, will you grab my hand
a sudden tenderness?

Or will life pull you on toward the rush that ‘doing’ brings?

I planted a Cherry tree in memory of my father. He died five years ago May 19th. This is the first year I’ve gotten a few blooms, because I don’t prune it correctly.  I was always emotionally “reaching” for something from my dad, that infrequently came, whether it was holding my hand or just unscheduled time.

June 4, 2008

Phantom Love

You can’t just say you love me. Love isn’t words.
Love is time — spent over the span of a life.
Words are a phantom love.

I can’t mend your hurting heart.
I don’t even know why I should try.
Empty, adrift. You are searching for something.
Crying out, and I hear you.
But I cannot help.

You can’t just say I’m sorry.

Love is known through a lifetime of being, searching, knowing.
Love is acceptance. Endurance. Forgiveness.
Each of these is evident — if you love.

What is it that I am to you?
Do you feel you cannot provide for me the things I crave?
I am fully aware and accepting, that I am the woman you both shaped over time.
Strong. Capable. Faithful.
Afraid. Careful. Wounded.

You don’t have to heal me, that task is all mine.
All you have to do is BE,
with me,
in my life.

You can’t just say you love me – show me, you don’t regret, that I am.

Show me.
Just be.
With me.

 

 

(May 21, 2008)

Life Long Yearning

The galactic hole in my heart makes me tired

of holding all the pieces together. Tired of doubting.

Tired of needing.Wishing.Hurting.

Crying out in all the ways that speak of your neglect.

All my life, Daddy, learning  from you that I am incomplete.

So I gorge on all the things that don’t fill that galactic hole.

Wishing for love that never came.

All my life, yearning for it to stop.

I will not billow in space without an anchor.

I want more. I need more.

I wish.

I hurt and long and cry for love and find it.

At the cross.  In peace I lay down a life long of yearning. I am home.

The Sky is Falling (part 2)

—> I posted this last year, October, and interestingly it is still relevant. The Sky is Falling (Part 1) is here. <—

 

Did you know around the world

some 26,500 children

die DAILY?  This is equivalent to:

• 1 child every 3 seconds.

• Almost 10 million children dying every year.

• An Iraq-scale death toll every 15–36 days.

• 18 children dying every minute.

• A 2004 Asian Tsunami occurring every week

(Statistics from: http://www.globalissues.org)

It is a difficult battle to face down the fears of today.

What am I afraid of ?  For starters, I am afraid for the state of the world’s economy.  I mean, financial security (something that I thought was a given and that I have absolutely taken for granted) is all but disappearing.  Yes, I am afraid.   It feels like our country is being run into the ground.

Ironically though, really what I’m afraid for is the state of my America — my middle class, or upper middle-class life is feeling shaky.

Did you know America’s poverty rate was almost 13% of our total population last year? That was the fourth consecutive annual increase, the Census Bureau says.

Last year, there were 37 million people living in poverty in the UNITED STATES.

That’s more than one in ten citizens living below the poverty line, and the gap between the haves and have-nots is widening.

I am a “have” — and yet I’m scared?  It makes me wonder what kind of fear and stress others live with daily.

Perhaps as a result of all of the reality shows on television which do nothing to project “reality” but something surreal and unbelievable.  My children are often asking “Are we rich?”  Ah, a good question and difficult to answer.  But if I compare myself, our life, to most of the world we are rich.  As my son says:  we’re definitely thousannaires. (I’m fairly sure he’s coined this phrase.)

And although I am afraid; Even as my mind runs to ‘what ifs’ it is good to remember to reflect on these facts.  Though winter is coming:

• I have heat and a roof over my head.
• I can feed my children three meals a day, more if I want.
• We have two cars,
• and clothes,
• and clean water,
• and health care,
• school,
• and our health,
• currently, we can pay our bills.

I am blessed.

There are many places in our community where others are in need and you and I can help.  Donate clothing or money, or time or food to homeless shelter or a local food pantry.  These are just a few ideas.

Remember to be grateful and not focus on fear.  I want to give out of my abundance, because no matter how much I lost in the stock market recently, or may in the future, or how much the prices of gas and food are skyrocketing, I have much, much more than so many in our community and around the world.

Updates from an Oct 2008 post.

And a few articles to read regarding the US Economy.

1) An interesting article with a little hope about the economy, written by John Maudlin, investment specialist and author of many best selling books.

2)  On another note, I just read this interesting article about a woman, Brooksley Born, head of the Commodity Futures Trading Commission ,who was warning against this current financial crisis ten years ago, titled: The Woman Who Could Have Prevented This Financial Mess Was Silenced by Greenspan, Rubin and Summers.

Albert Einstein

I like Albert Einstein.  Of course he was brilliant and quirky, with that crazy hair! But did you know he was a person of faith.  I love that he thought for himself (well duh, with relativity and all.)  But he had a real contempt for authority.  Question everything – I love that!!

But I especially liked learning that he was slow to develop verbally.  Our youngest was as well. And Einstein thought that his verbal challenges allowed him “… to observe with wonder the everyday phenomena that others took for granted.”

Jacob’s language challenge has been something I have known about, and worked to get help for, since he was eighteen months old (I will write about that some day).  But I am inspired and filled with hope for my son, learned to speak slowly and who by everyone’s estimation is delayed academically.  It all stems from some things doctors have recently identified.  Perhaps Jacob will also learn to see the world differently as he makes his way in it.

There is no limit to life, when your imagination and mind are vivid and developing.

This gives me hope.

As a child Einstein “was so fervent about his beliefs that on his own he composed  hymns, which he sang to himself as he walked home from school.”  Lovely!  We like to compose music in our household!  (My kids have a band Squirrel Ticks.  Have you heard them?  I should post a few songs here.)

At age 12, just as he would have been readying for his Bar Mitzvah, Einstein suddenly gave up Judaism which he had practiced on his own up to then as his parents rejected the Jewish traditions. As he later put it,

“The religious inclination lies in the dim consciousness that dwells in humans that all nature, including the humans in it, is in no way an accidental game, but a work of lawfulness, that there is a fundamental cause of all existence.”

Einstein did retain from his childhood religious experiences a profound faith in, and reverence for the harmony and beauty of the mind of God expressed in the creation of the universe. In his 50s, Einstein rethought his faith, as he did many times over his lifetime, based on what he called the “spirit manifest in the laws of the universe” and a sincere belief in a “God who reveals Himself in the harmony of all that exists.”

Do you believe in God he was asked?

“I’m not an atheist. I don’t think I can call myself a pantheist. The problem involved is too vast for our limited minds. We are in the position of a little child entering a huge library filled with books in many languages. The child knows someone must have written those books. It does not know how. It does not understand the languages in which they are written. The child dimly suspects a mysterious order in the arrangement of the books but doesn’t know what it is. That, it seems to me, is the attitude of even the most intelligent human being toward God. We see the universe marvelously arranged and obeying certain laws but only dimly understand these laws.”

“The most beautiful emotion we can experience is the mysterious. It is the fundamental emotion that stands at the cradle of all true art and science. He to whom this emotion is a stranger, who can no longer wonder and stand rapt in awe, is as good as dead, a snuffed-out candle. To sense that behind anything that can be experienced there is something that our minds cannot grasp, whose beauty and sublimity reaches us only indirectly: this is religiousness. In this sense, and in this sense only, I am a devoutly religious man.” (emphasis mine)

Do you accept the historical existence of Jesus?

“Unquestionably! No one can read the Gospels without feeling the actual presence of Jesus. His personality pulsates in every word.  No myth is filled with such life.”

I just love that!!! I’m intriqued with how he thought, how he “worked” at his faith, how he was impressed by the lavishness of the Creator and of the person of Jesus Christ.

And I love this: “… the most beautiful emotion we can experience is the mysterious…” I am in so much agreement!  And it is Einstein’s words that were the inspiration for the name of this blog and that echo my own heart as to the mystery of faith, belief or disbelief, science and much of life.

If you’re interested in subscribing to this blog, thank you!  I can’t say how often I will write.  And my musings are quite random and tend to depend greatly on the family schedule.  Thank you for reading and please, leave a comment or opinion!!!  I’d love to hear from you.

Quotations from a TIME.com article on Albert Einstein.  Read the complete article here.

The Place of Nowhere

I wish I were a drinker.
My thirst is an itching wound; an irritation, a constant need. My albatross.
It will remain; a heavy calling. Uncomfortable.  I long for satiation, even as I am arguing against it.
Ice cold, tart, sublime. It will fill me up. Cradling my heart,
that beats too fast;
I want the panic to recede, and so, for a moment I submit to its tender lies, so gently disguised.
The thirst of a drinker, remains. It calls to me. But it is not my calling.
It lies and tells me it is but a moment; infrequent, even good.
It utters frantic, believable thoughts. Yes, believable. You can. You want. You deserve. Your heart is dry as a bone.
Your need is great.
Lingering, it hangs like the moon in the daytime sky.
Calling, enticing, bewitching. A constant source of light.
Beautiful, as it lures me back to that place of forgetting.
I wish I were a drinker, because I will always thirst.
But then I remember what is so easily forgotten,
The lack.
The Emptiness.
The place of Nowhere.
Even still, I long for it.It caresses me, it lures.
The seduction of a drinker is constant.
10/17/08 MHH

Five and a half years I have known that I am an alcoholic – most of five, of which I was unable to face the truth. In that time I have studied the disease and I came to face with the truth that this thing,that is my albatross, although difficult is just that ‘a thing.’  And we all have Things. Mine, yes, is tragic at least to me.  I mean how pathetic that I can’t drink. I love drinking. I really do.  It’s fun. It’s is social. It brings people together. It’s ‘normal.’ Yup, those are the more subtle lies (for me).

Anyway, I guess I just need to say that although I have felt a great deal of shame, that is no longer true. Yes, alcohol had me it its grip, but no longer. I feel freer than ever in my life. And although it does call me, whispering in my ear, seductively at times, I just tell it to shut up! Seriously I am reduced to telling the Liar in my head to shut the fuck up!

I have been sober, since July 2008, and almost daily I remind myself that my life IS worth living –  covering up is weak, feelings are important, and most of all my children and husband need me!  May it always be so that I listen to that strength inside that help me shut out the lure of being a drinker.

Going Quietly Sane

How hard can it be? Some days, too hard.

As you crawl back into bed, pleading with the universe,

To make it all disappear.

You can’t drink away your fear and so,

You choose sleep. It’s the only option,

When you must make your mind stop.

Furtive thoughts, disbelieving truths, you are

Just plain scared. And of what?

Your heart races from thinking too much.

Hands shaky. Breathing in, out. Counting down, 100, 99, …

To slow down your heart,

Your head whispers lies.

You lay there for an unknowable amount of time,

Moments lost forever.

Irretrievable.

Just Gone. And at a certain point you realize that

The panic that quietly stole your day — the lies

From the pit of your heart are untrue.

After incalculable hours lost, never to be retrieved

You get up. You paint your face,

Coif your hair.

You put on pink, the happy color,

The disguise. Just imagine yourself strong.

10/23/08 MHH

Madness!

It is also what my brain feels like today.  I’m starting to really have a pit in my stomach about the state of the economy, every day I am aware of the cost of the most basic things.  I just feel down by it all, dragged down.  It is all madness!

(These are trees really played around with in a program called Picnik. )

My Mother’s Love

My Mother’s love is like no other.
It affirms; its power is profound.
In my mother’s arms
the child in me feels safe.

My Mother’s love is like no other.
It wounds; its hold like a vice;
The power my Mother holds,
wounds the girl in me,
and strangles
the woman I will become.

My Mother’s love
holds the child in me
in a place I want to escape.
I am safe and yet
caught,
strangled by ancient, overgrown vines.

Who am I?
My
Mother’s
Love.

by Melody Hanson, 2004

bad news: i am destruction

by melody harrison hanson

I wake with the familiar headache.
Deeply tired.  My bones in protest.
Emotions already chafing; dazzling, florescent, raw. Ablaze.
Coffee the first panacea of the day.
Sip by sip, its power over me if not to heal, then to awaken.

Slowly flooded by familiar disappointment.
Weary, I begin to See myself.
I am Destruction.
I am Broken Promises wielding their power.
The surge of rage,  justified.
Hurts.
My body adjusting to an awareness
of this old enemy within.
Destruction’s impact yet unknown.
Fury toward the innocent who contribute to chaos
of my life and toward, the hell inside.

10/27/08
by Melody Harrison Hanson

My father was addicted to his rage – he admitted that to me at the end of his life. He wielded it over our family in pathological ways that nearly destroyed my Mother, and at times I feel it in me to either consume me or destroy me. I fear, more than anything, the legacy of that rage in my life.  More than alcoholism, more than depression or even debilitating insecurity. Rage is the ultimate nemesis. The curse he left behind for the next generation; for me.

It’s lonely here on the Wagon

So I quit drinking a while ago.
It was the right decision, for me.
I am addicted. I am
an alcoholic.
I never expected it to be easy; or for life to remain static.
As I see it, I am more present; I am more awake
than I have been in years.
Don’t get me wrong
I — have — hard — days;
Days when stress makes my brain, heart, and thirst buds scream.
I have days when I want to make it all go away!
This is sometimes why
I drank in the first place.
But the more difficult thing, surprisingly,
has been — from — time –  to –  time
I am lonely. And I face,
my old friends are gone
because I drank too much.
And my new friends are gone
because I don’t.
I wasn’t a happy drunk
nor was I particularly sad.
I was sometimes quiet.
I know people who got really loud,
and others overtly friendly, even one
who used to cry.
But now I see drinking, apparently,
didn’t make me ‘fun’ (enough.)
Those people that I gathered with, who seemed
to accept me as one of them;
It must have been that I just didn’t get
in the way.
I was accepted,
because I was a hard drinker, amongst
h a r d  d r i n k e r s.  And now,
I am s o b e r and I feel alone.

Nothing rings louder than a s i l e n t phone;
an empty email box or when one remembers an annual party, uninvited.
We could throw the party, I could make the call, but I’ve tried over time,
and now I’m thinking, they wouldn’t come.

Today it’s an aching heart I deal with;
A feeling which once, ironically,
I would have drowned out with a friendly glass

(or two, or five) of Merlot; anything to forget
this
f e e l i n g.
I have to face it, I am alone in my choices. Alone,
with my memories,
of people I thought were friends.
I am a lot more interesting sober; but I guess not
more fun.

My drinking friendships seemed to have disappeared.
Though I would never have said they were
d r i n k i n g friends.
I thought they were …
Well,
to be honest I thought they were
just f r i e n d s.
You know that phrase that is said when an alcoholic starts drinking again?
She’s “fallen off the wagon.”
Well, all I can say is it’s awfully lonely,
here

on the wagon.

Melody Harrison Hanson
October 31, 2008

This is incomplete as a poem, but full of real issues and emotions.

Please Vote!

The vote is the most powerful instrument ever devised by man for breaking down injustice and destroying the terrible walls which imprison men because they are different from other men.

Lyndon B. Johnson, 36th US President, (1963-69).

Please, make sure you vote today no matter what your day looks like. Don’t let anything deter you!  I voted about a week ago, and the lines were long lasting about three hours.  I nearly gave up, thinking I’d have another chance. But Tom wanted to make sure that Molly voted (our 20 year old!) The election is about each person voting!!!

We need a resounding message tomorrow.  No matter what your conviction is, regarding who should be President, express it with your vote!

Dreams.

I had the strangest dream last night.  I woke up believing that my Dad had just died. In my dream I received a phone call saying: “Your father just passed away.”  And I was so confused.  I couldn’t figure out what the woman on the other end of the phone was talking about.

I kept thinking Dad just died, that means he’s been alone all these years. I felt so sad.  Because I didn’t know that he was still alive, somewhere, sick and alone.

I still feel sad, though I know that it isn’t true.  It is like I’m losing him all over again.

What does this dream say about me?

My dad has been gone, dead, for five and a half years.  He started showing signs that something was wrong right about this time of year; my mom and dad had just paid us a visit.  It wasn’t a particularly good visit. He was on his laptop the whole time. And he was acting really strange during that trip.  Grumpy, even angry and even at times mean. (More than usual people!)

And then he was actually diagnosed with the brain tumors, Dec. 1st, 03.

It’s amazing how a dream, no matter how untrue it is, can linger with you. It sits with you like a stomach ache. All day today, I couldn’t shake this sad feeling that Dad has been alone for the last five years — sick and alone — and I didn’t know.

Weird.

to eugene robinson of the washington post

Dear Mr. Robinson,

I read with interest your thoughts on Obama being elected.  You are one of the most generous people on MSNBC (sometimes you are so full of restraint!) and I value your comments and critique.

“… something changed on Tuesday when Americans — white, black, Latino, Asian — entrusted a black man with the power and responsibility of the presidency. …”

I have five biracial nieces and nephews (two half Nigerian/half white and three half Mexican-American & half white) and a Chinese nephew and niece (with white parents.)

One picture of this new America is I have observed with great interest over the last decade as the kids in the March Madness contest have become clearly bi-racial and of many different mix of races.

Also all around me in my neighborhood here in Madison, WI, I see mixed families through marriage and adoption.

It is a new world that we are raising our kids in, a beautiful one.  The emotions you were describing — I appreciate so much!  I am so glad that these beautiful kids and my own are growing up in this time and place in our history to be relieved from the burden and pain, of the sting, of racism you and your parents have experienced.  They need to know our history of course, but they are living in a world in which there are fine examples to both inspire and to aspire to become… I know that Obama is but a symbol of change and that each of us has an ongoing responsibility to continue the important changes.

Thanks for your fine commentary.  I admire you immensely.

Every Blessing (thoughts on the President-elect)

I am still reliving the jubilant scenes from Tuesday night of men, women, and children — black and white, Hispanic, Asian, and of many other nationalities and races, young and old weeping and cheering as Barack Obama became the 44th President of the United States of America.   It was an incredible moment!    I wish we could linger there just a little bit longer.  I had this tremendous feeling of relief as the election was called.  Tom being a numbers guy had been following the polls and predictions and called it long before I was able to actually accept what was happening.  It is not just because the election of 2000 was stolen, but because I too, along with much of the world, was carried away with amazement that America was willing to vote a Black man into the highest office of our land.  I am so proud of us!

But the brutal reality is that Obama will inherit a terrible legacy from George W.  Wars in Afghanistan and in Iraq.  The current government’s failure to prevent an economic collapse.  Was it caused by greed or deregulation or both?  At this point, who cares?  Retirement investments are losing or have lost a fourth of their value, people need  Jobs, many Americans are working two or even three, others are losing their homes or are going bankrupt because of inability to pay healthcare expenses.  It is all, – so, – very, – sad.

I read today that the name “Barack” in Swahili means blessing.  I must say that the results of the Presidential election feels like America has been blessed.

For the first time in YEARS I am not ashamed of being an American.  Ooooooooh, Michelle Obama was blasted for saying something like she wants “to be pround of America again.” (Not a direct quote).  And I know what she means.

I’ve never been that patriotic, perhaps because I feel like what is called a 3rd Culture kid.  Being born in the highlands of Papua New Guinea and living there for the first years of my life, I often don’t feel like I identify with Americans.  (Nor am I New Guinean if anyone is wondering.)  I’ve seen American’s kiss the ground when they return home from a cross-cultural trip overseas and I just don’t get it.

Anyway, simply put I think President Bush and his reign has disgraced and tarnished America’s reputation globally.  And I’m not alone!!

I read on a NYT Op Page these comments from people living globally:

Jessica watched the results from a bar in Cape Town and wrote: “For the first time in recent memory, I can shout in the streets that I am American and be proud of the progress, hope and color that now define us.”

In Switzerland, an American was bathed in compliments comparing the election to the fall of the Berlin Wall. An American in Kenya named Tom wore an Obama T-shirt and found that his walk to work took more than an hour because so many people stopped to congratulate him and celebrate with him.

An awed Tanzanian named Leonard wrote to say that this election has promoted democracy far more effectively than anything the United States could say or do. He ended: “Long live America.”

And lastly here in the United States, an 8-year-old boy announced on Wednesday morning his new career goal: He will be America’s first Latino president.

“Lord, we ain’t what we want to be; we ain’t what we ought to be; we ain’t what we gonna be, but, thank God, we ain’t what we was.”

(From a preacher who had once been a slave.)

I feel more hopeful about the future than I have been in a very long time.

Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner

I sat down this afternoon to watch the Packers.  Afterward, I was flipping through the stations to get my mind off a poor performance and I was waiting to see what was needed as Emma celebrated her 11th birthday with five girlfriends.

After I scrolled along through over 100 channels I came to the 1967 movie classic Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner, starring Spencer Tracy and Katharen Hepburn, as the liberal progressive white parents, and the hero is played by the first black acting superstar, Sidney Poitier.

I have never seen the entire movie and didn’t today.  I came in when the Poitier character was talking to his father about his desire to marry.  He said:

“… I owe you nothing … You did what you did for me because you were supposed to do.  You don’t own me.  You don’t even know who I am, what I feel, how I think.  And not until your whole generation lays down and dies will the dead weight of you be off our backs.  I love you and will always love you, but you think of yourself as a colored man.  I think of myself as a man.”

Prejudice and bigotry kept young blacks and whites in America from marrying or even dating in the not too distant past.  It was even illegal in many states, the year this movie was released.

My mind went instantly to Barack Obama, who’s parents’ marriage would have been in in some states.

In that same year of 1967, LBJ’s secretary of state, Dean Rusk, offered his resignation when his daughter, a Stanford student, announced her engagement to a black Georgetown grad working at NASA. (Johnson didn’t accept it.)

I too always thought my parents were progressive liberals and were past the prejudices in this movie.  My father actually marched in the 60s.  But one day I came home my senior year of high school (‘83-’84) exuberant that the star basketball player at my school, a guy that I had been friends with a while, knew well and liked, wanted to take me out.  I was absolutely gushing!  I really had a crush on this guy and he obviously like me too.   He was headed to MIT or something comparable.  He saved me in computer class, because I didn’t understand a thing!

But he was black.  And that was all my father could think about when I explained how cool this was.  Dad didn’t say no, but he served up a litany of reasons for why- it- might- not- be- wise- most- especially- “Think of your children!”  Children? Jeez, I wasn’t asking to marry the guy! I had hardly dated in high school for various reasons and this amazing, beautiful boy wanted to go out with me!

I never expected that reaction from my Dad.  And it’s puzzling to think how you can believe something intellectually but not be forced by real circumstances to prove it.  But you know what makes me really mad, and ashamed about the whole thing is how I accepted it.  I took it.  I sat there and did what he wanted.  Our my own fear of my father’s disproval, I never had that date.  I don’t remember exactly how I ended it, but twenty-five years later I still feel sick about it and wonder where Kendrick is today? Back to the movie, the girl’s father in the movie finally comes to see that they can and should marry.  He said “You are going to have to cling tight to each other and say screw all those people that disagree.”  So much is different, for the better, than when I was in high school.  No thanks to me, but to the brave men and women of the civil-rights movement.

From a NYT Op Ed written by Frank Rich on the 1st of November, but I found it today Googling the date the movie was made.

Obama doesn’t transcend race. He isn’t post-race. He is the latest chapter in the ever-unfurling American racial saga. It is an astonishing chapter. For most Americans, it seems as if Obama first came to dinner only yesterday. Should he win the White House on Tuesday, many will cheer and more than a few will cry as history moves inexorably forward.

But we are a people as practical as we are dreamy. We’ll soon remember that the country is in a deep ditch, and that we turned to the black guy not only because we hoped he would lift us up but because he looked like the strongest leader to dig us out.

I’m feeling reflective obviously and profoundly thankful that Barack Obama’s parents had the courage to be together and that this incredible man was born.  But for me, at 42, as a mother, I have to figure out how this is meaningful to me beyond what I feel is a mistake  or huge regret in my own life.   How do I transcend this and do something positive?

My children are 20, 11, 9 and 7.  I must be ready for the day when they come home with the love of their life and welcome them with open arms, no matter their race, gender or age.

But on a lighter and more immediate note: Many cultures have traditions of opening their homes to strangers and inviting them to share a meal.  In the United States, many of us celebrate Thanksgiving often welcome visitors to our tables.  What about you.  If you want to I’d love to hear about the most interesting guest you’ve ever broken bread with — holiday-related or otherwise.

Where were they from? How did they come to be at your table? What tales did they have to tell? Did you feel richer for the experience of hosting them?

And as you consider this thanksgiving, rembmer that there are lots of people that won’t be able to travel this year because of the economy.  Perhaps consider someone you know and invite them to come for dinner.

You are not the master of your life!

Sometimes, when the chaos of life starts getting to me, I take my camera and walk around my garden. It’s quite a mess, speaking of chaos, but I can always find something beautiful in the mess. It’s amazing how even a strangely shaped weed can be beautiful close up with the sun shining behind it.

Usually, when I do this it is the LAST thing I should be doing with dishes and laundry to be washed, a psychiatrist appointment in a hour for Emma, a birthday present to be purchased for a last minute invite to a birthday sleepover, a dentist appointment for Jacob, grocery shopping for basics (which means I gotta do it), speech & language for Jacob, 50 pages to be read before Monday with Dylan, and on and on it goes.

Do you ever get the feeling you are NOT the master of your life, but rather you blow in the wind as a result of the circumstances that come at you? It is the MUSTS of life that get to me. Obligations and duties. But those things are also what get me through the hard days — when I need something to do in order to get out of bed.

What about you?

Condition Critical in Congo

I often wonder why in the West we are so numb to what’s going on in other parts of the world?  Who wants bad news all the time?  Certainly not me.

I’ve been reading a book on the first year of the war in Iraq.  And now, rather than ‘tune out’ reports on Iraq which is what I prefer, I listen to them with different ears.  Informed & caring ears.   The situation in Iraq has new meaning to me because I read about it.  But honestly, I just don’t want to be bothered or guilted into anything.  I am speaking for myself here but I’m thinking I’m not alone.

You likely know that there is a war that has been going on for a decade or longer in the Democratic Republic of Congo. Mostly we don’t hear about it in our “world” news. I know next to nothing about Congo, but Googled it and found this out:

“Conflict and humanitarian crisis in the Democratic Republic of Congo have taken the lives of 5.4 million people since 1988 and continue to leave as many as 45,000 dead every month, according to a 2008 mortality survey released by the International Rescue Committee.” 1

From time to time Tom and I give money to an organization called Doctor’s without Borders 2 (more about them below). Today, I received an email and found myself watching the most

riveting,

sad, and

maddening

video about what is happening right now in the Democratic Republic of Congo! (I tried to embed it here, but alas I am way too dense.)

Hundreds of thousands of people are on the run, and/or in refugee camps, fleeing a war that is raging in the eastern part of Congo, in the provinces of North and South Kivu.  Many people are sick or wounded, others have been separated from their children or parents. I’m sure you’ve heard the reports of women being harassed or raped. The people of the Kivus are in dire condition and the destiny of everyone in this region is shaped by the war.

This is a striking photo timeline of the war.  And here’s a link to the short video full of personal stories about the impact of this war.

I think, once I have learned so much about the people of Congo, I won’t be able to ignore it in the news any more.

But even as I write this, as I read on about the IRC on their website, I find myself sighing deeply and thinking I don’t want to know any more right now. (e.g. I just read $50 could ensure that 100 refugees have access to safe, clean water in the midst of an emergency. ) I think I’ll go make myself a cup of tea and while I do I’ll thank the good Lord that I have heat, a full tummy and a toilet that flushes.

We can’t care about everyone, everywhere, all the time.  But it is good to let the armor or complacency shield down every once in a while.  Because somewhere, right now as I write these words, people are suffering.

———————————————————————————-

1  The International Rescue Committee is a global network of first responders, humanitarian relief workers, healthcare providers, educators, community leaders, activists, and volunteers. Working together, we provide access to safety, sanctuary, and sustainable change for millions of people whose lives have been shattered by violence and oppression. Founded in 1933, the IRC is a global leader in emergency relief, rehabilitation, protection of human rights, post-conflict development, resettlement services and advocacy for those uprooted or affected by violent conflict and oppression.  The IRC is on the ground in 42 countries, providing emergency relief, relocating refugees, and rebuilding lives in the wake of disaster.  Through 24 regional offices in cities across the United States, we help refugees resettle in the U.S. and become self-sufficient.

2 Doctors Without Borders/Médecins Sans Frontières (MSF) is an independent international medical humanitarian organization that delivers emergency aid to people affected by armed conflict, epidemics, natural and man-made disasters, or exclusion from health care in more than 60 countries. New York office: 333 Seventh Avenue, New York, NY, 10001

gratitude, not a cliche?

My arm is killing me today from the surgery yesterday to remove potentially hazardous skin, but it isn’t Melanoma, the ‘bad’ cancer.  I’m thankful for good health.  I’m even more thankful that I’ve been depression-free for more than a year and that is just damn good news, when you’ve travelled to the depths of darkness and feared your own return.

I want a glass of wine, but I’m drinking non-alcoholic beer. I’m thankful for my sobriety. Though it has caused me to be “self-centered,” sobriety is worth losing some social life.  I’m thankful that I’m not falling down drunk this thanksgiving, or even heavily tipsy, at 4:00 in the afternoon, like years past.  It is amazing how your mind remembers, I woke up this morning wanting to drink today.  After months of sobriety and not even thinking about it, it’s kind of strange.

The pumpkin pie I baked today from scratch is the ugliest pie I have EVER made, but it was made with love, and it will (hopefully) taste good.  And if not, well, I’m thankful to not have to hold on to perfection as the ideal, because I fail it miserably and this pie is a good metaphor and reminder for me.

I have loads of laundry to be done, but I am thankful that we have such abundance.  Our home, Tom’s business, cars, food, health care; I could go on and on.

I lost a friend recently when I thought we were close, but I am thankful that learned some things.  I learned that I can be manipulative, and selfish.  And that friendship isn’t unconditional, but depends on how healthy you are and whether you cause a person too much work.  I play what you call “games” and am not there for my friends, as much as I need them to be there for me.

My family is spread out all over the country and has slipped apart since my father’s death, but I’m thankful that my 70 year old Mother is healthy and should live a good long time.

I’ve been forgiven by God for the many mistakes I’ve made in my life.  His grace is something I don’t fully comprehend, but as I am forgiven by him, which is undeserved, I can forgive others.

I’m thankful for my husband Tom who held me recently and whispered “It’s going to be okay.”  He’ll never know how much those words meant to me, because often I am afraid that it is NOT GOING TO BE OKAY!  He is an amazing man and I am often so undeserving of his graciousness and love.  He picks me up off the floor and reminds me of all the good things.

I’m thankful for my children, each of them unique and beautiful in their own way.  I am so thankful for their innocence, their unconditional love and the hugs.  My kids love to give and receive hugs.

I’m thankful that my kids are able to get an education, live in a free society where ideas can be expressed without fear, and they can believe in God without fear of oppression.  I’m thankful for Barack Obama!

Being thankful, no it isn’t a cliche.  I am thankful.

On Friendship

Originally uploaded by M e l o d y

I hope by the time I am gray-headed and walking a little slower through life, I will have learned how to be a true friend.  Because right now, I feel like I haven’t a clue.

“We must be our own before we

can be another’s.”

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Buy Local: Pledge to Spend $100 at Local Merchants this Holiday Season

12/03.2008 Edit.  No matter where you live, spending locally will help your local community and I would encourage you to consider it.

—————-

The Isthmus – Madison’s local weekly newspaper – is urging readers to spend at least $100 of their holiday money this fall at locally owned stores in Dane County – a move that could pump more than $15.9 million into the urban economy during this recession-plagued season.

The project is based on data showing that money spent in locally owned businesses tends to stay in the area and circulate through the community, increasing economic activity. Economists call this the multiplier effect.

You can pledge on their page.You will automatically be entered to win gift certificates from Willy St. Co-op, Dimaggio’s Euro Design and the Downtown Madison Business Improvement District (BID).

You can find a list of locally owned businesses at www.DaneBuyLocal.com.

There is no just war.

I went to bed a few hours ago and woke with this statement ringing in my ears:

“There is no just war.”

I’ve no idea where it is coming from; it seems totally out of the blue.  Sometimes things come to us from what we were reading or talking about before we fell asleep.

I was reading Henry Nouwen’s book Lifesigns.   It has nothing about war, but rather is an invitation to Intimacy, Fecundity (which sounds rather like a dirty word to me, but isn’t …) which is openness to a life of change and growth, and Ecstasy, the fullness of joy!

And before that I cleared my email.  I did a little research on “poverty in the US and the world” for my essay written for my church’s blog Advent Conspiracy.  Before that, I was reading about different women’s roles in the development of the early male philosophers. (Don’t ask me why.  I’m sick.  I can read whatever I want.)

I’ve been sick for three days and my bed has been my constant companion; sleep, as well, at times but more often then not I am left with the warm covers and my cold thoughts.  The “I should be doings” ringing in my ears.  It’s good that this doesn’t happen to me too often (getting sick, I mean) because I don’t do sick very well and I have a propensity for getting Pneumonia.  Thankfully this doesn’t feel like Pneumonia just a simple flu.

Anyway, “war” is ringing in my head right now and I don’t know why, but when this happens I can’t help but go to my bookshelves and see what I have.  If I find nothing I go to the web but I was looking for a little book I knew I’ve had for years, but haven’t had the courage to read.  It is titled: WAR: Four Christian Views.* I guess I know what I’ll be doing for the next few hours.

Why does it take courage to read about war?  Well, as a Christ-follower I have to face that the Church doesn’t exactly have the best record on war.  Neither does the Bible.  And, I just hate hearing what some people (Bush/Cheney) say to justify certain wars.  How they justify the Iraq war is beyond me.

But now that my spirit has been nudged.   I am going to read this book once and for all and then see what I am thinking.  I’ll let you know.

* WAR: Four Christian Views.  Edited by Robert G. Clouse with contributions by Herman A Hoyt, Myron S. Augsburger, Arthur F. Holmes, and Harold O.J. Brown.

My Poetry: Fragmented

fragmented

Originally uploaded by M e l o d y

It is not good to get in this mood.
I am dangerous.
I hurt others. I hurt myself.
I have no words, a heart full of gravel.
I will retreat,  for now.
I will search out the truth.
I have been called needy. Manipulative.
It is too much to face.
For now I will retreat. Reseal my heart, so that
I cannot hurt or be hurt.
I know this is fragmented truth, but for now
it is all I have.

11-26-2008

Things I gave up for the recession … (updated)

One one of my current favorite websites, The Huffington Post, has a new section, Blogging the Meltdown.  Here’s my entry for how the recession has impacted me.  It’s updated from something I wrote a month ago.

Ten (or so) things I gave up because of the recession:

Not in order of importance.

1. Coffee shops. Though I still drink good strong (usually fair trade) coffee at home, I no longer stop for it when I am out and about.  (Sorry Starbucks.)  And I’ve vowed to use up all the tea I have at home.  Somehow I like buying tea (they come in beautiful boxes) but don’t seem to drink much of it.  That’s changed.

2. Books. My husband swears I could read for two years or longer on the books I currently own, but I have given up purchasing books.  That’s a compulsion that is hard to change but important way to save big dollars.  I will visit my local library which means I have to be much more organized and less spontaneous about my reading preferences.  (Goodbye Borders.)

3. Neighborhood grocery store. I love the beautiful atmosphere including classical music, but I’ve given it up for the prices at Trader Joe’s and a warehouse store like Woodmans.  Again, I must be more organized.  Frankly, I don’t miss seeing wine on every corner associated with all the good food I like, since I gave up drinking in July.  (That’s saving us a bundle.)

4. Shopping for entertainment.  Okay, don’t judge.  It is something that I enjoy(ed.)  But we’re not shopping at all.  Only what’s absolutely needed and in the budget.

5.  Eating out. We just don’t do it. And we used to eat out three or four times a week, sometimes as a family of five, sometimes at lunch from work.  It was a way to stave off boredom, an antidote for laziness, and somehow a ‘reward.’  Again, planning ahead is required to eat every meal at home.  Tom just got eight cans of Progresso Soup for $10.  Now that’s a deal!

6. Cambodia. I had planned a trip there to take a photography course, but this is postponed indefinitely.

7. Our Dishwasher. It broke, burning out in a blaze of glory after probably 30+ years and it won’t be replaced for a while.  Things we don’t need, won’t be repaired or replaced.  We wash our dishes by hand which has caused me to use more hand lotion.  But funnily enough, I have quite a bit.

8. Furniture in our Living Room. Our cat George has issues (related to peeing) and we’ve lost furniture, rugs, pillows, etc. all because of it, I mean him.  They won’t be replaced for a very long time.  He may get the boot!  Though that is under debate.

9. Gourmet cheeses (and things like it.) Yummmmm.  The older the better.  Stick to grocery store brand Sharp Cheddar.  Oddly difficult for me.

10. We’ll be canceling all of our magazine subscriptions (except PASTE magazine, which is awesome! And you get a CD of cool new music each month.  (By the way, no more CD purchases!)

On the short list for what’s next: Piano tuning won’t happen this this winter or vacations & travel of any kind.  We’re considering cutting Cable, although we’ve had an ongoing family debate over this.  The Persian rug in our den will not be cleaned.

We’re still investing in retirement, the kids are still in soccer and music lessons, we eat well, we are in no manner suffering. The biggest sacrifice has been what we perceived as financial “freedom.”

It is interesting how our priorities change as we deal with the fact that we must bring down our debt and increase our savings.  The recession was basically a wake up call for my husband and I who have been living as if we can buy and do whatever we want whenever we desire.  If we can’t afford it this month but we really want to do it, we put it on credit.

We now live on a budget and track each category (almost) daily.  What we thought was freedom was bondage, and now, we are free. It will take us four years on this restricted budget to be completely out of debt.  It is ironic, but by the time Mr. Obama is running again, we will be in a place to afford vacations, send our kids to college, and have a little more real freedom.

The recession is a blessing disguised as a burden.

For us, that is.  For many people it is much more dire.  Just spend a few minutes on the Huffington Meltdown site reading the stories of the homeless, uninsured, jobless, … yes, in my America.  Your America.

It makes my little list of “sacrifices” seem so silly.

snow day!

Originally uploaded by M e l o d y

Just lovin’ on my kids today.

Music Makes Kids Smarter!

…

Originally uploaded by M e l o d y

Emma at her elementary school strings concert. I am so glad that they still have a strings program at her school.

In October, I blogged on the fact that music makes kids smarter and my opinions about George W’s policies.

Dad

I resolve to write about Dad

Originally uploaded by M e l o d y

I miss my father today.

I was reflecting on friendship and considering my mistakes in friendship which are many.

I was hit such intense grief.  No matter his issues, my dad was loyal. It hit me to hard today, so many years after he is gone, that he is – gone – and I can’t call him up. I can’t talk to him. At times like these, when I feel sad and lonely, he would always have been there to pick me up.

I miss him inconceivably much today.

Wherever you are dad, I wish you were here for a hug and reassuring words that it’s going to be okay.  I feel so frail.  I feel so inneffective.  So weak.  I so wish you were here. Your ability to express all the simple truths that make the world not seem so scary, people not seem so mean, life not seem so difficult.  In moments like these you would have been here, and I miss you.

When he was sick my father never accepted that he was going to die.  It made it difficult to really say goodbye.  He just couldn’t face it and so he didn’t really say goodbye.  Perhaps that is why it is so many years later and I am still coming to terms with his absence.

Femmes arabes sur baudets.

Femmes arabes sur baudets.

Originally uploaded by New York Public Library

The New York Public Library has shared old photographs to the public commons of flickr. I was intrigued by these really old images from Syria and Egypt and this one in particular. It made me think of Mary, Jesus’ mother, possibly riding in to Nazareth, exceedingly pregnant. She would not have been veiled, but in every other way this image takes me there.

I just love old images and thoroughly enjoy scrolling through them.

On a slightly different note, has a kid ever asked you things like “Why is Santa called Santa?” Or, I’m trying to remember some of the stranger questions I’ve gotten over the years…. about various Christmas customs?  Have you ever wondered why a tree is used to celebrate Christmas?  I have.  I found an interesting website explaining why we have certain Christmas traditions and fascinating to me, how Christmas is celebrated  in various cultures.  Christ followers celebrate the birth of Jesus and if you’re curious, read the full Christmas story here.

And, being a step-parent, I found this rendition of the story of Joseph to be interesting.  It’s found on an Anglican Church website.  Being a step-mom was one of the most difficult roles I’ve ever found myself playing and it isn’t a game.  Every day, with an instant five year old child was personally challenging and tested my character and strength.  I’m afraid I many times came up short.  But I never considered the fact that Joseph was raising a child that wasn’t his own blood.

I hope you will enjoy the 19th century images.  And perhaps learn something you didn’t previously know about the customs of Christmas.

How important is water?

At church our kids were asked to bring in something for an offering which will dig wells for the poor. Later that day, as my boys were counting their money (to spend on a toy) I said I wanted them to think about what water means to you in your life and let me know how much you might give in the offering. After consulting one another they decided … they’d give $1. (They have $16)

(pregnant pause)

To say the least I was disappointed! And barely containing it, I asked them to rethink their amount. They came back upstairs to say, “It’s still $1. Everyone else is going to give Mom, why should we?”

(another pregnant pause) — which does come in handy as a Mom, to collect your thoughts. I knew that it was a perfect time for an object lesson. Think fast!

At dinner, I put a large glass of water in the middle of the kitchen table along with post-its, a pencil, and we were off naming all the ways that water is important to us. As the days went on our list grew (from serious to silly) and I hope that their awareness of and appreciation for good, clean water has grown.

I haven’t had the courage to ask them if their donation is going to change.

Here’s the list developed by my 11, 9 and 7 year old kids:

water balloons
baths (gallons)
washing clothes
car washes
flushing toilets
washing your hands
coffee (okay that’s mine)
soccer water
p o o l
brushing your teeth
TOILET
putting out fires (they are aware of the news)
water guns
humidifier
the drinking fountain at school
snow
water is good for you (the 7 year old)

Yes!

I am Underground

1/12/09

I guess I’ll make my poetry public again.

12/18, 2008

My poetry has gone underground for a while.  I have said some things, and written some things, that have hurt people I love.  I don’t want to be culpable, but I am.  So it’s put away in a “drawer” for a season.

But here’s one called Hum, by Ann Lauterbach.

The days are beautiful The days are beautiful. I know what days are. The other is weather. I know what weather is. The days are beautiful. Things are incidental. Someone is weeping. I weep for the incidental. The days are beautiful. Where is tomorrow? Everyone will weep. Tomorrow was yesterday. The days are beautiful. Tomorrow was yesterday. Today is weather. The sound of the weather Is everyone weeping. Everyone is incidental. Everyone weeps. The tears of today Will put out tomorrow. The rain is ashes. The days are beautiful. The rain falls down. The sound is falling. The sky is a cloud. The days are beautiful. The sky is dust. The weather is yesterday. The weather is yesterday. The sound is weeping. What is this dust? The weather is nothing. The days are beautiful. The towers are yesterday. The towers are incidental. What are these ashes? Here is the hate That does not travel. Here is the robe That smells of the night Here are the words Retired to their books Here are the stones Loosed from their settings Here is the bridge Over the water Here is the place Where the sun came up Here is a season Dry in the fireplace. Here are the ashes. The days are beautiful. Ann Lauterbach is the author of five collections of poetry: If in Time: Selected Poems 1975-2000 (Penguin, 2001), On a Stair (1997), And for Example (1994), Clamor (1991), Before Recollection (1987), and Many Times, but Then (1979). She has received fellowships from the Guggenheim Foundation,the Ingram Merrill Foundation, and the John D. and Catherine C. MacArthur Foundation. Since 1991 she has taught at Bard College, where she is David and Ruth Schwab III Professor of Language and Literature and co-directs the Writing Division of the M.F.A. program.

I Wish… thoughts on life.

I wish, I wish.  I wish I knew what it meant to really accept yourself; to like the person you are and who you are becoming.

I wish I could remember what real joy felt like.  I can’t remember the last time I felt it, if ever, which can’t possibly be true but … I just can’t recall it.

I wish my father wasn’t dead; that I could have really said good-bye while he was cognizant of me and remembered my name.  And more importantly, that I could still have him – here – to learn from, know, grow with.  Too many lost opportunities.

I wish I knew how to love my Mother, to accept her for who she is, just as I want to be accepted for who I am.

I wish I was a better friend; I want friendship but I’m just no good at it.

I wish that the cloud of depression, the sink hole, wouldn’t pull me down so often.

I wish we didn’t have so much stuff, which just creates a cycle of want, acquire, move, clean, dispose of, replace.

I wish I had confidence that my kids are going to be okay, that my mistakes and who I am won’t hurt them.

I wish I could remember positive experiences from growing up, because I know that growing up wasn’t ALL BAD, but I can’t remember.

I wish, I wish.  All I can do today is wish, for although I am up and out of bed, my head is screaming in pain and my heart is heavy; all I can do today is wish.

12/18/2008

The Color of My Soul

…

Originally uploaded by M e l o d y

“The colour of my soul is iron-grey and sad bats wheel about the steeple of my dreams.”

Claude Debussy (French composer, 1862-1918)

Peace to You.

This holiday season, so far, I am baking, baking, baking and Tom is cleaning, cleaning, cleaning.  Today has been busy with baking two pumpkin pies, a cheesecake, and a Key Lime pie and cranberry sauce.  Tomorrow it will be sugar cookies and a Cherry pie.  Perhaps a Pecan.  And then it is on to preparing for a traditional Turkey dinner (mashed potatoes, stuffing, sweet potatoes with marshmallows, etc. for eleven on Christmas day.  And spiral Ham, scalloped potatoes, etc. for 17 the next day.  It seems typical that we have one sick child and one on the mend.

It’s all wonderful and fun to cook and it will be great to have everyone in our home.  And Tom’s cleaning is stellar.  You’d think he owns a cleaning company or something! :-)

I hope your holidays are filled with good food and people.  If not, give me a call.  We’ve got plenty and you are welcome.

We are grateful for our abundance and the love which surrounds us.  And on this day, before the day before … we are grateful for good friends who have enriched our lives this year.  For the true meaning of Christmas, for us, the birth of Jesus.

Be warm!

Hope your spirits are bright!

Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Happy Kwanzaa, Merry Solstice, and JOY JOY JOY and PEACE for you and yours. A few images from our week.

Goodbye “Uncle” Pete

goodbye “uncle” pete

Originally uploaded by M e l o d y

It was Christmas eve. The kids and I spent the day making and decorating sugar cookies. The kids had so much fun. (Of course we told them to slow down with the candies on top, or no-one would want to eat them!) Emma and I took a few cookies over to “Uncle” Pete, our neighbor.  He’s a widower and lives on one side of a duplex next door, his daughter and her family on the other. They were traveling and it had been “pretty quiet” he said. We rang his bell and as we handed over the plate Pete said, “Oh that will brighten up my table! …. We’re still on for pie tonight?” He was coming over that evening, after Christmas Eve church service, for pie.

That was one of my last conversations with Pete.  He did indeed come over later that night, and enjoyed “cheesecake with the drippings!” as he called it.  He laughed with my kids, asked questions about our traditions, and shared some of his own like the opening of the presents.  He talked about a friendly squirrel that visits outside his porch, which his daughter Layne has named.  He seemed kind of down, or quiet, or extremely tired.  But I was so glad that he came.  My mom was there as well and we had nice dessert tastings.

While he was here, I invited him to eat Christmas dinner with us the next day. He wasn’t sure, as he was trying to finish up a project for Layne & Andrew.  He called the next day around 1:00 to say that he was actively working on the project for his kids and wanted to finish it. Later that night, around 6:00 (I don’t exactly remember?) pm I called over to see if he wanted a plate of Christmas turkey, stuffing, etc and/or to come over for more pie. He declined as he was tired, happily full from where ever he had just been. He mentioned he was weary from waking at 4:00 am and he had to get up early for his conference. He had spent the morning writing, he was happiest when he was writing.   He sounded exhausted, but at the time I wasn’t concerned in any way, just disappointed that he didn’t come on over.

I had woken Christmas morning with the flu, and had a whole day on the 26th of more preparations and the Hanson Christmas celebration. I wonder if I would have gone to check on him if I hadn’t been so distracted by things.  But really, Pete travels all the time and if he’s gone or here, his car is in the garage. There is no way that I could have known.  I snow blowed their driveway on Sunday, but nothing seemed amiss.

The next day, I ate that plate of food I had made up for Pete. By that time, I think he had passed away.  Sometime that morning.

My friend, “Uncle” Pete, passed on to be with the Lord (likely) Friday, Dec. 26th, in the morning in his home.

Around 11:00 this morning, an InterVarsity staff person came by a bit alarmed by the fact that Pete hadn’t shown up at a conference on the 26th. (The one he was packing for.) I found him.

I still can’t believe it. Sometime soon, I will write my thoughts about Pete. Right now I am in shock, just stunned and shocked that he is gone.  I’m writing all this down, because Pete often reprimanded me about not writing more.  After my father died, I did not write things down and I have forgotten a lot of the detail.

Goodbye Pete. I miss you already.

“Uncle” Pete

My friend, (recent) neighbor and former colleague at InterVarsity, Pete Hammond went to be with the Lord on Friday.  I never took my own picture of him myself, which I deeply regret. It’s weird, you always think you will have more time.

Goodbye Pete.

My heart is heavy today as I sit here at my laptop reflecting on the man I knew.   He was 72 (I think), only “retiring” at 70 which is a reflection of him as person.  He was never “done” with the work that was on his heart and he continued to make his influence known on people all over the country.  He was often in and out of Madison on various trips, it was hard to know when he was here.  But we were able to spend a few hours here and there having coffee at my house.  In coming days I will reflect on those hours.

Pete was a man of many words.

He loved to write, often waking at 4 or 5 in the morning and writing all morning.  Pete loved to pass along books and leaflets, and what not.  One thing that he passed on to me, to help me with my grief over losing my father, was titled called the “Mourner’s Bill of Rights.”

1.  You have the right to experience your own unique grief.
2.  You have the right to talk about your grief.
3.  You have the right to feel a multitude of emotions.
4.  You have the right to be tolerant of your physical and emotional limits.
5.  You have the right to experience “grief bursts.”
6.  You have the right to make use of ritual.
7.  You have the right to embrace your spirituality.
8.  You have the right to search for meaning.
9.  You have the right to treasure your memories.
10. You have the right to move toward your grief and heal.

In many ways a list like this is simplistic, but Grief is such a mystery and takes it’s own time.   Time actually I have found is meaningless when it comes to grief.

Wishing you a Funky New Year

Wishing you a Funky New Year

Originally uploaded by M e l o d y

Goals for ‘09

1. I want to be more present in my life. Be present with and love my family & friends.
2. I want to see others in ways I have not before; see who needs me.  See my kids, husband, mom, sisters, nieces and nephews, close friends.
3. I want to pursue photography: exhibit some art, apply for freelance jobs, and tell a particular story.
4. I want to date my husband.
5. I want to paint my bedroom. (I have had the paint for months!) and to remove ugly wallpaper from the bathroom!
6. I want to play the piano more often!
7. I want to organize my garage, so that we can park our cars in it.
8. I want to bury my dad; to research and write about him.
9. I want to finish the book of poetry.  Save.  Print.
10. I want to stay sober. ( July 24th, 2008)
11. I want to have some fun! But on the cheap, because …
12. We want to live on our budget this year.
13. I want to get off sleep/anxiety medication.  Which means start exercising, going back to therapy, eating right, and heading toward, not away from my demons.
14. I want to not be so hard on myself.  To embrace my strengths and weaknesses. Not use them as a crutch but to push myself to get healthy.
15. I want to not think about what ifs and if onlys. Do or do not, but stop living in that ugly place.
16. I want to study: one topic is forgiveness, the forgivers & the forgiven.  Biblical and historical stories and characters.

As of 1/3/09

Slip Sliding Away: thoughts on grief

I was drawn this evening to some lyrics from a Simon & Garfunkel song.  We have had an intense ice storm here over the last 24 hours – I fell twice today.  And, you guessed it, we’re ’slip sliding away.”

Funny enough, but my mood is more sober.

Verse 3

And I know a father who had a son
He longed to tell him all the reasons for the things he’d done
He came a long way just to explain
He kissed his boy as he lay sleeping
Then he turned around and he headed home again

Chorus

Whoah God only knows, God makes his plan
The information’s unavailable to the mortal man
We’re workin’ our jobs, collect our pay
Believe we’re gliding down the highway, when in fact we’re slip sliding away.

Feeling mortal and a little unhinged, slipin’ and slidin’ on the emotional roller coaster of grief.

Facing my maker and asking lots of questions.  It is going to be a long week.  I have two friends who lost their father in the last few weeks, another that lost her father a few years ago, and I lost my Father almost six years ago.  His diagnosis came in the month of December so it starts a long period of loss for me.

How to be?  What to think?  How to help?  What to do?

“Believe we’re gliding down the highway, when in fact we’re slip sliding away.”

My Poetry: Solitude

solitude

Originally uploaded by M e l o d y

Solitude

Sometimes I sit in my car,

and just can’t move.

I glance at my neighbors’ home,

neighbors whom I love

and I just can’t move.

I can’t imagine ever moving again.

My car is warm.

And the world outside scares me.

I am frozen in my solitude.

Flow of Consciousness – 1

1/11/09 It is stunning that it is mid January already.

It is a fine time as any to reflect on the past few weeks. My house is quiet. I have my youngest snuggled in against me as he “can’t sleep” (after five minutes of trying) and I’m a sucker for cuddles.

The holidays were really a blur ending with the death of a friend that has thrown me in major ways.  But I just can’t process that yet.

We had lots of family, mostly at our place, which was actually fine and quite fun to cook. I baked a lot and remembered how much I love to bake: pies and cakes, and many meals including crepes for Christmas morning.  Most memorable was baking and decorating Christmas cookies with the kids which I’ve decided to turn into an annual tradition it was so much fun and the kids were literally giddy!  I have tons of good memories, mostly centered around sharing food.  But I missed not seeing two of my sisters, their kids and husbands.  My sister Tonya has a new son Daniel whom I haven’t yet met.  I hate that we live such a distance from one another and right now are too “poor” to travel.

It really wasn’t an issue not drinking. I’m not sure if it was because it isn’t around (Not much anyway; some people still drink around me and that’s cool. It’s just that a few of my friends that I sometimes drank with are not around, but that’s another story. I get a pit in my stomach every time I think of it.) Or is rather simply because I’m at a place in my abstinence where it isn’t an issue. I’m not so naive that I believe I’m done with it being an issue, but at least for this holiday I felt okay about it.

I am feeling my age and you can see it in my face, puffiness around the eyes and age spots, wrinkles.  And gray hair, though you can’t see that in this image.  I am carrying extra pounds that haunt me and make me feel old, make my knees hurt on the stairs and just make me plain lazy.  My TMJ is acting up again, just like last Christmas strangely enough. It must be some internal stress that manifests at night, as I dream I clench my jaw causing it to ache in the daytime. And ache in the evenings when I am reading to my kids so that by the time I am done it’s throbbing.  But I won’t give that up, I enjoy it too much! We’re reading the Narnia series and it’s so terrific to read aloud. I do have a good memory of my dad reading that series to us when I was around that age.  Anyway, I suppose it’s time to visit a specialist for the TMJ.

My depression has held itself at bay for a long while, but reared its ugly head at Halloween, and again before Christmas and then again recently. It’s strange when you have a chronic thing like this which is something that people don’t understand. I’ve had it so long, and know so much about it at this point.  But it never ceases to amaze and dismay me how little people know about Depression; how they lack true understanding, which makes it difficult to feel or express real compassion.  I hope that it has made me kinder and more sensitive to others – at least that would make one positive outcome from this hellish illness.

I think in our culture we don’t really believe depression is a disease. Honestly, I might have been in that same place before this happened to me. I have always been one of those “pull-yourself-up-by-your-bootstraps” kind of people and in many ways I still am actually.  I do believe that if you’re feeling ill you should get up and face your day as if you aren’t. Nine times out of ten, you can work through it and the world is none the wiser.  And sometimes I can even do that with this, but it takes so much to do it.

[Caviat: I have been thinking that it is time to start writing about this experience and some of the others of my life.  If there was one thing I will take away from my friendship with Pete (there were many) it is WRITE!  He even went so far as to scold me, gently, about it.   Pete, if you can hear me, I heard you!  I promise to start writing!!  I don't know what will come of it, but I'm starting with this Flow of Consciousness series. ]

But back to the topic at hand, silly me, I’ve got major depression which is not like anything I’ve ever experienced. Oh, I’ve always been melancholy, (“Melancholy Melody” my friends used to say jokingly in college and at that time it was true. I also put a pessimistic spin on everything and was always slightly anxious and filled with dread in social settings.)   But this, which began in June of 2004 (I’m not sure I’ve got the right year ’cause I’m terrible with dates and will have to think back which I’m far too tired to do right  now) is by far the most difficult thing I’ve encountered in my 42 years. Worse than my dad getting sick, worse than facing my mom’s alcoholism, worse than the shit of my childhood, being raged at and shamed, worse than all the heartaches I’ve faced in relationships in and outside my family, worse than being an alcoholic myself and worse than having to admit it, simply the worst thing in my entire life is Depression – admitting it, accepting it, living with it.  Did I mention admitting it because that is a story in and of itself, for another day.

It comes and goes but it has come again and well, it feels like it is here to stay a while. I’m doing all the things that I know help fight it and fight is the only thing you can do.  Unless you’re just going to lie down and give in to it, say your goodbyes perhaps and be done with this life.  Yes, another day has passed, I fought, and hope against all hope I will sleep hard and well, and start again tomorrow.  For all we can do it Hope in a new day.

I think that’s all I have for tonight.

Flow of Consciousness – 2

Unlikely AM thoughts.  I’m home with two sick kids, one whining, one enduring, and I am so frustrated with the whiner!!!! She’s refusing to take her antibiotics. Can kids do that? She’s so eleven.  So I may have to end this suddenly!

About yesterdays entry:  Thanks for all your emails.  Wow.  A rush of support and friendship which I am so grateful to receive.  At times I feel kind of stupid for being so vulnerable and then I remind myself this is me.   Though I don’t want this, it doesn’t mean I’m incompetent or undesirable or unlovable or unhirable (technically not a word, but you know what I mean) or unwhatever.

It’s just me, complicated, kind of a mess some days, but really okay so many others.  And I’ve come to understand that perhaps my words can help; I know it helps me, but maybe it will also help someone else.

With two kids home sick at this point, I am marooned and thereby forced to get a few things done like take down the Christmas tree (no, it’s not down yet!) and balance the family budget (not done since before the holidays – yikes – and was keeping me awake last night) and sort out what to eat for dinner. Planning ahead helps with the “moods” and actually plowing us out from a big snowy dumping this AM helped a lot too.  That fresh air and exercise was brilliant!

Today I am thinking and will get back to you later.

memory

Originally uploaded by M e l o d y

Memory   believes   before   knowing

remembers.

Believes   longer   than   recollects,

longer   than   knowing   even   wonders.

~ William Faulkner

Flow of Consciousness: 16 Random Things About Me

Originally uploaded by M e l o d y

A contact on flickr, Charlotte Augusta, sent me an email that said that I’d been tagged for the 16 Things group, explaining “. . . this means you have to post a picture and tell us 16 random facts about yourself. Then tag 16 other people.” Because she’s such a great person, I have tried to write it and quite enjoyed doing so, but the perfectionist in my is hurting (LOL) from the thought of writing a definitive 16.  As for tagging, I hate being so forward so I’ll save that for the end of this post. – Melody

16 RANDOM FACTS ABOUT ME

1.When I was not even two years old, I nearly choked to death on a peanut.  We were in Papua New Guinea in the late 60’s and medical services were good, but through a series of inconceivable and unforeseeable events (what some might call coincidences, but what I would call miracles) my life was saved.  I spent about two months in the hospital and I lived when I “should have” died.

Though I have struggled with a low self-esteem and dark moods all my life, for some reason I have always carried with me the belief that I would accomplish something great and noble with my life; that my life was saved for a reason.

I long to accomplish a great and noble task, but it is my chief duty to accomplish small tasks as if they were great and noble.  – Helen Keller

I do not know if this great thing has been accomplished, but I don’t think so.  And I continue with the daily tasks of loving and nurturing my children, creating beauty, and hopefully growing into the person that might one day accomplish these things.

2.The ocean renews me.  But I don’t think I could ever live by the ocean or the magic might stop.

3.When I was young, I wanted to be a jungle pilot and an artist. And a writer.  I kept journals from when I was very young, but in my late twenties in a rash act of extreme foolishness, trying to “start over” , I threw them all away.  My heart still hurts when I think if it.

4.I have always wanted to have the super power of Invisibility.

5.I am very shy, but you will find me to be extremely friendly if you work hard enough to get past my “aloofness.”  I also suffer from social anxiety but I manage it so that you would not know it if you met me.

6. I’d like to live somewhere warm and rural, somewhere in Europe or New Zealand or, I’m not picky, Montana. I love Montana.

7.I cannot cry, although as a child I cried uncontrollably with just a stern look from my father.  But today he is gone and I cannot cry.  It’s not that I don’t feel sorrow or extreme emotion, I do.  But that mechanism of crying, cathartic as it may be, is broken.

8.I love books, which for some reason represent home, familiarity, love, knowledge, affection, history, and belonging.  I could spend hours in a bookstore, used or new, but my preference being old, used and the best is in my possession.

9.I have a freakishly weird obsession with education, brilliance and general genius.  I like smart people and I hate to be around stupid people.  And I know that’s horrible, superficial, and mean, but it was the one thing my dad really, really admired in people.  It was around 2nd/3rd grade that I decided I was stupid.

10.I have no, I mean no sense of direction.

11.I played the piano for nine years (age 6-15) and I should never have given it up.  I love to sing, have done it all my life, and try to keep it in my life somehow.  I love Opera and world music, other genres pale comparatively.  Music gives me life.  The Cowboy Junkies Trinity Sessions got me through three natural childbirths with no medication.

12.I like the idea of being a vegetarian; the idea of lowering my cholesterol and weight, but then I smell a New York Strip or a burger and I forget all that.

13.I love to sleep.  For a melancholy type sleep is a relief.

14.My husband saved my life – emotionally he’s solid and so beautiful.  And twice, he saved my life, literally.

15. I never enjoyed eating before I met my husband Tom.  I never ate for pleasure.  Although I am now 30 pounds heavier than when we met, I think learning to experience pleasure is worth it.

16.I like to say I’m a cynic and a skeptic, but honestly I am loyal to a fault though I don’t automatically trust anyone.

I just have one thing left to say if you’ve read this far, thank you.  You should try writing this list, it’s hard but you will learn a few things about yourself as you see where your mind darts to in the process!!!

If you’re on flickr,: “Tag. You’re it.“

Let America be America Again, by Langston Hughes

Let America be America again.
Let it be the dream it used to be.
Let it be the pioneer on the plain
Seeking a home where he himself is free.

(America never was America to me.)

Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed–
Let it be that great strong land of love
Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme
That any man be crushed by one above.

(It never was America to me.)

O, let my land be a land where Liberty
Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,
But opportunity is real, and life is free,
Equality is in the air we breathe.

(There’s never been equality for me,
Nor freedom in this “homeland of the free.”)

Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark?
And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?

I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,
I am the Negro bearing slavery’s scars.
I am the red man driven from the land,
I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek–
And finding only the same old stupid plan
Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.

I am the young man, full of strength and hope,
Tangled in that ancient endless chain
Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land!
Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need!
Of work the men! Of take the pay!
Of owning everything for one’s own greed!

I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil.
I am the worker sold to the machine.
I am the Negro, servant to you all.
I am the people, humble, hungry, mean–
Hungry yet today despite the dream.
Beaten yet today–O, Pioneers!
I am the man who never got ahead,
The poorest worker bartered through the years.

Yet I’m the one who dreamt our basic dream
In the Old World while still a serf of kings,
Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true,
That even yet its mighty daring sings
In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned
That’s made America the land it has become.
O, I’m the man who sailed those early seas
In search of what I meant to be my home–
For I’m the one who left dark Ireland’s shore,
And Poland’s plain, and England’s grassy lea,
And torn from Black Africa’s strand I came
To build a “homeland of the free.”

The free?

Who said the free? Not me?
Surely not me? The millions on relief today?
The millions shot down when we strike?
The millions who have nothing for our pay?
For all the dreams we’ve dreamed
And all the songs we’ve sung
And all the hopes we’ve held
And all the flags we’ve hung,
The millions who have nothing for our pay–
Except the dream that’s almost dead today.

O, let America be America again–
The land that never has been yet–
And yet must be–the land where every man is free.
The land that’s mine–the poor man’s, Indian’s, Negro’s, ME–
Who made America,
Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,
Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,
Must bring back our mighty dream again.

Sure, call me any ugly name you choose–
The steel of freedom does not stain.
From those who live like leeches on the people’s lives,
We must take back our land again,
America!

O, yes,
I say it plain,
America never was America to me,
And yet I swear this oath–
America will be!

Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,
The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,
We, the people, must redeem
The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.
The mountains and the endless plain–
All, all the stretch of these great green states–
And make America again!

Langston Hughes, wow, one of my favorite poets.  Prophetic.  Incredible.  He spoke in ways no one else could.  On this historic weekend, before Barack Obama will be sworn in, I am drawn back to where we came from lest we ever forget.  We dare not forget!

I am not patriotic …

I don’t know if it was being born outside the United States though I am not a citizen of Papua New Guinea (they don’t allow it.)  Or being raised a global citizen by parents that knew what that meant and lived it but I have been privileged to be friends with people from all over the world.  I don’t know if it is because my closest friends are non-white or are “mutts” like me which were raised as 3rd culture kids.  I don’t know if it is because my family moved eight or nine times, before I finished high school.  I don’t really know why, but I am not that proud of and I don’t get gushy about, being an “American”  and most of the times in my life that I’ve been identified as American, it’s been embarrassing.

In that context, I just have to comment on how inspired I am by our President-elect, Obama — by his life, his choices, his rise to leadership, responsibility and authority, his civic care & commitment, his educational achievements, and his healthy family.

In one of his speeches recently, he said:

” In this country, we rise or fall as one nation, as one people. Let’s resist the temptation to fall back on the same partisanship and pettiness and immaturity that has poisoned our politics for so long ….

To those who would tear the world down: We will defeat you. To those who seek peace and security: We support you. And to all those who have wondered if America’s beacon still burns as bright: Tonight we proved once more that the true strength of our nation comes not from the might of our arms or the scale of our wealth, but from the enduring power of our ideals: democracy, liberty, opportunity and unyielding hope ….

This is our moment. This is our time, to put our people back to work and open doors of opportunity for our kids; to restore prosperity and promote the cause of peace; to reclaim the American Dream and reaffirm that fundamental truth, that, out of many, we are one; that while we breathe, we hope. And where we are met with cynicism and doubts and those who tell us that we can’t, we will respond with that timeless creed that sums up the spirit of a people: Yes, we can.”

And so, I’m feeling a little proud to have a decent, intelligent President-elect that inspires and challenges me.  And I suppose I’m caught up in that sense of hopefulness.  That is why I highlight this YouTube song here on my blog.  Because although I am not yet that proud to be an American, this song gives me hope!  Even if it is a country song.  Even if it uses that old language of the Christian faith: born again.  It has nothing to do with that.

And believe it or not, I have signed the pledge on the Born Again website.  I commit to sort out how I can do something to make my country, my community in Madison, a better place for the less fortunate, the widow, the orphan, the incarderated, the poor.  This will take fortitude, commitment, deep thought and prayer.

If it is true I am my country’s keeper then we must commit ourselves to being active, involved and thoughtful citizens—a Born Again American? It sounds like an unlikely use of words, but I like it.

Will you share your voice.  Declare your commitment.  Perhaps sign the Pledge. Make your own video or add to the lyrics of the song and share it with the world!

And let me know what you decided to do!  And I will do likewise.

My Poetry: The Quandary of Motherhood

As with all my poetry, this is written to be read ALOUD, slowly.

Motherhood is not simply a connection

from womb to life.  It is that, and

a bond created by choice.

In the choosing, it is the care of another that ties you in a life giving way.

It cannot be fully understood, only carried out.

Many a day I am incomplete.

I question how I could be the one

doing the loving, the providing, the choosing of another.

Ah, then I realize, again and again,

motherhood isn’t perfection

nor accomplishment.

But it is in the choosing, daily.

Choosing to be the advocate, the provider, the buffer

between the world and this one child that I love.

As I sit on the floor with her.

As she sobs the sorrow of a thousand broken hearts.

As I think “who can I hurt” for causing this anguish?

As I consider the quiet relief that I want to confer,

likewise the pain I want to inflict on someone else;

As I think, I know the answer.

I am duty-bound to my child that I love

and to all children

to love.  Destined to listen, to bring solace.

To uphold all in my path.  And it is not glorious or praise-worthy.

It simply is a choice

of Motherhood.

Although it is not even possible to anticipate and prevent all pain

from this child, my child, any child;

I am beholden to all children,

to endure this quandary of motherhood.

Written by MHH, January 26, 2009

In memorium: John Updike

It just hit me, I heard John Updike interviewed on the radio just the other day for he had written a sequel to The Witches of Eastwick. I was interested to hear that he has been criticized for not writing strong female characters. His Eastwick books were an attempt to remedy the criticism that his “women are never on the move, that they’re always stuck where the men have put them.” His “only defense,” he said, “would be that it’s in the domesticity, the family, the sexual relations, that women interest me…”  I can buy that, personally.  We write what we’re passionate about and he left “IT” to others; I wonder:  Why, in today’s Politically Correct times, do we expect EVERYTHING to be laden with message?  I don’t have the answer, I’m just posing the question.

Mr. Updike wrote what he knew, what he liked.  I liked his gritty take on what he called “the middles.”

“My subject is the American Protestant small-town middle class,” Mr. Updike told Jane Howard in a 1966 interview for Life magazine. “I like middles,” he continued. “It is in middles that extremes clash, where ambiguity restlessly rules.”

Were I to die, no one would say,

“Oh, what a shame!

So young, so full

Of promise — depths unplumbable!”

Instead, a shrug and tearless eyes

Will greet my overdue demise;

The wide response will be, I know,

“I thought he died a while ago.”

For life’s a shabby subterfuge,

And death is real, and dark, and huge.

The shock of it will register

Nowhere but where it will occur.

— JOHN UPDIKE

I will most remember Mr. Updike for his opinions, though so easily forgotten because they were prolific; the essays, book reviews, art criticism, reminiscences, introductions, forewords, prefaces, speeches, travel notes, film commentary, prose sketches, and ruminations.

He also wrote more than 25 novels and dozens of books of short stories.  He was best known for his Rabbit series (Rabbit, Run; Rabbit Redux; Rabbit Is Rich; Rabbit At Rest; and Rabbit Remembered) which I have never read. Both Rabbit is Rich and Rabbit at Rest received the Pulitzer Prize.  I will have to check these out.

“To give the mundane its beautiful due.”  Not a bad life purpose I say.

Excerpts taken from The New York Times online.

We’re all going to die: 100 meters of exsistance.

There are many fine photographers in the world.  But they are not all creative.  They are technically good but lack imagination.  I highlight the Danish photographer, Simon Høgsberg, because he came up with the idea to photograph pedestrians on a bridge in Berlin for 20 days.

The result is a “an incredible encounter a rich, vast humanity; highs and lows, love and rage, boredom and interest, the beautiful and the ugly, and all the realms inbetween where we average folk live life.  It is well worth the few minutes it takes to take it in.

http://www.simonhoegsberg.com/we_are_all_gonna_die/slider.html

“Nobody’s Perfect” Give me a break!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I am sitting here listening to the White House Press Secretary and I just want to scream. Of course I generally support our new President but give me a break.  This isn’t accountability or new leadership.  This isn’t reformation.  This is same old government.

“Nobody’s perfect” is their response to Daschle not paying his taxes.  I want to know what would happen to me if I don’t pay my taxes.

I just mailed in a check for more than $3,200 for HALF my property taxes.  What would happen if I just “forgot” to pay,  or if I made an “honest mistake?”  If I said, well, “nobody’s perfect.”  What would happen?

Well I just checked and quess what?  The average American citizen, that’s you and me, we would, after ignoring many letters from the government informing us of our need to pay, would face …

If you continue to pursue your personal revolt against taxation, it could cost you!  The government has the right to recoup its money as it sees fit. It can:

• Place a levy on your bank account
• Place a lien on your home
• Seize your car, boat, or any other personal or real property of value

Simply put, failure to file, failure to pay and tax evasion can result in any number of civil and even criminal punishments, including imprisonment.

I’m pissed off.  Why do they have different rules for politicians????  Tell me what you think?  And here’s what I think.

Let’s vet all politicians – make it a prerequisite for the job.  I’m thinking, if two out of Obama’s cabinet have now had issues with not paying taxes, there’s like a few more old dogs in Washington that think they can get away with ROBBING the American people.  It’s no coincidence, people.  They are ripping us off WHILE we pay their salaries.

Here they are, asking us to fork over billions in bailouts, when they are even keeping their own houses clean.

I’m angry and disgusted.

This information was found at: http://money.howstuffworks.com/did-not-pay-taxes1.htm

Humbled

humbled

Originally uploaded by M e l o d y

It’s been a while since I’ve posted.

This is worth re-posting (from April, 08 on my flickr account.)

Humbled. It isn’t often that I meet someone who I instinctively want to protect; to grab hold of and hold on tight. And take them home with me to keep them safe. Take them home to my warm house full of laughter and hugs, and a home cooked dinner at 6:00, with books, music and photographs, a warm cozy bed with a fluffy pillow and most importantly love.

I met that person today and he knows who he is. It seems overly dramatic to say I’ll never be the same, but I think that is true.

Perspective. My life with its ups and downs, even my struggles to heal my mental health, my life is good. I have shall we say ‘issues’ and I find it difficult to find balance, but my life has been a cake walk compared to so many people’s. And I am grateful.

I am loved unconditionally. I am accepted for who I am as a woman, a wife, a mother, a feminist, a person of faith, a white person, and a heterosexual. Oh sure, I didn’t exactly feel unconditionally loved by my parents, but I think in retrospect I was accepted, encouraged, and affirmed. I was safe (mostly.) Those things that are huge to a child. At a minimum, what every child deserves. But they deserve better than just food and shelter, they really do.

People need to be accepted. I am aware today how as you live and work around people you never know their challenges. They may not have the next meal, they may not have a place to live. They may not have anyone in their life that loves them unabashedly.

I keep thinking about how blind we can be. We need to care for those around us. Do we truly accept friends and family just as they are and not expect them to change for us or for any person or institution. I certainly don’t do this perfectly, but at least I am aware of my own propensity to want my kids to ‘be smart’ to ‘do better’ or ‘behave according to standards’ or ‘be x, y, or z.’ I’m aware of it and because of what I’ve been through, and because of people like the person I met today, I will continue to fight against that thing inside me that says ‘fit in,’ ‘don’t make choices that will alienate you from Society.’ Okay, I’m dancing around the issue of our children’s sexuality something we have no control over. Oh, I know there are debates about whether sexuality is nature or nurture, a choice or biological. I’m not having that conversation simply saying love each other damn it!.

Unconditionally loving others. It is a profoundly difficult way to live but so important.

Enough preaching.

A poem I wrote a while back about growing up NOT feeling loved.

It returned, again
The dream that continues to visit me
Night after night
Year after year,
Unbidden. Uninvited
Not unexpected, but unwelcome.
A dream that says
You are unwanted.
Question yourself.
Question love.
Doubt everything you know to be true.
Nothing is real.
A solitary thought that says
Night after night
In various, complicated dreams
You are Unlovely, unlovable.
The fragile peace that comes by day
Is broken during the dark hours of sleep.

Mastery of life: About Face!

The whole idea of blogging about diet and exercise is such a pedestrian stereotype. But be warned, this is a journal about a personal transformation. No, even better, my personal body revolution!  No blood will be shed, but change is occurring!  And if, by following along, it is meaningful to others, that’s a reward too.  I won’t be preposterous  and say it with help someone.  But I know MANY people struggle with  “issues” of weight loss or gain, disordered eating and body hatred, so that’s why I make this journal public.  It will be about mastering my body and life.

A week ago Sunday I began to use our treadmill for a long walking workout.  Every day, I walk for at least an hour, because this gives my body a “wake up” time and then once it (my body) is fully awake and functional, I give it a good hard sweat.  Doing this, I am able to burn from 500-750 calories in about an hour.  And I feel great afterwords.  I drink about 32 oz. of water during and after the workout and am feeling really good.  I know I just said that, but it bears repeating!  This type of workout makes me feel really, really good.

When I quit drinking in July, 08 my weight was up to 169, which is the very highest my weight has ever been when not pregnant or recovering from pregnancy.  I’ve always said I will never ‘get fat’ I am not certain that I have the willpower to take it off.  As members of my family have struggled with their weight for years, the yo-yo of a life of dieting was something I feared.  I do not want that!!  I’m afraid of that eventuality.  An yet, here I am at 42 and 168 or so pounds, and the scale and my BMI tell me I am over-weight at 5′6″.  As I said, I thought when I quit drinking that the weight would drop off, but I guess that my body had adjusted and was comfortable with it.  This puts me at a size 14 and uncomfortable.  For about a half a year I have been in MAJOR denial about this weight gain.  But you can’t deny it forever and hitting 170 would be it for me.  There’s no denying it.

Since giving birth to three kids in 1997, 1999 and 1991, I carried about ten pounds for each child.  In 1992 I tried the first diet of my life more out of a desire to be supportive to Tom.  I can actually say that South Beach diet works and I lost 17 pounds in about two months.  I was a beautiful size ten and I have to say that I felt fantastic.  I wasn’t working out at all and people told me I looked “unhealthy.”  But for the first time in years the heavy, bloated, thick-waisted feeling was gone.

So now, in my closets I have my skinny clothes (did I just say my skinny clothes? Ew!) (9-10s), my medium clothes (11-12s), and my heavy clothes (solid 14).

All this rambling brings me to today.  As already mentioned, a week ago Sunday I started working out and watching my calories.  Tom’s the kind of dieter that counts calories, tallying in his mind all day long.  When he gets to his limit he stops eating.  For me, counting calories doesn’t work.  I can’t remember the value of everything and after about three or four days of writing everything down on scrap pieces of paper in the kitchen, I want to scream and stop writing things down.   But with eating through out the day and then a workout to subtract and have no idea where I am.

During the first week, I fluctuated up and down, but couldn’t break the 165 barrier.  Frustrated and confused, I kept limiting calories and exercising every day, and drinking lots of water…. Yesterday, finally, after two weeks, I weighed in at 165.  Today it is 166 again.

OH, just to be clear: My commitment is daily exercise and I’m going to apply Phase I of the South Beach Diet.  The South Beach is perfect for me.  It’s simple, healthy, and kicks my body into turbo calorie burning.  I need the  immediate results.  I can’t wait to see what happens next although today I’m frustrated to not see results yet.  To be sure, it didn’t help to eat some birthday cake last night.  Strictly speaking I broke all the rules, but, I’m back on the plan today.  Cheese and meat for breakfast.  Lots of water.  I woke up with a pick ax behind my eyeballs, which has been a reoccurring problem and Tom’s theory is I’m dehydrated.

More later on, the psychology of dieting and the South Beach program and why I like it.

Goal: 140 March 15th!

1/16/09 168

Compulsivity and Change

Between stimulus and response, there is a space.

In that space lies our freedom and power to choose our response.

In our response lies our growth and our freedom.*

STIMULUS —————> Freedom to Choose -————> OUR RESPONSE

For years it has been a compulsive habit to chew my nails.  Frankly it’s a disgusting habit, and it is an instant signal to me (and to others unfortunately) that I’m feeling insecure.  When I was in high school I noticed that my very accomplished and well-educated teacher had disgusting, chewed to the quick, nails.  And I realized in that moment, which felt extremely profound to me as an 11th grader, that my teacher was  insecure.  And if you combined the fact that she over-weight, in my mind, she was extremely insecure.

My take away, I was not the only one! I know it seems strange, but at that point in my life, I was self-aware enough to see that I was insecure I didn’t realize that other people were too.  But in that amazing moment in my class I accepted that other people were insecure too.  I will never forget it.

What makes us so afraid of change? It takes three weeks to make a habit, supposedly.  So are we basically lazy, or don’t believe in ourselves enough to change, do we think we somehow deserve what we have, or are we afraid of change?  I’ve been thinking a lot about this as I work on internal and external issues.  Internally, I am working on liking myself and acknowledging good and positive things about myself.  Externally I am working on liking myself and fixing the things I don’t like.  Actually, I’m working on change in both places.

But it’s seriously more familiar to stick my head in the sand, as they say, and just ignore the scale, my energy level, my moods, my low esteem for myself, and the good people in my life that love me and accept me.  Even as I write I can see how screwy it is.  But, it is….what it is.

But I’m working toward looking for the indicators in my life that say other truths.  Although I have some friends who have said that I’m too difficult, manipulative, unpredictable, mean-spirited ….  I have others who have said my story, my experiences, my processing my pain, helps them.  Do I focus on the one that feels like rejection or on the positive?

Well, you know what I do choose, habitually and compulsively. The NEGATIVE!

Listening to those positive people, it doesn’t mean that the others were wrong.  Alcoholics are manipulative.  I am broken. Many times extremely dysfunctional.  I am needy.   I a’m impulsive.  I am unfaithful.  I’m … see how easy it is to make that list? (Deep breath.)  But not always.  Not completely.  And I’m working to change. I cannot change the past, and even some relationships I can’t fix.  As much as that hurts, I can’t stay there.  And I trust that some day, something redemptive will happen there.

But for now, it’s on to mastering my life!

So, about the life change:  I’ve been dieting and exercising for two weeks, Sunday, and had gotten pretty discouraged because I wasn’t losing weight more quickly.  I started at 168.5 and yesterday, at noon the scale still said 165, which makes me fucking furious. (Please excuse my cursing.  It’s a inelegant habit.  Perhaps one of these days I’ll work on it too, but until then …)

Today I was finally at 163!!!!!!!!!!!!!  I’ve changed two things.

1) I weighed myself first thing in the morning, before I got ready for the day, before eating, drinking my coffee, and exercising, and it was lower. Wahoo!

2)  I actually think I may have been eating too few calories, so as Tom has told me a million times, my body thinks I’m starving it and goes into hoarding calories.  It is impossible to lose weight in those circumstances. And although the fact is weird, I just lose my appetite when I’m not eating.  And I’m just compulsive enough to not slam a bunch of carbohydrates if I happen to feel hungry, like I normally would.  A chocolate croissant or even a Big Mac for lunch, yes that is me.   (Did you know a Big Mac is 600 calories or something?  That’s like half the day’s calories if you’re watching it.) So instead I’d have a couple pieces of string cheese or a hand full of almonds or a protein bar, none of which is more than 200 calories and not enough for a meal.

Anyway, lessons for life.  Making positive change in your life is firstly about believing in yourself.  Deciding, just for today, I’m going to do something different.  Not glancing back at yesterday, for it is likely to have some failures.  And NOT looking at it like it is for the rest of your life.  It’s today.   What am I eating that is in the positive column, if you will: fruit, veggies, protein, even carbs if they are grains that are good for you.  Did I exercise in any manner.  Why not a 15 minute walk?  or, something else.

If I’ve learned anything about this alcohol addiction it is live for today.  Today is the one I can do something about, not yesterday, and not tomorrow.   Just this minute.   Make it count.

* The Seven Habits of Highly Effective Familes, Stephen R. Covey

Tom’s Music on Primetime CBS show

My lovely husband.  I am so proud of him.  Although his ‘day job’ is wonderful and he’s an amazing leader of his organization, I know that his passion is his music which does in his off hours. Last year he completed his 2nd album, ironically titled Everything Takes Forever, a five year project?! It’s a beautiful CD.

He just received word that one of his songs—“Even So” from his 2nd CD Everything Takes Forever will be used on  the CBS prime time show, Ghost Whisperer, tonight Friday (2/13/09, 8:00 PM ET; 7:00 PM CT) If you’d like, check it out.

Also, his website is:

www.myspace.com/tomhansonmusic in case you want to stop by to sample.

Peace to all,  Melody

my poem: addict

Being an addict catches me by surprise.  Today,

seemingly innocent things — a drink, a smoke, a purchase, food, even exercise can become

urgent

need.

In the time that it takes to feel a flash of happiness, sadness or regret;

less than 60 seconds of my life

and I remember,

I am an addict.  How could I have forgotten?

Today I must ask what brought this on?

For tomorrow I must fill the need

with OTHER.

As for yesterday, I can only look back and remember

I am an addict, but I am stronger than my need.

And as for this moment — I know I am an addict;

I am. I was. I always will be, always will be

an addict.

ADDICT written april 9, 2009 by melody harrison hanson

Those that have no background in addiction look at the word ADDICT and the word alcoholic as kind of wicked and weak.  Face it, our culture doesn’t understand.  But if you’ve been there, if you live there, if you love someone who does or has you know exactly what I mean.  And I thank you for understanding.

I need a filling

…

 

Originally uploaded by M e l o d y

It’s difficult to face

some days.

Yesterday was like that

simply

because I was face-to-face

with my [faithless and revolting] need

for Substance.

And I vowed,

again, as I do many days

to offer my need to God, the ultimate Other,

asking for a filling.

I need a filling dear Lord, I need a filling.

written 4/13/2009

by Melody Harrison Hanson

my poem: no dignity

There’s no dignity in panic.

It stops your heart from consuming any sensation, real or otherwise.

Your brain hums, but it’s got no tune. It is an off-key drone.

You can’t breathe, your lungs forgetting their purpose,like a pillow over your face, it suffocates.

Your feet are leaden; won’t walk, won’t work.

In fact, decency and decorum would help a lot right about now.

This moment, you wish was a memory.

But in fact, you have no magid wishes; not one, two or three.

Your brain, heart, lungs, legs are corrupted, having forgotten their purpose.

This is the simplest and worst of betrayals.

You are offensive even to yourself.  Sickened by your fear.

There’s no dignity in panic, nor any humanity or decency;

only a crippling,fractured, dismembered day,

hour-by-hour

endured.

No self-respect;Until somehow

Wisdom anchors to your soul.

And you let it go. Not to forget,

but for now to breathe, think, move until the next

most unwelcome panic.

4/15/2009

Written by Melody Harrison Hanson

The Journey In Between

In my journey between belief and disbelief, I have found Truth to be something I shall not argue about, but to be what I have experienced in the mystery of the flesh-and-blood of the incarnation.  My encounter with Truth is the Story — my responses, reflected in word and image, are but a ripple in the ocean of that mystery.

After a recent exhibit at an artist showcase at my church, I found that I was ultimately ambivalent about it.  One image I preferred, titled Sinkhole, seen below, truthfully expressed the dark lull of depression which is a reoccurring struggle for me, but the rest of my images were drivel.  After searching within, and asking for guidance, I found inside myself a desire which I came to understand as this:

I want my photography and poetry to reflect the improbable and shattering experiences I have had encountering Jesus — encounters between my grubby and muddled life and Truth.  These moments aren’t at all pretty; my struggles with a life-threatening depression (the sinkhole), the death of an abusive yet charming parent, a loathsome self-esteem, the tensions between my passions & my search for ultimate purpose, and the shame & fear in acknowledging my alcoholism, are all relevant to my faith journey.

I am living with the tension of wanting to create beautiful, excellent art and to reflect the sweat and toil of my faith.  To honestly reflect the sweet serenity of unconditional love & laughter, as well as suffering, pain and broken heart I have from things chosen and unchosen in my life.  The satisfaction I have experienced in my slow, bittersweet surrender to believing God is who he says he is and can do what he says he can do!  The heart’s quickening by the spirit of God which is earth shattering and good.

I’m fully aware that my writing and photography will never have the Answers to the Questions people have — but if it can be a simple witness to my experiences and a nudge toward Truth, I will be satisfied.  Knowing Jesus promised that those who seek will find.  We can trust him.  He meant what he said.

I want my Art to be a connection that cannot  help but push one toward God. I need to make this kind of art, need it desperately.  And I hope in the act of creating, whether through a lens or written word., some restitution will be found.

Is it too much to ask that Art heals, directs, and in the end is a tiny inkling of God’s Truth?  There is a certain anxiety or fear involved with the attempt.  Not wanting to be marginalized by the world for making “Christian art,” I feel reluctant and yet strangely compelled! What other option do I have?  If my art is relevant to the entirety of my experience, from the dazzling to the profane moments, then it just may be relevant to the people around me.

This is my wish.

MHH

Some of my thinking was inspired by: www.relevantmagazine.com, www.insidecatholic.com, as well as by the writings of C.S.Lewis. Teaching at Blackhawk Church, www.blackhawkchurch.org, has been a catalyst in this profound change in my life over the last seven years.

Laugh more. Indeed.

..

Originally uploaded by M e l o d y

Life passes: we must cherish moments like my boys totally going silly for my Easter shots.

So I have been decidedly peaked this week!

But the sun is shining. It’s burning into my back from the window as I write this. And I vow, for today, that I will laugh a bit, play with my kids even if it means something I don’t like (I am SO NOT a ‘child at heart!’ but rather and old, old soul.), and go out and rake some leaves or something!!!

And I leave you with some wonderful quotations:

“The best remedy for those who are afraid, lonely or unhappy is to go outside, somewhere where they can be quiet, alone with the heavens, nature and God.”

Anne Frank

“I go to nature to be soothed and healed, and to have my senses put in tune once again.”

John Burroughs

“Everybody needs beauty as well as bread, places to play in and pray in, where nature may heal and give strength to body and soul.”

John Muir

“Look deep into nature, and then you will understand everything better.”

Albert Einstein

“Nature is the art of God.”

Thomas Browne, Religio Medici, 1635

“It is not so much for its beauty that the forest makes a claim upon [a person's heart], as for that subtle something, that quality of air that emanation from old trees, that so wonderfully changes and renews a weary spirit.”

Robert Louis Stevenson

Be well!

As always, if you want to read what I’ve been writing, look to the column to your right.  And thanks for reading and commenting!

Gallery Showing

Just a reminder.  I will be showing some of my photography this Friday, the 15th, at St. John the Baptist Gallery, at 6:30 pm. (2710 Atwood Ave, Madison.)

I have chosen selections of nature photography taken in Maui and south central Wisconsin, along with an abstract.  All pieces will be for sale.

A half dozen other local artists will also show their work, including Drazen Dupor, who is a local artist (originally from Serbia) who paints with the centuries old technique of Iconography. His work alone is a reason to attend!

I would be delighted if you were able to stop by any time tomorrow after 6:30 pm for live music, beverages, and of course local art!

Melody Harrison Hanson

Imagine Photography LLC

Images of Spring

My first AA meeting

…

Originally uploaded by M e l o d y

Beauty in the midst of Chaos

Just a few brief thoughts, because of the business of my day. It’s a bold confession to admit to others, especially Christians, that you are an alcoholic. I can admit it to myself readily enough, although it did take me six years. But once the admission is made internally I do not feel ashamed.

The moment that one speaks publicly, the idea of being an addict feels shameful. I fear that others will perceive me as weak (an unspoken judgment that I used to make about other addicts, if I am utterly honest).

So little is understood about the nature of this disease, and after all my training I still find it hard to believe that alcoholism is a disease, like cancer or any other.

My own internal judgment, my low esteem for myself, my fear that I am simply a weak person all join forces to tell me that I have to do this alone!

And so, it took me nearly a year to walk into my first AA meeting. I’ve been sober since July 24th, 2008 but yesterday was my first meeting where by walking into that room filled with beautiful, amazing women, I was admitting that I was powerless over alcohol and I was acknowledging that I have been judgmental about others and have not wanted to be surrounded by what I had perceived, in advance of even meeting them, as slightly -odd, -crazy, -weak, definitely-weird overly needy strangers.

Forgive me, for my wrong thinking. For the last year I have found strength in feeling “above” those others: addicts who need AA. I felt superior, intelligent, stronger, better … I didn’t ‘need’ AA.

You know what I have to say to that? WHATEVER!!!

I am powerless. And yet for nearly a year I have stayed sober by isolation and sheer strength of will. I have worked on very many aspects of my life, spiritual and physical, emotional and psychological. I have quit smoking. I have become more centered. I have sought out strong influences.

And yet, I can not stay sober alone. And so I went to my first meeting and for the first time in ages I felt that I was not alone** in my addiction. I could sit and listen to others and not have to think so much, get out of my head into my heart, and just BE.

Keep coming back was a good message for me yesterday and I will.

So be it.

Melody

** alone – by that I do not mean unsupported. Tom and others have been encouraging and supportive, but not being addicts, there’s just something that can’t be said, understood, known.

firsts

Originally uploaded by M e l o d y

Do you remember the first time you did anything? This is a friend of ours, and this is his first taste of watermelon!

When Dylan (ten years old) found out that this was Zeke’s first taste of watermelon he said:

“I wish I was little. I don’t remember the first time I ate watermelon. It’s an honor to share this with him.” (Yes, that’s a direct quote. He said ‘honor.’

Is that not the sweetest thing?

It made my day.

bonfire

Originally uploaded by M e l o d y

As this bonfire, made up of three extremely crispy Christmas trees, caught fire I thought it might singe my eyebrows off. But I guess it would have melted my camera first. I was frozen in place, only thinking what an amazing image it was creating and feeling the heat push everyone back behind me.

What I Didn’t Learn From My Parents … or Did I?

From my parents, I didn’t learn how to have or be a friend.

I didn’t learn to trust people.

I didn’t learn how to stick with a person, even if they are unpleasant or difficult, or to work at a relationship even if it is imperfect.

I learned how to be alone.

I learned how to mistrust.

I learned how to fear and to look for rejection.

I learned how to use people to get what I needed and wanted.

I learned how to break promises.  I learned to lie, mostly to myself.

I learned to be afraid, to find comfort in being alone, to be anxious, and to be unpredictable.

I learned to look strong, while I covered my fears with work, or illness, or alcohol, or sarcasm, or wit, or intelligence, or knowledge and arrogance, or competence, or whatever was near that made it go away, for a time.

I didn’t learn how to need, to depend on others, to be open, to give and take.  Me, me, me!  Always, what mattered was how everything impacts me!

I learned how to take from and use people — I didn’t think I had anything to give back.

Isolation equaled strength somehow in my parents.  Fear people, because they will let you down, hurt you, disappoint you, or even need you too much.

I didn’t learn from my parents and what I did, I am trying to unlearn.

Written 7/11,  Sunday, 2009

Tuesday, July 13

Ah, the wretchedness of focusing on yourself and your internal distress and grief.  Upon further thought I am truly ashamed.  How self-centered these thoughts are and how sorry I feel for myself at times.  Yes, all that happened but I also know, without a doubt, that what I learned and didn’t from my parents has made me the person I am today.

If anything, in the midst of my selfishness of thought, I am assured that I am not them.  I am my own person.  And although I am disgusted and ashamed of my parents’ behavior (and my own) at times,  it came from their own pain and disappointment with their parents.  My parents did not feel loved by their families, not a little, not a lot,seemingly not at all.  And although intellectually I know I was loved, it always came with a sense of conditions, whether spoken or not, that I could not live up to.  Not a little.  Not a lot.  Not at all.

I have made many, many mistakes already in my life.  My addiction to work at one point in my life, and even my giving in to an addiction to alcohol, and came from lineage of broken people.  Strength in the broken places was a mantra my father lived and I think he believedbut somehow he never changed; he never put a stop to passing on his pain, fear, isolation, and disappointments.

If I have any strength it comes from naming the sin of my selfishness.  To continue on hurting others, or even blaming, would be the ultimate lapse of character and so I take my weaknesses, my awareness of what I did not learn, and what I did and reach out.  For out of my fear, distrust and isolation come a raging and inconsolable need for Place.  For Belonging.  For a sense of Home, if you will, that I never knew as a child but crave as an adult. As I reach and extend my heart to others, I am trusting that we will each be strengthened by the risk-taking.

If it feels like jumping off a cliff, the terror unimaginably vivid, I am even more resolved! As I get outside of my doubts and fears, I can do something else with my life!  Sometimes that is as simple as answering the phone, returning a phone call or email, replying lovingly to an inquiry and a revealing a little more of myself, or more importantly caring enough to ask questions of others.

Isolation only brings what I seem to always be looking for, which is ‘proof’ of others’ betrayal.  I want others to reach toward me!  What I am learning is to get outside of myself, to consider others before myself.  Oh,I don’t do it perfectly, or even regularly, or even often enough; for the impulse to close in on myself is almost as natural as breathing.  And yet although I breathe, that is not being alive.  That is death in itself, to live hour-by-hour for myself and my own needs.  It is to others that I am called or else this life in not worthwhile, not a life worth living. And I do want to live fully, as complete and whole as I can be.

In the end, this isn’t about my parents.

It ends with my parents and begins with,

jumping off the cliff,

today.  Life in free fall is scary, but pretty great!

eulogy to life

There was a time, when to wake with a pounding head

meant total indiscretion the night before.

On this day, the one year anniversary

of my choosing relief and power,

the day I rejected my empty Thirst

I can celebrate my life.

There is shame in being a drunk;

total confusion and self-contempt.

I do not remember to glorify it,

for it was pure wretchedness, and I still

sometimes feel disbelief that this is my story.

But I cannot, dare not, blot out the memories.

It happened.

There is  guilt, humiliation, self-disgust,

but I dare not forget.

I choose sobriety.

I choose to be aware of my cravings and needs.

I am an alcoholic who chooses  — every day — her Life.

What is suicide — picking up the glass knowing it is death, for me.

What is Life?

Awareness.

Humility.

Service.

Love.

Life is facing down my demons,

knowing the dark times will come.

Life, is wanting something more.

Power comes in the choosing.

Choosing more Love, choosing Life.

Even as I remember,

I choose this day to Live.

I choose my Life.

July 17, 2009

I Remember …

I woke this morning with a certain wistfulness.  I am overcome by a feeling that comes from wondering why it is so hard for me to remember and why I focus on the negative memories so often.

Truth, I have very few memories of my childhood and later years.  For whatever reason they are simply gone.  I honestly don’t know why I have lost them, whether I blocked them or they are simply lost because of my feeble brain.

Once in a while I have a memory, that floods in and I should write it down.

Today I am trying to remember good things about my parents.

1. My mother is a great cook, a natural and she used to love to bake or cook for us.  We never had a bad meal in her kitchen.  She had a heart full of welcoming hospitality.
2. I once sat at the kitchen table with my friend Heather, laughing over some shared experience.  My father looked up and said how much I reminded him of his mom in that moment.  This was in high school.
3. My parents always chose their churches for us kids, to ensure that we went to a church with a thriving youth group even if it meant that they didn’t necessarily love the doctrine or musical styles.
4. In high school or earlier, I worked for my dad in his office doing “lick, stick and stuff” type assignments.  One day he came up to me while I was reading a novel, at my desk, and there he gave me the “work ethic” talk that has stuck with me for the rest of my life.  I will never forget it.  If you accomplish your work in less time than expected, ALWAYS look for or ask for more.  That unforgettable talk made me the 110% person that I am today.
5. My mom is a fount of knowledge about nutrition, health, plants, and many other topics.  She’s brilliant, really.
6. My father never met a stranger.  He believed that every conversation could be “divinely inspired” and went through his life meeting the most incredible, influential people (unknown to him until later) and the simple, everyday persons that interested and challenged him with each encounter.  He would strike up a conversation with anyone and show genuine interest, compassion and Christ’s love to each one.  I am hard core shy and truly disinterested in meeting strangers.  He would try to teach me “conversational starters” (From Dale Carnegie) but I must say I wasn’t the best student.
7. My father has no memory of being told he was loved by his parents as he was growing up.  He was almost ritualistic about coming to each one of us at the beginning or end of the day, with a hug and a word, some expression of love (not always the words “I love you” but always the intent).  I carry that tradition on now with my own children.  I hope the words don’t lose their meaning I say them so much.  But I never want them to be able to say “I’m not sure my parents loved me.”

That is all I have for now… seven strong memories to carry with me today.

How do you “see” God?

I have been pondering seriously the idea of what we “SEE” in our mind’s eye when we think of God and/or Jesus.  Do we connect God to being MALE, masculine, man?   The New Testament offers almost no physical descriptions and the earliest surviving portraits of Jesus date from about two centuries after his lifetime.

Why do we picture God or Jesus as male? Should we, necessarily?  Is it helpful or not?  Is it important to God to be thought of as Male?

I want to create a photograph series representing an androgynous: (neither totally male nor female) God/Jesus, but beautiful, long-suffering, kind, generous, strong Jesus that all can relate to.

Why?  Because for me and many people, male and female alike, it is destructive and even painful to think of God as male, masculine, or a man.  I know Jesus came to earth in the physical body of a male, but there is very little in scripture that talks about his gender or sexual identity (it is actually very benign topic in scripture).

And the way I think of it, Jesus does not fit cleanly into typical masculine and feminine gender roles.  Jesus was counter-cultural.  He was a man, but then what? …  If I am to be able to identify fully with God, who to me drew on both traditionally masculine and feminine emotions and behaviours, ways of thinking, approaches to life, I see that being as “between” woman and man, or if you will genderless.

If males are created in the image of God, then God has male attributes or traditional masculinity; and if females are created in the image of God, then God has female attributes and femininity.  But we are uncomfortable with that in traditional Christianity.

God’s personality has attributes of maleness and femaleness. Males and females, created in the image of God, have God-given attributes of maleness and femaleness.

Androgyny is simply the unity of ‘man’ and ‘woman’, ‘male’ and ‘female.’

This changes the typical and peculiar valuing of woman or women and forces one to challenge thinking that assumes that Males have a higher position with God than Females.  That man is the starting-point and woman the derivative. To me, an androgynous God is a correction to this one-sided thinking.

Where I have been reading:

“A better position of woman in Christianity (at least on the ideological level), or offering a Christian contribution towards a greater equilibrium between man and woman in our culture, will only be possible through a much more fundamental change of Christianity than is usually contemplated. A number of androcentric presuppositions, i.e. presuppositions which have the man as starting-point, or make him so, are present in Christian thinking; and it is precisely these unconscious presuppositions which accustom the legitimation by Christian thinking of one-sidedly patriarchal relations. Of course the spiritual movements, mentioned above, are present to give indications of the direction in which important aspects of deep transformations could be sought and achieved.” 1

This is not to say the person of Jesus was not a man, but was God, is God MALE.  And is that important?  How you or I “see” God need not be set in stone, need not be declared definitively, need not be harmful as it is now.

I want to blow people’s perceptions and stereotypes of God/Jesus, but I am not sure Blackhawk is ready for that …  It is important to me.  And I will pursue this project.

I am not certain that the person I have in mind would be willing to model.  But I’d like to find out.

Melody

1  Boudewijn Koole, Man en vrouw zijn een: De androgynie in het Christendom, in het bijzonder bij Jacob Boehme (English title: Man and woman are one: Androgyny in Christianity, particularly in the works of Jacob Boehme), Utrecht 1986, with `Summary in English’, [with extensive Notes, Bibliographies, as well as Indexes on I. Subjects and names II. Citations of Boehme III. Citations of the Bible IV. Authors]; 341 pp.; = diss. Utrecht 1986; ISBN 9061940869 [This publication had been made possible by the Bibliotheca Philosophica Hermetica in Amsterdam]

2 Check out http://www.religionfacts.com/jesus/image_gallery.htm for images of Jesus.

Is this honestly my life?

Originally uploaded by M e l o d y

We recently took our first family camping trip. (It was awesome! Let me get that in before I start rambling about everything else that is going on in my life. Our kids l o v e d it all and want to go again as soon as we can! Yay. As I loved camping as a child, this makes me very happy.  I did learn that we haven’t done as well as we might teaching our children the value of hard work. This caused many a “when I was a child” moments on this trip, much to my chagrin.)

We had a little rain, okay a lot of rain! Therefore a wet tent and bedding. And we only had two days, which those of you who camp know isn’t long enough. You should at least plan to stay more days than it took you to pack.

Our planning and packing was very much interrupted by an accident that occurred earlier in the week.

My 72 year old mother, in great health for the most part and living independently, fell and broke her shoulder. Technically fractured her Humerus bone in three places. It is a nasty, painful break and will take some time to recover from, a month in rehab and up to a year of physical therapy.

For me, I think the shock of going from having a completely or seemingly independent parent, to in many ways a dependent one, was immense. I’m still adjusting to having someone ‘need me’ on a daily if not more often basis.

Of course I have small kids (8, 10 and 11) and a 21 year old daughter and two cats, and a hubby, and family in town … but none of their needs compare to this. I am still reeling from the change to my life.

[Right now, sitting here writing this blog entry, is the longest I've sat and had complete, uninterrupted thoughts for fifteen days.  I'm feeling anxious that I don't have my cell phone on me, that I'm spending this time on this and not doing my to do list, and well you understand...]

Until my mother is healed, if ever, I and my sister here in town (and our families) are her caregivers.

But I also have two budding pubescents  in my house and they are both wild! in their own quirky ways but also driving me i n s a n e. These are the years when you bend over backwards being your most gracious, kind, accommodating self, while your “tween” grows into a loathing, seething, sarcastic, yet needy and fragile, frantic and moody, unpredictable, ungracious, ungrateful mess.   Yes, I have an opinion or two about this but I don’t really know what to think long term.  And yes, I’m a bit peeved that my sweet darlings have evolved into THAT!

Camping, dependent mother, two tween kids going nuts on me,  is just the beginning but I don’t really have time for more today.

the saving of a squirrel and other cool wildlife

the saving of a squirrel and other cool wildlife

Originally uploaded by M e l o d y

So we found a baby squirrel. It was in shock, bleeding out of its nose a little and mostly scared to death! I rocked it like a baby for 15 minutes at least and I was astounded by how calm he got.

The long and short of it, we took it to a wild life lovin’ place, and our baby “Ray” of sunshine will hopefully be fine.

Truthfully this was not how I would have chosen to spend part of my Labor Day, but it was important to my friend my friend and my 11 year old, so we “rescued” the baby squirrel.

I’m more heartless; I would have given it a nice burial close to home. We had to go to two places, before we found the Four Lakes Wildlife Center behind the Dane County Humane Society. It was a cool place. We discovered all sorts of cuties too wild for the Humane Society.

I have to say, it is kind of nice knowing that the little guy will be okay.

So how does a feminist, at-home mom answer the question: What do you do?

I hate that question!

And I hate that I hate it.

Unless you’ve spent some time (more than a month) at home managing things and people, you can’t imagine how the following realities can possibly be true.

When I say that I am a part-time free-lance photographer, I usually gets responses of  “Oh, cool” or “Oh wow” and just slightly impressed gazes.  I know what they are thinking when I say I am also an at-home mom.  I am an out-of-work-highly-skilled-workaholic-manager who hasn’t been able to transfer that skill to home and doesn’t have another job.

It’s true.  My many failings as a house-keeper are evident to anyone who spends more than a few minutes in my home.  I sometimes take images for others, and get paid.  Others I donate my time to like Our Lives magazine (I did this cover and usually have something in every issue. But most of the time my photography is for my own pleasure.  I spend my days super busy and yet at the end of the day I have usually (not always) not made a cent and quite the opposite have undoubtedly helped the economy along.

How do I spend my days?  What’s currently going on … ?

I spend a lot of time and even more soul energy, advocating for my children in the public school system.

When I am on my game I spend quite a good amount of time studying the Bible.  (I can’t take anyone’s word for it any more when it comes to my faith and understanding of things in the Bible.)

My yard is sorely neglected but it is beautiful and has a garden (providing amazing tomatoes, banana peppers, leeks and carrots, Bok Choy, and beans and different herbs.  I am an on again, off again composter but I mow my own yard and sometimes my aging neighbor’s.

My eight year old has — count them — eight cavities and will see the dentist four times this month, along with an orthodontist.   He has the unfortunate combination of: loves sugar, bad hygiene habits, and simply has bad teeth.  He also needs an appointment with an Audiologist, and a Psychologist, and I’m late signing him up for speech therapy/tutoring he receives twice weekly through the UW. I want to sign him up for football, because soccer was not his sport and with his auditory and focus challenges and issues, I think catch the ball and run will be right up his alley.  His IEP will be written at the first of October.  I need to contact a disability rights advocacy group, and figure out how to get his IEP working for him with or without that group, and check in weekly with the teachers, working on things at home.

It’s no wonder my eleven year old thinks she never gets my attention and she has started speaking stridently about e v e r y t h i n g.  (At least I hope that’s why she’s so exercised about every little thing.) It’s absolutely not true about my time, but I do have a lot going on with Jacob.

My middle child is creative and happily goes about his movie making, hoping to slip under the radar.  But he needs daily help with reading and homework whether he wants it or not.

My mother is 72 and although living independently we are beginning to have conversations about managing life.  She has two doctor appointments that I will attend and will require follow-up.  She’s broken her shoulder and so I do her laundry, fetch things, shop and visit daily.  I aim for daily at least.  Now I think she is ready to look into continued living facilities and has asked me to help her find them and go to appointments.  That will happen after she gets out of the assisted facility she is in for her rehab.

I got the physicals done thankfully, with shots for Emma going into Middle School and they asked my kid, like they have for … nine or ten years, … DOES YOUR FAMILY HAVE A FIRE SAFETY PLAN?  NO, No, for the last bloody time we don’t and probably never will!!!!!!!!!!  Lingering Guilt…  My advice in a fire is run!

I can’t seem to stay on top of my daughter’s soccer schedule and commitments, because we missed a seemingly innocuous parent meeting: I didn’t go and Tom didn’t get out of the car. And that’s all I’ll say about it, but she has two practices a week and a game which my husband helps to chauffeur,  for which I am grateful.

Speaking of husbands, I have a book at Borders recommended by a good friend, The Passionate Marriage (by David Schnark) which I haven’t had time to pick it up much less read, or work on that passion!  But I am hungry for connection with my husband, because we have reached those dangerous years when we are so busy “doing” for the kids that we hardly touch base.  The main time we see one another is 6:00 pm daily when we eat dinner as a family.

I am 14 months into my recovery from alcohol addiction and this recovery takes work – time and energy, energy and time.  I missed my Alcohol counseling appointment this month because it was the only day we had free to use already purchased tickets to Noah’s Ark, which we had been rained out of twice already, and the summer was over in a week.  But I haven’t even had time to do my Step 2 homework, so although I need to go, I’m not ready.

Every strain of life seems to be leading back to nutrition and health, with Jacob’s sugar fixation, Tom and I feeling lethargic and being over weight, my kids being a bit chubby, my high cholesterol, etc, etc.  I barely make it to the store, or to cook meals, much less read the 300 page book on Family Nutrition.  Even if I skimmed it I just want to sit down and  …. sigh.

I hadn’t had my teeth cleaned in a year, but did recently and have confirmed TMJ and need to schedule with a specialist.  Any surprise that I grind my teeth at night?  Some mornings I wake up with headache reminiscent of my old hangovers and my jaw pops all day long.  The dentist recommends I quit chewing gum, the same gum that I was chewing so that I could quit smoking.  Sore jaw or smoking withdrawal.  Hm….. Life is full of choices.

I had skin cancer last year and need a followup appointment, my doctor moved, so I have to get a new doctor, and a new appointment.  I have moles that are looking strange, but it will likely be winter before I get to it.

My neighbors have apples that need picking, free for the taking, but I keep buying them at the store because I don’t have time to go pick them.

When all is said and done (or undone) I will go pick an apple, breathe, and rethink whether it matters what my dentist, or anyone else, thinks about what I do all day?

Everyone’s life is full of challenge and we may or may not get to it all.   I go to bed night after night with my to do list still swirling around undone.  But big picture, this is exactly the right job for me, for now, for today, for this moment.

We are all falling.

So much beauty [in the world].
And so much pain.
Often it is easier to see the atrophy of humankind, on our planet and in our lives.

Today I am blessed by someone passing along this poem by Rainer Maria Rilke.

Autumn

The leaves are falling, falling as if from far up,
as if orchards were dying high in space.
Each leaf falls as if it were motioning “no.”

And tonight the heavy earth is falling
away from all other stars in the loneliness.

We’re all falling. This hand here is falling.
And look at the other one. It’s in them all.

And yet there is Someone, whose hands
infinitely calm, holding up all this falling.

I have never read that before today. It is perfect in its description of the almost inevitable atrophy or collapse of life and I can’t help but think our efforts to fight it are so vain. And the beautiful way that he talks about our Creator. I liked it a lot.

Thank you to my friend.

Thank you to the Someone who is holding it all together.

God Whispers

God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks to us in our conscience, but shouts in our pains: It is His megaphone to rouse a deaf world.     C.S. Lewis

Random sadness cannot be shaken

or filled up with things that may have worked before

food or drink,

distractions of children,

hard work,

general busyness,

exercise,

or even photography.

Random sadness, following me

like a weight on my neck and shoulders.

Sleep, my usual solace only brings bad dreams.

I cannot run from this

random sadness

which will be my constant companion today.

Melody Hanson
1 Nov 08

this epic grief

this Epic Grief

September 13, 2009

Minutes tick.  Limbs twitch.  Covers are tangled & awry.  I think I am almost under, when I realize that I have been awake for hours.

It is too late.  Sleep eludes me.

In the darkness I lay back again.  And again.  And  again.

My mind full of  shadows; ripples of awareness & memory.  Weariness.  Need. Needing anything besides my irrational, wild, anxious thoughts. Have I always felt so lonely?  Have I always had this epic grief?

It seems as if I was born lonely, afraid, ashamed. distrusting.  My heart in pieces.   One of my strongest childhood memories.

But hold on.  Pain must have a beginning.

Was it there before I was?  There in the hearts of my mother and father?

Was it as real to them? The waking dream.  The dreamless sleep.  A quiet pulse, ever present.

Did they pass this madness on to me, through blood and tears of a generational grief?

I am sleepless and crazy with sadness that in times past I would have gladly drowned with alcohol, or any other intoxicant.

But dry, I am left with this epic grief.

Days and years. Years and days of working at sobriety.

Because dry, without the work, I am simply left amongst my dreams.

Left

with this epic grief.

Writing poetry helps me feel something to its extreme.  To go as far as the madness allows and still remain sane.  And then — somehow — come back to a place of semi-sanity.  It helps me to write.  And I hope that it helps someone else as well.  I think that is why I share though some would say “A cry for help.” Ha, ha.  That is so.

Anxiety is love’s greatest killer.

“

Originally uploaded by M e l o d y

Anxiety is love’s greatest killer. It makes others feel as you might when a drowning man holds on to you. You want to save him, but you know he will strangle you with his panic.

— Anais Nin

An apology:

I have many regrets in my life, strongest of which is that I became a mother. I may not wreck my children’s lives (or I may, the verdict is out) but they deserve a stronger person, a better example, different genes than mine, a greater chance for happiness & joy.

I’m sorry that I didn’t reach out to my sister’s kids when they were small. Oh, I have excuses: working full-time, newly married, new step-mom, three little ones in four years. But I didn’t and I can never fix that.  I should have and to Michal and Josh, I owe an apology.

I’m sorry that I gave into addiction. So it’s a disease and all, but don’t some people manage it better. I wanted to escape. I became a drunk.  To my children and my husband, most of all, I am so sorry.

I’m sorry that I never confronted my father while he was living about his abusive anger, control, retaliation, and cruelty. I was too afraid. I lived every moment in the thralls of that fear, but there were a few times when I almost had the courage. I didn’t.  He is dead and to my sisters, I am so sorry.  We all deserved better.  To mom, who took it on the cheek emotionally speaking, you’re still here and that’s saying something.

I’m sorry for all the sarcasm that I threw at people over the years. It’s wicked and wrong. I am glad to have mostly overcome this.  To my sisters, certain friends I will not name, Tom and even at times my children.  Especially Molly.

I specific regret to Molly for not being the step-mom you deserved.  I was jealous, weak, and petty about your mom and for that I am ashamed.

I regret never trying anything when I was young. I was living in a straight-jacket of fear and need to please my parents. If I do anything now people smirk. I should know better. That’s just it. I don’t know better.

I really should never have tried to love, because I’m fairly incapable of it. Having never received unconditional love growing up, there’s a canyon of need and grief, and no matter how much I try to love others, I’m bereft of the skills I am certain one needs to truly love back. My best attempt is with Tom and 2nd with my children, and I’m sorely lacking. I know the actions but inside I am frozen-hearted.

I try to love others. But I am just hanging on. If I let go, to reach out to others, won’t I fall?

Splintered Truth

…

Originally uploaded by M e l o d y

This is not the end.

It is just another day.

A bitter clutching.

Somehow she will love, enough.

And will continue to speak truth.

Their voices are her voices

which hold power for her, only

if she listens

to the clutch of their ancient lies.

Murky in message, mighty in corruption.

She will not surrender to their splintered truths.

This is just another day

to hold on to her children’s laughter,

to their questions, to their need.

These she grabs on to fiercely

and holds on another day;

telling herself the truth found in wanting

[laughter, questions, need]

more than ancient lies and madness.

She is strong.

As she speaks there is found a certainty

in the granules of this goodness, pure and sweet.

Be strong.

Be strong, little marshmallow. 

-seen on a bumper sticker

I am often wary after having a prolific week of writing.  Cautious.  A few have said that what I express is too sharp, especially toward my parents.  I should consider keeping it to myself.  And I do wonder about that.  I do.  I am concerned.

I do spend quite a lot of time considering the idea of making my journey private.  And at the moment when my doubt is most profound, if I had an easy OFF button, I would turn it off.

The doubters, they don’t make it easy.

My father used to say “Don’t say anything at all, if you can’t say something nice.”  He was a man of contradictions, that’s certain.  It was one of his MANY ways of controlling us.  And yet, perhaps this medium is too open, or my story too raw, or my experiences too recent?

******************

My father is dead, but my mother lives and I want to respect her life experience.  She’s 72 years old and was so misunderstood and alone much of the time, while my father traveled the world and had many friends and acquaintances.  I only learned recently that he wouldn’t let her share things about their life together, or even her own experiences, not even with her own friends.  He would punish her later (after she confessed of telling).  I won’t give specifics here, because that’s her story not mine.  I am only learning of much of it now, as she very slowly opens herself.

But I grew up in that environment of fear, control and subjugation and I am resolved that I will not be afraid to speak my mind and tell my story.  He is dead and he cannot make me pay.

My parents suffered for their isolation; they were private, lonely, solitary people.  My father blabbed a few times in books and shared some of their stories, many we kids had never even been told.  To this day, my mother remains a private, inward, fearful person.  I know she longs for connections, but she no longer knows how to achieve it.

But let me say this: She is a beautiful, strong person inside, in that really small place where God has kept her safe and whole.

I believe that.  Whether she will have time to bring that person to life, I do not know.  I have told her I would be willing to help her tell her story.  Give her a chance to have a voice, for once.  We will see.

But each  word I write, about my own experiences,  is breaking the generational bondage of shame, isolation, fear and confinement, of emotional LIMBO.

And for each person who is slightly dismayed by my frankness, several more seem to be guided toward some place of truth in their own hearts and for me that is a good thing.

I cannot talk about this whole process without somehow connecting it to my faith, which is something I do not write about that often, at least I do not in an obvious way.

My faith experience is forever fragile and many aspects of it I cannot share, for fear of being misunderstood. My faith. I choose it daily. I don’t know if you will understand that. But I must choose, because, I CAN CHOOSE. (If you were NOT ever given choices as a child, as a young adult, and on, then you would understand that being able to finally do so seems like THE SINGLE MOST IMPORTANT piece of your existence.)

But more than that today I understand the immensity of what Jesus did in dieing.  For me.  Even if I were the only person that needed redemption. I am complete because of Jesus. I am whole.

Hold on!!! Am I kidding you?  The issue here is that I am so rotten and messed up.  How can I say I am complete??  That’s just it.  Jesus completes me.  That’s my hope. That’s my faith. That’s the choosing.

I am not whole, obviously.  I’m feeble and impoverished.   I am often misguided, extremely confused,  greatly lacking in wisdom, seeking comfort in things that do not satisfy, running away (fleeing) from intimacy,  fashioning my life after fiction, believing in empty ideas and myths. So why don’t I just go slit my wrists or drink myself into a death stupor?  I mean, that would be the obvious response.

Yes, I am the quintessential sinner, in need of grace, which I receive with disbelief and gratitude.  I know that God is good and I am not.  But God is shaping my life into something worthwhile.  Giving me reasons greater than myself, for choosing life.

As I look out at the beauty surrounding me:the autumn flowers, the changing leaves, red luscious tomatoes in my garden, my beautiful family — this life I have — is a reminder of God’s goodness and I am comforted.  For today.  And because of that hope, I write.  I believe that the writing does something positive, even when the words contain anguish.  I have hope for something good.

Be strong little marshmallow.  Be strong.

Storing September

My Mother gave me a book of poetry by Elizabeth B. Rooney and I was reminded of it today, with fall on its way.

Storing September
by Elizabeth B. Rooney
You ask me what I did today.
I could pretend and say,
“I don’t remember.”
But, no, I’ll tell you what I did today –
I stored September.
Sat in the sun and let the sun sink in,
Let all the warmth of it caress my skin.
When winter comes, my skin will still remember
The day I stored September.
And then my eyes –
I filled them with the deepest, bluest skies
And all the traceries of wasps and butterflies.
When winter comes, my eyes will still remember
The day they stored September.
And there was cricket song to fill my ears!
And the taste of grapes
And the deep purple of them!
And asters, like small clumps of sky…
You know how much I love them.
That’s what I did today
And I know why.
Just simply for the love of it,
I stored September.

At 43, I am …

Originally uploaded by M e l o d y

I am feeling my age!  And I am middle aged people. But I happy to be 43, no matter how I feel physically, which is squishy, and tired, and showing signs of blase-body (Yes, I made that up)!!! I’ve been waking up very early in the morning and can’t get back to sleep. I don’t enjoy sleep with the verve of my youth where I actually RELISHED sleep and would have said it was one of my favorite activities. Sleep is now an activity I do in order to replenish myself. That feels odd.  And OLD.

I read this and just

loved how it made me feel:

‘Gather, girl, the roses.’

Not a bad approach to life.  A year ago I began to be re-acquainted with an old friend.  We sat down to talk about my thoughts about being 42 and he told me I was hard on myself.  He’s passed on, this year.  I want to remember Pete and the figure of truth telling that he was for me as well as recognize that none of us know how many days we have on this earth so whatever it is that you long for, do it now, seize the moment!

I’m not getting any younger! I’m going to have some fun! I want to date Tom! And do things just because they seem fun! Not watch my kids act like kids, but join in!!

While 42:

• I remained sober!
• I quit smoking!!
• I quit sleeping medication!!!
• I wrote a lot of poetry and more, which is all found on this blog.
• I took thousands of photographs.
• I forgave.
• I sought forgiveness.
• I learned the concept of service as a form of recovery.
• And started going to AA meetings.
• My children turned 21, 11, 10 and eight and Tom 48.

My father has been dead almost six years but I have yet to “bury” him.

• I’d like to bury my dad this year.
• And take my kids to England & Scotland.
• I plan to seek peace, in my relationships, through my service to others, any way I can.
• And keep short accounts with people.
• Reach out to others not expect them to reach for me.
• I’d like to photograph more carefully.  And learn from others.
• And exhibit a project.
• Set up my studio.
• Eat more like a vegetarian and study natural health remedies.
• Work out daily, for my mental health.

Lastly, I’m thinking of taking some seminary courses with the possibility of some degree. Tom asked me the other night what are the major or minor things that I did not do because I was strangled by my relationship with my dad.

I didn’t study when, what, and where I wanted and I’m going to work on that this year.

This is going to get some tweaking over the next few days, but those are my musings on turning 43.

Here’s what I wrote about turning 42.

Who do you trust? Really.

There comes a time in one’s life when you must not only ask yourself hard questions but be willing to answer them. The question, if I am willing to ask it, is do I trust people?  Who do I trust?  And why?

We have come upon a touch of adversity, of late.  It feels disheartening as frustrating &  challenging things keep happening.  I said adversity but not real trials.  We are employed, still have our home, have a healthy family, we can feed our family, we have health insurance and even dental insurance.  In the big things, we are certainly okay.

But still, life is hard right now and my reflex is to scream WHY?!  to the ‘universe’ that keeps on going, no matter what hardship I have had.  Tomorrow quickly becomes today and I can’t ‘get off’ this ride.  This ride is my today.

It’s funny as a mother (or father, but mothering is what I do) you are thrust into situations where you need an advanced seminar in something (today emergency dentistry, Saturday it was sick kittens, last week eldercare … ) and you have to trust the experts that you have already surrounded yourself with.

My son Jacob broke/shattered/chipped his front teeth in the bathtub last night.  I was in a meeting about something that I am very excited about (utilizing artists in our church.  a potential artist’s blog.  a potential wall of photography I might create.  amazing. challenging.  fun.  my blood is pumping!) and after I get out of the building, my cell tells me I missed three calls and I get updated on what happened.

Our dentist is young and lacks history and experience.  And after getting it repaired this morning, I am feeling a bit unsure as to whether the dentist was functioning on the level I want for MY SON! My baby has shattered his two front teeth. If you look closely you can see that his teeth look like ice that has cracked.

I must get a second opinion.   Meanwhile, I can’t order the mouthguard for myself from my dentist, because it turns out even though and dentist and my Primary doc told me it’s TMJ & I clentch my jaw, it’s medical not dental.  I have to get approval through health insurance or I’ll pay $680 our of pocket.

I must get my 2nd cat, Darling, to the Vet to make sure she hasn’t caught whatever Gizmo had and what finally killed her.  And I have to get back over to Emergency Vetenarians for Gizmo’s remains because the boys want to bury her.

The boys need hair repair (they both got BAD haircuts during the summer) and they have school pictures tomorrow.

Emma has to create a timeline from the year of her birth, to now, providing events that occured each year including sports, politics, and three other categories I can’t remember at this moment.  That’s due Thursday, with dinner at my mom’s and soccer practice in between.  The good news there is that she seems to have gotten herself to school on time!

All that shared to say, I don’t have time to find an expert in emergency dentistry and yet, these are his adult teeth and . .  .  I absolutely have to do this.

Does anyone have a great, experienced, wise dentist?  Meanwhile, I’m doing some light reading:

To efficiently determine the extent of injury and correctly
diagnose injuries to the teeth, periodontium, and associated
structures, a systematic approach to the traumatized child is
essential.22,23 Assessment includes a thorough history, visual and
radiographic examination, and additional tests such as palpation,
percussion, and mobility evaluation. Intraoral radiography
is useful for the evaluation of dentoalveolar trauma. If the area
of concern extends beyond the dentoalveolar complex, extraoral
imaging may be indicated. Treatment planning takes into
consideration the patient’s health status and developmental
status as well as extent of injuries. Advanced behavior guidance
techniques or an appropriate referral may be necessary to ensure
that proper diagnosis and care are given.

Guideline on Management of Acute Dental Trauma, from the American Academy of Pediatric Dentistry.

It’s raining and I am reading Kierkegaard.

It’s raining and I am reading Kierkegaard.  That’s a good combination, the gloomy weather and honest thoughts.  As I sip my coffee and write, I do it amidst the bustle of children preparing for their day.  My coffee has grown cold, but let me tell you I am just warming up!

I have sat among others in conversation about Søren Kierkegaard and his thinking, but like many other areas in my life I have let others’ interpretations suffice and he had very little impact.

This is all so ironic, considering that he put into words an ache inside me that I haven’t known how to express. This understanding didn’t become as real until I read him for myself! Like so many areas of life, I am discovering that I am unique.  I have thoughts and ideas that are different, sometimes hugely different, from others.  But my self-discovery has been so long in coming that it is more than a little embarrassing.

In An Introduction to Kierkegaard, it says: “Kierkegaard aims to strip you, the reader, naked at two in the morning, to sit you in front of a mirror and force you to think about your life.”

Rest assured I am fully dressed, and it’s daytime, but my soul feels echoes of relief at being understood, even as I am reading the words of someone writing 100 years ago!  How I have anguished!  Certainly that is how this blog came about and anyone who takes the time to read my poetry knows it is true of my poetry.

Kierkegaard demands self-examination in a way that makes me jump up and howl “Yes!”  Not in self-absorption, or self-centeredness, but in a quest for maximum understanding, which makes so much sense to me! He confronts our innermost person, who is being lost in today’s (American) culture.  Hear me out.

“They use their abilities, amass wealth, carry out worldly enterprises, make prudent calculations, etc. and perhaps are mentioned in history, but they are not themselves.  In a spiritual sense they have no self, no self for whose sake they could venture everything.” (CUP 64-5)

This lack of being an individual leads to despair.  Many never acknowledge this.  Too often I do and feel like a total nutcase.  In the daily, humdrum of life “We convince ourselves that life is ‘happy’, that there is meaning and purpose to our lives, when often this is not the case.  We throw ourselves into activity of various kinds which is subconsciously designed to prevent us having to think deeply about ourselves at all.”  (Introduction to Kierkegaard.)

He doesn’t consider despair a negative.  Kierkegaard believed that the pain of despair can help us to seek something deeper, which comes before a person can take charge of their life, “beginning the long, painful, slow walk of becoming an individual.”

This, for me, is the most important point:

“In his ignorance of his own despair a person is furthest from being conscious of himself as spirit.  But precisely this — not being conscious of oneself as spirit — is despair, that is to say spiritlessness . . . the despairer is in the same situation as the consumptive; he feels best, considers himself to be healthiest, can appear to others to be in the pink of condition, just when the illness is at its most critical.” (CUP 75)

Kierkegaard is challenging those of us who have the outward appearance of happiness, to slow down, to be still, to look at ourselves differently.  Then perhaps we will see that it is a facade.  This doesn’t come easily and for me it took a complete change of career paths from a really driven, accomplished Mission leader … striving, proving, achieving… to housfrau and mommy.  Whoa did I have a crisis of purpose and fall flat on my face both physically and emotionally.  A crisis in my soul.  I was completely flattened by the fact that I had no understanding of my life’s greatest meaning. (And many Christians I know will now start flinching at this heretic thinking.  Read on.)

When I was working I wasn’t told you’re doing too much, I was simply given more to do.  The more I did, the more I was asked to do, until, when I left my job was split into three full-time jobs.  Why is this important, because I had become a machine.  When I was sad and confused about how to next spend my time and energies, I was given lists of activities and encouraged in to mommy-hood.  Really I just simply wanted some space, to think about these bigger issues of purpose, a sabbatical of sorts.  I now know that I would not have quit working if I could have sorted out these things, while procreating and all that entails.  (I wonder how many women go through this?)

When I did go home, suddenly I fell into the despair of questioning my purpose and discovering the masks I had constructed, feeling the despair of the seemingly commonplace, everyday life I was now living.  And so I began a long eight year path of becoming ruthlessly honest about what is true and false in my life.

Why do we seek the placid, safe and guarded sameness I have anguished?  I questioned and lamented my superficiality and missed the safety of the pursuit of work.  I was left with myself and I didn’t like it.  We work, we eat, we exercise, we shop, we acquire things and experiences, we pursue a hobby, become good at certain skills, we seek knowledge of various kinds, we become addicted to good and bad things, if we are very lucky we love, and we create beautiful things … and yet, still, we find ourselves awake at 2 in the morning.  The moment returns, or was it ever gone, and what then?

The greatest question is what does it mean to be human, not in some grand philosophical sense, but in how we choose to live and how to die.   The word ‘philosophy’ means ‘love of wisdom.’ And wisdom my father always said can only be gained through experience.  And I would add, thought.

For the first time in my life, with all pretense stripped away, I had an obligation to face my life and let wisdom begin to change the way lived.   Otherwise, life is just passing the time having moments of meaning. I should be able to figure out how to live out my life with justice and truth, with meaning.  My life can come  to mean something more than what I do and create.

For Kierkegaard said “I also know that in Greece a thinker was not a stunted existing person who produced works of art, but he himself was an existing work of art.” (CUP 303)

What does it mean to say you love? What does it mean to be a self? As I was reading him for the first time I started to get excited.  And if you are still with me after 1000+ words, I think you are excited as well!!!!!   Kierkegaard argues that most people are not selves at all.  Being an individual is difficult and it is something that few people attempt.  Instead, we put ourselves together in such a way that we are acceptable to others.  He calls it a copy.  We put on a mask.

I had certainly worn a mask for most of my life and with the ending of my work, or my purpose, I fell into a desolate place, a sinkhole which was ultimately deep depression.  It was like a loss of an arm it was so painful and it echoed on and on, I was lost .

And everyone continued to move through life as if it were nothing.   I should be able to do this change of career, or purpose and not fall apart.  So many other people do but for me it was my time of reckoning.  And I am grateful for it now that I am on the other side of the raging river.  I have crossed over and read with joy a description of what I went through.  Sure, I’m just at the beginning of reading this great thinker, philosopher and theologin.  But I’m psyched!

Why are we here?: On Purpose, Artistic Expression & Fear

I’ve got a problem and my mother summed it up correctly:  “Something’s got you stuck.”

As I sat in her living room yesterday, even my body spoke of the heavy, languid place I am in.  Slouching, holding my head which by the end of the day had become a migraine with nausea and halos, I was sinking; mired in body and spirit.

Earlier this week, my shrink really pissed me off.  I’m sure he did it purposefully and that makes him good.  As I see him monthly, this schedule makes it obvious that I’m stuck, afraid to move on with my photography.

For months, and months, I’ve been allowing everything under the sun, every good thing, to get in the way.  I found myself saying to him, “I know, I know!  I don’t want to become my mother!  In my 50’s, 60’s, and 70’s resenting and regretting all the “sacrifices” I made for everyone else.”  I don’t think she regrets them completely, actually.  Nor is she bitter, amazingly.  But I watched as she gave up so many of her aspirations and dreams for others, mostly my father.

Why am I stuck? …  What is it that I fear or is it even fear?

I am a lover of words (a wordie).  And I will travel down every rabbit trail of language’s meaning, fascinated by each manifestation.  It makes me interesting in a Bible Study group, and fairly annoying I think as a blogger, but just look at this list on words related to fear.

“Fear, as a noun, denotes the agitation and anxiety caused by the presence or imminence of danger.

Fear is the most general term: “Fear is the parent of cruelty” (J.A. Froude).

Fright is sudden, usually momentary, great fear.

Dread is strong fear, especially of what one is powerless to avoid.

Terror is intense, overpowering fear.

Horror is a combination of fear and aversion or repugnance.

Panic is sudden frantic fear, often groundless.

Alarm is fright aroused by the first realization of danger.

Dismay robs one of courage or the power to act effectively.

Consternation is often paralyzing, characterized by confusion and helplessness.

Trepidation is dread characteristically marked by trembling or hesitancy. (www.education.yahoo.com)

Or is it something else entirely, inertia?  Don’t worry, enough about words.

Kafka was wrong when he said: “It is not necessary that you leave the house. Remain at your table and listen. Do not even listen, only wait. Do not even wait, be wholly still and alone. The world will present itself to you for its unmasking, it can do no other, in ecstasy it will writhe at your feet. “

It’s definitely lined with excuses whatever it is that is keeping me from doing something, anything with my photography.

I don’t have time to have an opinion on all the things I have an opinion on. I don’t have time to express all the things I want to express.  I don’t have time to learn all the things I want to learn, to create all I want to create,  to do all I want to do  …..  choices, blessed choices!

I think THIS is the midlife crisis I have been colliding into!  I can hear that big clock ticking ….  this is the funk I am in.  It is a little bit fear but it’s mostly inertia, dismay and consternation all rolled into one and I cannot visualize what I want for myself so I cannot go after it.

What does it mean to be successful at my photography?  The business aspect, say the bottom-line?  The artistic expression? The public accolades?

And so, as I put sarcastically to a friend yesterday, “I have been trying to *know* as little as possible about how to take pictures, and expect hardly anything as an outcome.”  I am sooo funny.  Sooo pathetic more like it.

What makes what I do worthwhile? Is it simply because I make it and I like it?? Or do others need to value it to make it of value? How do I determine what is worth pursuing artistically? Is it about listening to others cues or simply allowing my inner vision to grow and the world can stuff it?

Rosanne Cash said in an NPR interview that she isn’t a performer if she doesn’t get out there and perform. The music cannot stay private.

And yet, so much of art is how you market it, market yourself, the glossy package of your website, studio, groups you join.  If that’s the case I’m in trouble: My office is in my junky basement, my gear is okay, and I have no slick studio. I haven’t gotten around to making a website or …. all the other  elements of “Making your photography Business a Success.”   So what? How much of it is perception and how much reality.

And if you have some ability you can take dynamic, compelling images no matter what your gear.  That I really do believe.

I think what’s more important is what’s the message?  What’s the story? Does your art have to have a message and story to be ‘good.’  I lean that way and then can think of tons of art that is simply pleasing to look at, esoteric, full of mood, just makes me feel good ….

Here’s a question for you:  If you don’t know what the “rules” of art are (e.g. no classical training, art school etc. ) and you break them, can you make good art?  And who decides?  Should art have outcomes?  I don’t know.  And, I don’t know how or when I will be out of this stupid funk. And I’m starting to feel some fright!

The good news, it’s not depression (and if you know my story at all you know that is major).  It really is not turning into that, but rather, more of a Why am I here?  What are my days for?  How do I serve others?  Can I serve with my artistic talent?  If so, how?  Do I have to be paid money, written up in the New York Times, recieve critical acclaim in order to prove myself.  And who is it that I’m trying to prove myself to, besides my father who’s dead.  To whom do I owe ultimate justification of my exsistance?  If god real, what is really expected of me as an artist?  Starting from the belief that god is real, how does that change my actions, deeds, what I create.

My kingdom for a magic eight ball that actually worked…

This Strange Desire: On Materialism & Image

Day 3 of 365, October 9, 2009

It’s obvious to anyone who looks at me that I care about clothes.  Aesthetics are important to me.  But more than that, let’s face it, I have thing for clothing.  Shoes.  Bags.  Scarfs.  Coats ….Oh, and my favorite in the fall: hats!!  I collect brooches. When I am particularly self-aware it’s a little sickening. It is materialistic.  But I just enjoy the hunt and enjoy creating a look.

I am also sometimes guilty of prejudging a person based on their way of dressing; their hair, glasses and shoes do say a lot about a person, I have always thought.  But now I’m seeing that it says something more about me.

It is hard to face this superficial response in myself, but at the very least I thought it was an internal issue sort of between me and my maker.  And not so obvious to others.  I was wrong! (More on this later.)

Beyond that, I struggle with addictive, compulsive behaviors so I have been known to go gonzo at thrift stores.  I love deals. It is the missionary kid in me who just beams in pride at finding a name brand jacket for $3.50 at the Goodwill.  But then I find shoes that match, and five more  jackets, all name brands and I buy them all.  This has caused stress to our finances and consternation in my marriage.  I should go on record to say that I have the most understanding and forgiving husband, although he has his own little issue with guitars.  Don’t we all have something? And I digress.

For me it’s clothes.  And I got to thinking about how much time, energy and money I spend thinking about this thing, which can only be summed up as IMAGE.  Ew!!  It leaves a bad taste in my mouth and it is hard to admit, sadly, how much I consider these things. But what really got me thinking is something that happened with my daughter, Emma, who is eleven in her first year of middle school.

Getting ready for soccer she declares she “can’t go” because she can’t show up at Dock later (church group) sweaty and gross!  Of course I begin to wax eloquent about how she knows that’s not what’s important. It’s her personality that will make her friends and it’s her character that will keep them … and she shouts over me from the stairs, saying something she doesn’t even believe (I hope!)

“How – you – look – is – everything!

That – is – how – people – decide – if – you’re – worth – talking – to!”

What have I done?  It has gone too far.

I heard an advertisement recently saying “Just because times are tight doesn’t mean you should have to stop wearing designer labels!” 

As I sit on the stairs, looking at my daughter I face the superficiality that I have lived, colliding with the values that I want my daughter to have.

And I came face-to-face with the fact that my need for and desire for self-expression was having a poor impact on my daughter.  And as I had already been facing it, which is how god seems to work in my life, I ready myself to pledge  to face this consumerism, materialism and image-focus in my life, by refusing to shop for clothes for myself for 365 days.  (I actually started two days ago, so I have 363 day left.)

I am rejecting the United States economic system that says consumption as ‘patriotic’ and the messages that we constantly hear that  image is what makes a person good, attractive and interesting.  I face  my own hypocrisy, while hopefully being an example to my daughter that she is more than the Old Navy skinny jeans and Converse tennies that she wears.  I am more than my Calvin Kleins and Danskos.

As a 43-year-old mother of four, hausfrau, I have very few things in my life that differentiate me from others.  I live in the suburbs, until recently I drove a soccer mom van for eight years.  But surely my house, my car, my clothing do not define me.

I believe that intellectually, but I am not living that way.  As an aside, it took long enough but thankfully I recognized the car thing before I bought myself a cute little JEEP and opted for the Honda Accord.  (I’ve longed for that JEEP since I was 16,  but that teenage dream dies here.)

I remember a  young New York socialite I met at an Urbana convention, who was so confronted by her own materialism & consumerism in contrast with the needs of the world’s poor, that she pledged to not buy clothes for a whole year. Of course at the time I thought she was nuts and felt a little jealous because I could never do that!

But, as I sat there staring up at my daughter on those stairs, I knew that’s what I would do.  I can do it.  I will.

I like challenges and so for one year I will see what it’s like to not cave to trends of fashion or consumerism.  I will use what I have.  Borrow if need be.  Get by with what’s in my closet.  Thankfully, I already own a lot of clothes and accessories.  (And I will always take donations from friends.)   There will be times when a special event will come up and I will find this hard: like Tom’s work trip to the Bahamas.   Remind me then what I have said here and we’ll see how it goes!

For now, who knows what I’ll do with all the unspent money.  A donation to my church’s Advent Conspiracy Offering, for sure. Around Christmas time, last year, they encouraged us to give up one gift and give it to the poor raising over $100,000.   It was very cool.   But kids grow quickly as well.  Irregardless of the money I wonder what this will teach me about my fragile sense of self?  Of course, I will blog (maybe once a week) on what I am learning, or reflecting on, people’s reactions, my own issues.

And, if by now you’ve decided that I am crazy but you agree with the idea of doing something you just don’t buy into a whole year, you are in luck.  November 27th is International Buy Nothing Day here in North America and the next day elsewhere. Buy nothing for one day.  It will send a message, make you think, give perspective.

Although nominated five times, Mohandas Gandhi never won the Nobel Peace Prize.  He once said: “A nation’s culture resides in the hearts and in the soul of its people.” and he also said: “Be the change you want to see in the world.”

Children are always absorbing Culture, Priorities and Values from us and I capitalize them intentionally.  Many time much more so than our words, our actions show them how to live.  Thankfully, it’s not too late.  No so suddenly, I know that my desire is to live honorably and to teach my beautiful girl something good, lasting and though difficult will profoundly change both of our lives.

See this for my 2nd entry on My Year Without New Clothes.

Feeling Thankful for Love

Love at first sight is easy

to understand;

it’s when two people have looked

at each other

for a lifetime

that it becomes a miracle.

-Amy Bloom

 

Feeling Thankful

I’m thankful for Tom. My miracle. My best friend.  His heart is good and because of this he is a gentle and loving person. It makes me think of the gospel according to Luke 6:45 : “The good person out of the good treasure of the heart produces good, ….. ; for it is out of the abundance of the heart that the mouth speaks.“

I am often blown by winds of life, but he is sure-footed.  I am often scattered, there is a centeredness to my husband that is beautiful and reassuring to me.  I am often frightened by my past and what it means for our future, especially for our children.  He is solidly behind me encircling me with his belief in me, his hope for transformation through the grace of the New Testament Jesus and the shalom offered there.  My mind is full and my heart as well, of the knowledge and experience of sharing a life with him.

June 5, 1993, we married in the chapel of Christ Presbyterian Church here in Madison, WI.

• Four children,
• two houses,
• three churches and
• many, many coffee maker’s later.

And more importantly:

• leaving a career that was important to me,
• losing my father to cancer,
• dealing with family addiction,
• my battle with major depression,
• my alcohol addiction, and other personal struggles;

As I have worked my way through a web of family history and learned so much about myself, he is still the person I fell in love with all those years ago.  I certainly understand him better, know him more intimately, comprehend a little better the complex person he is and is becoming.

This feeling of gratitude that I woke with comes out of a trip to Urgent Care with him.

None of us know how many days we have left.  So often we live as if we’ll never die and we face the days as if our loved ones will be with us forever.  By the way, Tom is fine.

This is just a reminder to hug the someone/s that you love.  Hug them and hold on tight.  Consider all that they bring into your life and what it might be like without them.  For all their possible aggravations (thinking of kids right now) they are the one for you –  be it a friend, a child, a lover, or a life long companion.

I know that I bring my many imperfections to this partnership.  And so does he.  That’s what is so amazing about it.

——————————————————————————————

“For death begins with life’s first breath. And life begins at touch of death” – John Oxenham

 

Winter Comes

Winter is uninvited, yet it always comes.

No matter how long  I postpone trying on last year’s coats, hats and gloves,

even still winter comes.  If I leave the hose out until it’s frozen stiff, snaking through the yard,

still winter comes.  The pots and the plants they crack and curl from the cold.  Winter, comes.

Winter comes in the cold,

dark mornings heralding sad thoughts and memories.

I lost my father to the winter.  I discovered, accepted and revealed a family’s ancient addiction.

I miscarried.  I fell down.  I fell apart.  Always winter comes.

Winter means waking early with darkness bringing in the day.

Though I try to overcome, the anxious thoughts settle in.

Remember the cold. Remember, remember.  I am always falling, in winter.

Good things are lost, so do not hold too tight

to what you desire most.  You will lose them to winter.

Love hurts more in winter, dries up and becomes need.

Love becomes memory. I am falling.  In winter.

And at the moment when the winter once again threatens to overcome, I end my slumber.

On that icy morning I wake early. Snuggle in.

Sipping coffee, by the fire.   And I think of Spring.

13, October, 2009

I’m back.

Originally uploaded by M e l o d y

Back from Seattle. Dylan and I spent two days there and two days back on the Amtrak train. I have many many images and thoughts from this trip! But I haven’t even unpacked my luggage.

Here’s a fun slide show of the train rides.

A poem about siblings (not) getting along.

Some Day

Some day I won’t have to ask the question: Why do siblings war? This I know. Tattered hearts are the consequence.  It is said by some that soon you will be the best of friends.  And so I listen from the next room, and wonder and think it is said so assuredly, but that slippery truth isn’t now, only some day.  You know what I think? Some day, if you are lucky, you will long to share breakfast with your brother and he’ll be miles away.  Or he may be distracted, distressed or in disagreement with you.  Life seems to get in the way of some day.   As for today, as you kick and scream on the couch demanding your own way I can only listen from the other room and pray, for some day.

Written October 28, 2009

Hold On, Honey (a poem)

In the face of a child

you see a simple belief

that life will always be safe and good.

That they are loved.  Always.

Even when you might yell or sternly scold,

a child forgives. Not really knowing they even need

to forgive.

A child comes  running for a hug and snuggle that says, once again,

everything is going to be okay.

Yes, in the face of a child, everything’s gonna be okay.

A child doesn’t know that they might not eat tomorrow.

A child doesn’t know they may not have a place to sleep tonight.

A child is laughter, joy and expectation of fun. They just want a zooming truck or a pretty doll or a book read, just one.

In the face of a child you find the hope of the whole wide world,

wrapped up in the crinkles around their eyes as they smile,

in those chubby cheeks and baby teeth lined up so nice.

In the sweet, sweaty smell of their body rubbing up against yours.

In a child’s believing eyes there is love.

Their “Good night Mama, I love you” holds more hope than one adult can imagine to feel

in life time.

Hold on to that hope honey. You hold on.

10-28-2009

Written for all children who still smile and for those that have forgotten what it is to be and trust like a child.

The Sky is Falling (part 3) Shop locally, it’s more IMPT than cheap underwear!

Recently I received a notice that TARGET wanted to build a store in my neighborhood.  I often shop at Target.  So why do I resent them moving into my turf?  I had to really think about it and I realized, other than the increased traffic and tacky feeling of strip mall, I am afraid local mom and pops businesses will suffer.  My money represents power and I have the opportunity to wield it.

There was no author to credit on the website I read it on. So thanks to whomever wrote this:

Top Ten Reasons to Shop Local

10. Local stores are more likely to carry locally produced foods which supports local agriculture.

9. Local business owners give to more local fundraising and 501(c)3’s.

8. Local businesses create a majority of jobs.

7. Local businesses support other local businesses.

6. The business community becomes reflective of this community’s unique culture.

5. The sales taxes I pay support this community and county: fixing my roads, maintaining my recreational facilities, . . .

4. Competition and diversity result in fair prices and more choices.

3. Shopping local reduces my carbon footprint.

2. Local business owners invest in the community and have a vested interest in the future of this community.

1. My hometown is more important than a cheap pair of underwear!

Well said!

And this is a great website the Institute for Local Self-Reliance (ILSR) which proposes a set of new rules that builds community by supporting humanly scaled politics and economics. The rules call for:

• Decisions made by those impacted
• Communities accepting responsibility for the welfare of their members and the next generation
• Households and communities possessing or owning sufficient productive capacity to generate real wealth

NewRules.org discusses the importance of rules and catalogs the best.  We make the rules and the rules make us.

Boo!

Originally uploaded by M e l o d y

I sure hope your days are full of fun with kids. If you don’t have kids, I’m sure you’ll enjoy all those little tyke’s comin’ round tomorrow night.  Halloween is simply a fun time for children and a bit of a hassle for parents, in my opinion.  Back in the day (listen to me I sound old!) we used to make up our costumes.  Where’s the fun, really, in buying a costume?  And yet, most every year we run out of time or just can’t think how to make a Darth Vader costume and so we’re off to the store for a costume costing anywhere in the range of $19.99 (without the light saber) to $59.99 which I refuse to pay.  Somehow it’s lost its charm for me with store bought e v e r y t h i n g.

We carved pumpkins yesterday which was fun.  The boys drew a design and I carved.  But Emma would not let me touch hers.  I had to let her learn the hard way, with a small cut on her hand to show for it.  Sometimes it is hard to let them grow up.

I’m still picking the strands and seeds up off the floor and have not sorted out the seeds from flesh yet.  Does anyone have a good recipe for roasted pumpkin seeds.  I have such good memories of that as a child.

But I am not looking forward to implementing a limit on candy!  And I am more and more concerned about the amount of high fructose corn syrup (HFCS) in our diet today.  I have noticed it makes us crazy and sick.

If you’re more than just curious about this, I’d encourage you to read this disturbing article titled The Murky World of High Fructose Corn Syrup.  Here’s a sampling…I’ve highlighted some of the more disturbing results of rats & the scary stuff, HFCS.

Sucrose is composed of glucose and fructose. When sugar is given to rats in high amounts, the rats develop multiple health problems, especially when the rats were deficient in certain nutrients, such as copper. The researchers wanted to know whether it was the fructose or the glucose moiety that was causing the problems. So they repeated their studies with two groups of rats, one given high amounts of glucose and one given high amounts of fructose. The glucose group was unaffected but the fructose group had disastrous results. The male rats did not reach adulthood. They had anemia, high cholesterol and heart hypertrophy–that means that their hearts enlarged until they exploded. They also had delayed testicular development. Dr. Field explains that fructose in combination with copper deficiency in the growing animal interferes with collagen production. (Copper deficiency, by the way, is widespread in America.) In a nutshell, the little bodies of the rats just fell apart. The females were not so affected, but they were unable to produce live young.

A lot more research needs to be done, but this is scary stuff people.

The Way Mulattas Make Me Feel: Michael Jackson’s Domination of the Feminized Other by Abdel Shakur

I have come upon a website doing some great thinking about the convergence of faith as you may know it and your life.  I spent more than a little time there yesterday.

This article surprised me and since that doesn’t happen too often I urge you to read it and tell me what you think.  Do you agree with Abdel Shakur?  Let me know.

The Other Journal at Mars Hill Graduate School :: The Way Mulattas Make Me Feel: Michael Jackson’s Domination of the Feminized Other by Abdel Shakur.

“Mommy, I need a hug”

…

 

Originally uploaded by M e l o d y

I know all parents say this, but really she is growing up too quickly all of sudden. I have this overwhelming urge to slow- it- down.

Firstly I think because I have so much yet to learn about  helping her grow into a strong, confident compassionate woman.  I feel as if I am only now learning these things!

But also because I so love the moments when she still says “Mommy I need a hug” and crawls into my lap.  Or, “Mom, you won’t believe what happened.” or, “What would you do if…?”

She’s growing up faster than I’m ready for because the manual on good parenting hasn’t been written, that I’ve found, and I’ve read a lot of them. And the mistakes are piling up. And my fear that I’ll mess it all up seems like an insurmountable mountain.

How does a parent develop a strong sense of authority in a child’s life, without being dogmatic, domineering, scary and just plain s***head. Cause that’s what I grew up with and I’m so afraid of doing that that I fear I am a milk toast.  The level of fear I grew up with makes me cringe when a parent raises their voice, and makes me weak and fearful of my own.

Tell me how you develop the sense of authority in your children’s lives while keeping the sense personal strength, self-knowledge, self-reliance, independence and autonomy that everyone needs, especially young girls.

Please.

Happy & healthy, from Michelle Obama

My summary from reading an interview done with Michelle Obama in Prevention magazine (Nov, 2009).

This is worth highlighting because we have never had such young President and First Lady, who are so thoroughly balanced, healthy and in love with life.  It’s actually kind of  an ‘out of body (& mind)’ experience after the last first couple who seemed old before their time, middle of the road, uninformed, lackluster, poochy, uncultured ‘folk.’

Okay, perhaps I go too far, but really how can one argue with the mandate to give yourself permission to be happy??

Aren’t we all on the grind, pushing, tired, sacrificing all … basically martyrs to our children’s futures?  Well, take a moment with a cup of tea or Joe, and read this little summary.  At the very least it will encourage you that our First Lady is a happy balanced woman and she has given you permission to be too.

Give yourself permission to be happy.

Make choices that make you happy and make sense for you.  Even your husband will be happier when you are happy. It will benefit the kids, husband and your own physical health.

Find balance as a Mother and make yourself a priority.

“I think my mother taught me what not to do. She put us first, always, sometimes to the detriment of herself. She encouraged me not to do that. She’d say being a good mother isn’t all about sacrificing; it’s really investing and putting yourself higher on your priority list. You can be a good mom and still work out, get your rest, have a career—or not. She encouraged me to find that balance.”

“I have freed myself to put me on the priority list and say, yes, I can make choices that make me happy, and it will ripple and benefit my kids, my husband, and my physical health. That’s hard for women to own; we’re not taught to do that. It’s a lesson that I want to teach my girls so they don’t wait for their “aha” moment until they’re in their 30s like I was. Maybe they can experience it a little earlier.”

Make exercise a priority.

I get up before the family, for me 4:30 am up, 8:00 pm to bed, ten at the latest.  Sleep is important but so is getting exercise.

Get Healthy While You’re Young.

“I always want to be in the best shape that I can be. What I’m discovering is that the older you get, the more work you have to do to stay there.”  The older you get, the more work you have to do to stay healthy. Watch what you eat and exercise.  (At 40 I priorities cardio, flexibility, Pilates, stretching.)

I totally agree with her here.  If you are reading this in your 20s or 30s, get out and exercise today!  It gets so, so (I want to write ten more so’s) much harder in your 40s, after kids, into those settled years.

Enjoy everything, but in Moderation.

“I try to have no absolute nos. I love french fries, I like a good burger, and I like pie. And that’s okay. I would be depressed if I felt I could never eat the things that I love.”  Good health is multi-faceted – it’s physical, it’s internal, it’s what you eat, and your emotional state.

Aging is great!

Everything is getting better, you have way more control, you know yourself better.

Be aware and intentional about your health.

Set up new boundaries for your eating as your schedule changes, like holidays.  Be aware.  Intentional.

Kids should think about their choices with eating.  No absolutes.

“Can I have pie?” my daughter asks.  “Did you have it yesterday? What do you think?” I answer.  “Yeah, I guess I can’t have it every day.”  This is important for her to think through and decide for herself.

Fashion sensibilities.

Do what makes you feel good, because there will always be someone who thinks you should do it differently.

Overall, her thoughts are so practical and balanced.  Sure, it takes more work in your forties to be in shape or in my case get in shape.  But it’s worth it.  It brings so much goodness into your families’ lives if we find the balance.  We owe it to ourselves and our families.

Our great lakes hold 20% of the fresh surface water on earth!

The title alone should stop you in your tracks if you care about our gorgeous lakes here in the mid west and upper peninsula or just the planet and our future water resources. Read on!  If you don’t care, even more so, you should read on.  Bottom line, we have to care.

According to Peter Annin, former Newsweek journalist and author of The Great Lakes Water Wars, this is the issue for the next hundred years and beyond.

The residents in the great lakes region need to manage its own precious resource, the lakes, and this is what Annin has been advocating for in Congress and through the excellent journalism in his book, over the last half-dozen years.   “The Great Lakes are a globally significant recourse, holding 20% of the all the fresh surface water on earth.”

Did you hear that? It bears repeating! The great lakes hold 20% of the all the fresh surface water on earth.

Annin  again: “It is good to use the waters in a sustainable way without all the ecological drawbacks that are common in so many parts of North America and the world.”

In my opinion,  and I’ve said this before, water is a key issue for us today. If you’re interested in the book, it can be found in your local bookstores.  (Buy local!)

Here’s the book’s You Tube  commercial  and an interesting ‘interview.’  I learned a lot.  It got me riled up.  Hence this little rant.

You and I need to know more so that we can speak into the issues, but it is difficult for your average person to figure out how to speak out. There are still places in the Great Lakes Water Compact that bear revisiting and there are deadlines, listed below, that are significant.

As always in a contract of this nature, there is concern that standards could be better defined because “reasonable use” bound against “economic benefits” will always put a price on our water.  How much water is a small withdrawal from the lakes, and can be safely diverted without regulation  is still unclear.  But that we have this agreement is significant  and worth celebrating and we should at the very least follow the conversation, the debate and understand how important it is to our future.

According to www.rootswire.org, a new collaboration of bloggers aggregating their sites into a nation-wide news reporting system.

After a burst of activity in 2006 and 2007, when state legislatures considered whether to adopt the Great Lakes Compact, progress on implementation has been slow. While some big decisions have been made—for example, almost all states have chosen thresholds for regulation of water withdrawals—the details are lacking. Stakeholders must press for protective actions in the next few years, or the Compact will fail to fulfill its promise.The requirements and their deadlines are:

· By December 8, 2009, a list of baseline volumes for withdrawals, consumptive uses and diversions must be submitted to the Compact Council. These volumes will be used to grandfather in existing users, and thus must be carefully scrutinized.· By December 8, 2010, water conservation and efficiency goals and objectives must be developed; a water conservation and efficiency program must be implemented; and water conservation measures must be promoted. Strong programs and measures are needed to ensure water will be used thoughtfully, and to ensure there will be enough for the future.

· By December 8, 2013, withdrawals and diversions must be registered and a water management program to regulate new or increased withdrawals and consumptive uses must be developed. The registration program is necessary to know how water is being used in the region. A comprehensive water management program will protect ecosystems from the impact of new or increased withdrawals.

The public needs to take part in this conversation and have the water managed to their benefit not commercial benefit.

Read up.  Get informed.  Water is our future.

I would urge you to do some investigating yourself!

Pete is a neighborhood acquaintance. He also manages the Gull Rock Light Keepers, a non-profit organization founded to save the Gull Rock Lighthouse, which Tom and I support.  The lighthouses of the great lakes are a beautiful, practical and most tangible cause which deserve our resources and attention.

Halloween Loot Beware.

As we go back and forth in our house about the whole issue of sugar, healthy habits & moderation and the fact that there is too much unhealthy food out there, I have to confess right off we have been living the extremes.

Don’t hate me, but the past few years we have done the let them gorge themselves Halloween night.  And then live the battle, with the “can I have some candy” woes dozens of times a day for weeks afterward.  That approach is pretty much ongoing hell for parents, with strung-out crazy kids right after the event.  And the constant requests are enough to make me want to dump the bags in the trash immediately!

But I’m afraid this year we swung the other direction, pronouncing on Halloween night, that they would be allowed five, count them, 1-2-3-4-5 candies that night and two each day thereafter.

Of course, one of our children declared that we had “ruined Halloween.”  And then, secretly ate half the bag one day when I was unawares.  This person, who shall go unnamed, apparently writhed in guilt for a few hours before stomach or conscious or both caused a confession at dinner.  When I said we need to have her (I mean this person’s) bag of candy “There will be no giving back of my candy, because …it is gone…”  Ha Ha, we were not amused.

But we had to face the fact that our swift pendulum swing into such strict moderation had created another kind  of monster: a lieing and cheating one.

And so I began to hunt for some more reasonable approach and found the following ideas, that seem practical, and healthy and although they still require a parents administration, they make sense and so I pass them on to you.

(adapted from those at www.mealsmatter.org, a Web site supported by the California Dairy Council)

Teach moderation. Overly restrictive rules around candy and other fun foods can backfire and make those foods even more desirable to kids. (Kids hiding or sneaking food behind your back is one clue. we found.) Show children that sweets and dessert can be included in moderate amounts (when you say so) as part of a healthy diet.

Spread it out. Allow kids a few pieces of trick-or-treat candy for dessert after lunch or dinner. Or include a piece or two with more healthful snacks, such as string cheese, vegetables with dip, trail mix, yogurt or a glass of milk.

Be a good role model. Junior may not give a boo for self restraint if he sees Mom or Dad finish off a bag of chips in one sitting.

Show balance. According to the latest Dietary Guidelines for Americans, healthful diet plans that meet all our nutritional recommendations still have room for some “discretionary calories” — additional foods with fat and sugar. For most of us, though, that’s only about an extra 150 to 200 calories per day. (Emphasis mine) That may be a reasonable daily limit for Halloween candy.

Finally, registered dietitian and child nutrition expert Ellyn Satter has this to say about Halloween treats for kids: “

Your child needs to learn to manage sweets and to keep them in proportion to the other food he eats. The key is to relegate candy to meal and snack times. Maintain the structure of meals and sit-down snacks, with parents retaining their leadership role in choosing the rest of the food that goes on the table. With that kind of structure and foundation, candy won’t spoil a child’s diet or make him too fat.”

That holds for us grown-ups, too. Happy post-Halloween!

Barbara Quinn is a registered dietitian at the Community Hospital of the Monterey Peninsula in California.

Motherhood is never what you expect.

 

Motherhood is never what you expect.

Originally uploaded by M e l o d y

So, she was diving into a leaf pile.

They were playing in the leaf pile, like it was water. She got carried away and forgot it wasn’t water. When I came running, she was flat on her back and couldn’t get up.

Internally, I was absolutely frieking out. I thought for a brief moment that she had broken her neck. Long story short, after a visit to urgent care she’s okay. Jammed her neck, a muscular issue, but nothing too serious.

She’s actually in a bit of pain, but 200 mg of Ibuprofen does wonders.

And the expectations of motherhood, well, I had planned to spend the afternoon alone, while Tom rehearsed for his show and the kids went out with my friend Layne.

Oh well.

Race, ethnicity & culture

UPDATE:  Zondervan has pulled all the material from their shelves and has an official apology here.  I am surprised and in awe of their willingness to do this.

 

I will be the first to admit that I know so very little about race and ethnicity.  And being white, I think my admitting that point right away is the most important way to start (more important than saying what  little I may know.)

My parents (Dan & Shelby Harrison of Wycliffe & InterVarsity) genuinely loved many people from varied cultures and who were in our home some as friends and others as honored guests from all over the world.  I have shared meals with everyone from Chinese international students to high level Russian educators and everyone in between.  I enjoyed listening to their stories and sharing in laughter and good food.  It was an extremely good way to grow up.  It taught me culture is more than simply to food and conversation.

Sometimes I wonder if I truly learned something meaningful from those people and their life experiences.

I have always felt comfortable within other cultures, but  have never felt a part of them.  My dad always said we (Harrison Family) were Heinz 57 or mutts; not really from anywhere.  Now I’m labeled Caucasian and I have no ‘culture’ to speak of, except for the mix of traditions that my parents brought to our family.  My mother is Texan.  My father culturally Chinese.  (Yes, stories for another day.)  In third grade my best friend was Sarah Wakabayashi.  And over the years, with a few exceptions, my friends were diverse.  Because of my experiences as a missionary kid, even though my skin was white, I have always gravitated toward minority culture kids and I found these friends were more accepting.  Majority culture kids just wanted me to become homogenized.

Today, my best friends here in Madison are a first generation Japanese woman and a Malaysian/Scottish woman.  My dearest lifetime, soul mate and friend is African-American and Japanese.  I feel understood by them, accepted.  But sometimes I think about and wonder why I don’t know more about their experiences of race and racism. We have had some conversations but they were hard to say the least.

This week I followed a conversation over the web between some leaders of the Asian American Christian community and the authors of  Deadly Viper published by Zondervan.  [Deadly Viper is leadership book whose art and concepts use Kung fu and Asian-looking graphics, but the book wasn't written by Asians nor is it about anything Asian.]  I have no way of knowing if I would have been offended by this book seeing it on the shelf without this context, because my first exposure was through the lens of Asians.  But just looking at it from a marketing perspective (which I know something about because of my job with Urbana & InterVarsity) it used Asian stereotypes and it was just plain stupid sounding. (Seriously, sometimes I wonder about the artists at these conservative Christian organizations.  They need a crash course in cultural sensitivity.)  But as I read (as a voyeur that the web strangely allows for) I realized how offensive it would be, & painful, for Asians, as they saw their culture caricatured and used to sell a book.

Some of their leaders called the issue to light including Dr. Soong-Chan Rah, who was one of the first and has received the most flack.  I was especially moved by Prof. Rah’s personal reflections and impressed by the good and gracious hearts of the Asian leaders.  Sadly, until organizations reflect the diversity of the kingdom of God, these blunders will continue. (more later).  “From a distance [it was] a great statement of how we can move positively in the direction of “authentic” reconciliation and journey towards multi-ethnicity.” (a friend Jimmy McGee on Facebook responding to Dr. Rah.)  I’d urge those of you who want to learn more about this, to read Dr. Rah’s blog, which seems to be a place where he helps people like me understand things from an Asian perpective.

All of this has gotten me thinking.

It got me thinking about my friendships over the years.

How well have I listened?  Have I asked the right questions? Or have I been so afraid of offending  and so fearful that I don’t know how to ask.  I am fearful of hurting my friends have I therefore committed the sin of omission?  I do know that acting casual about race wasn’t better than always talking about our differences.  It’s certainly easier (for me) but no, I do not think it is ever better.  I need to do more.

It got me reading.

There are billions of blogs (http://www.racialicious.com/ is a great one) out there where folk talk about their experiences of racism and being from a minority culture.  They are trying to help us majority folk to understand.  It’s out there.  I spent a few hours on Friday night, just following links.  I will post some of that in the future.

It got me feeling.

My sister Paula has written a book on being white in a multi-ethnic world and I haven’t read it.  I’m sorry Paula but it’s now on my bedstand!  See below for a description of the book.  And I personally own many books which speak to the topic, after working at IV.  I should read them.  Two that jumped from the shelf: Living in Color by Randy Woodley and A Beginner’s Guide to Crossing Cultures: making friends in a multi-cultural world, Patty Lane.  I have dozens more.  [guilt]  I guess I’ve always thought that having friends was good (enough.)

It got me listening.

It is important to listen to the painful experiences of minority culture folk, especially in this instance the Asian, and remembering some of the mistakes I made with Urbana communications trying to speak to many different audiences.

I feel profound sadness for the courage of these beautiful people and I don’t even know them.  I’d like to figure out how to ask my own friends about their experiences of race and racism, because I love them and I should know.

It got me remembering.

Nine years ago I wanted (and felt called in many ways) to attend a multi-racial church here in Madison.  It was hard to find one!  How difficult it was to find what “fit” our family.  Mostly my discomfort was my culture rubbing up against others’ and knowing I wasn’t ready to change.

[The only multi-racial church in Madison that I was aware of was Fountain of Life and for me it was very African-American and pentecostal and not as multi-cultural.  (Nothing being bad about African-American or pentecostal, just very different from my life experience.) It was so different from what we were used to, that my family wasn't ready to sacrifice what was comfortable and known.]

I compromised, on both multi-ethnicity and the issue of women, by attending the church that I do.  I still need to think about this some more but it is a sad and startling realization.

And as for what happened with Zondervan Publishing (a major Christian publisher) .

Well, when will organizations learn that we offend by our ignorance. And we re-offend by our pride and unwillingness to change or admit our ignorance. We must be willing to say “I don’t know” and “I was wrong” and “I’m sorry.”  And even then, our dear friends are so gracious and so tired of saying ‘it’s okay.”  Because it is not okay.

And we can’t stop there.  I can’t stop here.  One week of being worked up about pain caused by whites is not going to change anything.  The Church needs to figure this out.  There’s too much pain here.  It was almost physical for me as I read these comments from dear, dear people.  My friend Noriko says I have a deeply compassionate heart.  She is so good at reminding your of the good qualities.  It’s a double sided blessing Noriko.

My heart is breaking.  The wrong people are at the tables of power. The wrong people are in charge.  What can be done?

I have to leave it here for today.  Dinner to cook.  Homework to supervise.  But before I go, if you are white and just beginning to think about what it means to be white, please read about Paula’s book below.

——————————————————————————————————————-

Have you ever thought about what it means to be white?  For me, I am often ashamed of being white.  Or to a lesser degree, I never know what to bring to school for the International Potluck, where you’re supposed to represent your culture.  Well, my own sister has written a book on the topic and below is a description.  — Melody

Are you white? Do you know what this means? Are you aware of racial inequality but have wondered, So what do I do?. Paula Harris and Doug Schaupp present a Christian model of what it means to be white, wrestling with issues of history, power, identity, culture, reconciliation, relationship and community

Being White, by Paula Harris & Doug Schaupp, InterVarsity Press.

What does it mean to be white?

When you encounter people from other races or ethnicities, you may become suddenly aware that being white means something. Those from other backgrounds may respond to you differently or suspiciously. You may feel ambivalence about your identity as a white person. Or you may feel frustrated when a friend of another ethnicity shakes his head and says, “You just don’t get it because you’re white.

• How can you overcome the mistakes of the past?
• How can you build authentic relationships with people from other races and ethnicities?

Paula Harris and Doug Schaupp present a Christian model of what it means to be white. They wrestle through the history of how those in the majority have oppressed minority cultures, but they also show that whites also have a cultural and ethnic identity with its own distinctive traits and contributions. They demonstrate that white people have a key role to play in the work of racial reconciliation and the forging of a more just society.

Filled with real-life stories, life-transforming insights and practical guidance, this book is for you if you are aware of racial inequality but have wondered, So what do I do? Discover here a vision for just communities where whites can partner with and empower those of other ethnicities.

My dad: Dan Harrison

dadOriginally uploaded by M e l o d y

 

My father was diagnosed with two fatal brain tumors November 2002. This rendering (right) is of the last photo ever taken of him. Of course we had no idea that he was going to die a few days later.

I love it, because although he wasn’t able to speak by that time, he was watching his grand kids (my kids) play in the yard and this smile is sooo HIS SMILE! Makes me (smile) just looking at it.

For one human being to love another; that is perhaps the most difficult of all our tasks, the ultimate, the last test and proof, the work for which all other work is but preparation.  –    Rainer Maria Rilke

This is my dad.  I’m missing him today.  He died May 19th, 2003.  When I look at this picture, it still doesn’t seem to be real.

He traveled a lot.  He was gone as much as he was at home growing up.  So when I think of him as dead, well it’s really more of a gone feeling.  Which is very different than dead.

My dad was a mixed blessing.  I guess you take the good with the bad when it comes to parents.  Right now, I’d take anything from him.  I miss him so much.

With all I have learned about photography, I wish that I had one last chance to take his photo.  Oh how I would have loved that.

I’m looking to hear your thoughts about my dad.

I’ll write more later about mine.  I do have poems about him, but I don’t want to focus on that pain right now.  If you want to read them look under Poetry.

If it’s good enough for the President it’s good enough for me. Or: Collard Greens: good for you.

Originally uploaded by M e l o d y

I read ’somewhere’ that Collard Greens are really, really good for you, a cancer fighting green rich in antioxidants and vitamins and tons of fiber.  One cup of cooked collards offers your full daily Vitamin A, half your C and over 800 percent of your vitamin K.

A few weeks ago I posted this short entry (below) on Collard Greens asking for good recipes.  I got no responses.  And I’m thinking it’s because most of the people who read my blog are mostly white folk.  It turns out most white folk think Collard Greens are a nasty weed and we don’t know what to do with it.

Last night, at the first White House State Dinner , among other delicious things Collard Greens were on the menu and that got me looking and reading again.

And I want to cook them.  Help me out?

It turns out their pedigree dates back 2,000 years.  (And though they can’t spell Mediterranean …)

They originated, like kale, their kin, in Turkey, migrating, along with folks who grew it, to Greece and Rome. Julius Caesar allegedly treated collard greens as medicine, eating them after banquets to insure good nutrition and digestion.

Collards became a hit all over Europe and were introduced to America in the 17th century. They grew prolifically, especially in the South. While plantation owners considered collards weeds, slaves used the free and plentiful greens to make the humblest of meals sustaining and nourishing.  Despite their Mediterranian roots, they’re sturdily American.

Most of us know collards, if we know them at all, from the way slaves prepared them – as a mess o’ greens, slow-braised with pig parts. Collards are also a component of hopping john, a filling stew combining collards, black-eyed peas, which the slaves brought over from Africa . . . and more pig parts.

Now is the time collards flourish, and not just in the White House garden.  (Source:  www.meatlessmonday.com)

So I ask again, does anyone have good recipe for Collard Greens? Someone who has actually cooked them. Or will I have to go digging?

———————————————————————————

November 11th, 2009

Does anyone have a good recipe for Collard Greens?

Mine was bitter. Is this from the way I cooked it or something else I might have done?

They look so yummy but even with garlic and butter/olive oil they were super bitter.

C’ mon people. Let me know!!

It’s about pain: Concern for Christian women in the church

This is a followup to writing about multi-ethnicity, race and culture and the culturally insensitive and offensive book, Deadly Viper. I’ve concluded that the only way to change that story is to boycott the book but even that is ineffective. And apparently the authors are “good guys” and they didn’t mean any harm. Okay.  Beyond that, I’m going to continue to follow and cheer on, virtually, my (new) Asian American contacts, for they must continue to raise their concerns about WHY this is so inappropriate.  If you want to do something, here’s the email for the appropriate person to contact at Zondervan, the VP of PR and Communication, Jason.Vines@Zondervan.com.

I keep reading on (mostly) from women blogging, and here, that aspects of Deadly Viper are offensive to women, to which I heave a sigh of frustration!  I don’t want to read their silly book.  I’m not ready to talk about my pain and concerns for Christian women in the church.  And I do not look forward to writing this post which is essentially about PAIN! Yes, pain.

Before you, dear reader, get annoyed because we women are always offended, please understand how much I do not want to talk about this, knowing you think I should stop whining.

For me it starts with questioning why people, but Christians especially, cause one another pain so needlessly?  And especially why do we cause pain for those that are different from us?  Why are Christians so dogmatic, so closed-minded, so unwilling to change, so proud, and so damn selfish?  This is a serious generalization, but I cannot stand the reputations that Christians have right now in the media and in any secular context.  I cannot stand the way many, many Christians behave, it’s embarrassing!  We, above all, as followers of Christ are instructed to love, as Jesus loved (Remember the poor, the meek, the widow, the prisoner.)

If a person is in pain, whose fault is it?  I’m especially cognizant of this question because I have three kids very close in age and my husband and I are constantly being called upon to administer justice. (i.e. break up fights.)  Is it: a) their own fault for being too sensitive or getting hurt? b) the fault of the person who caused the pain in the past so it’s pushing buttons and causing additional anguish, or c) the fault of the person who caused the pain this time?

I suspect though, as we try to figure out who did what to whom and why, that we are asking the wrong questions.  Someone was hurt and pain occurred.  Where do we go from here?  How to make it right.  How to create conversation and learn?  These are the things I try to work through with my children and these are the things we should focus on now, as it relates to very difficult painful experiences.

Let’s be real. Racism exists.  Homophobia is very real. And I can step up boldly to the mike and say: SEXISM IS REAL and alive, though I genuinely wish it were not so.  And it causes minorities, gays and women pain, sometimes deeply, scarring because it is often repeatedly happening.

And yet we live with it.  We learn to get along. Sometimes we even smile and act polite; we don’t want to offend.  occasionally, we get angry.  Women don’t want to be perceived as a bitch.  Christians don’t want to be perceived a liberal.  Many don’t want to be labeled a feminist.  Hardly anyone is willing to, dare I say it, admit to being a person that loves gay people.  And so we live with the pain of repeated offenses, getting along, and leaning on those who are the lightning rods for us, like Dr. Soong Chan Rah and Kathy Khang .   I’m not so sure who other lightning rods are for women but I appreciated Julie Clawson on the topic this week.

So where do we go from here?

I haven’t been in the fray for a long time.  And I haven’t missed it, not really.  But allow me to tell you a true story, the short version of nearly ten years of my life.  Every word is true although admittedly my perspective. I worked for many years for a para-church organization.  I was lucky in that  I was given tons of responsibility and opportunities for leadership.  I was using my abilities, influencing, it was a good place.   As fast as I could catch I was being thrown responsibility and I love it.  I was Gen X right when Gen X was a hot topic and I was able to bring that to the organization’s communications efforts.  admittedly, I was promoted quickly over just a few years.

Running parallel to this was a tension growing between myself and another leader.   He was older (by two decades ), intellectual, theological, super influential and made a big splash all the time and he had made himself integral to all aspects of the organization.

I was an up and comer and although people liked my work, and my work ethic and my productivity, it wasn’t long before it was clear that we were competitors.  There are more spiritual ways of saying it without sounding crass, but there’s only so much turf in a small organization and we both wanted it.  Were fighting for it all the time.  Oh, not to each others’ faces but in everything we did we were working toward taking charge of the area of communication. Trust me I was not a perfect leader by any means, but I would say probably my greatest vice (other than an insane desire to be perfect and in control of everything and working too hard) was working my staff too hard and not providing enough coaching.  No one had ever coached me and I didn’t know how, but that’s another topic (throwing leaders into the fire without grooming them.)  His vice?  Temper temper.  He threw a Bible at my friend in anger.  He treated people (below him) horribly.  Severe abuse which I would hear about and would bring up with my supervisor and it hit the President’s office and stayed there.  They were buddies.

Being an emotional person, I cried floods of tears at home in bed to my husband and I prayed, but at work I tried to prove to everyone what I “just knew” — that I was supposed to be the one in charge.  I was young, innovative, I was ‘the future.’  Meanwhile, I was also having babies while working full-time.  I would have these meetings with my supervisor where I would try to make him understand how horrible it all was the infighting and how people were being treated and that people were leaving the organization because of this person, and as he said “We waded through blood together.”

Then one day he brought me into his office and he had a time line on the whiteboard.  I kid you not, he had a time line for my life where I would finish out the current assignment, I would go be a mommy for a few years, and this person would have retired and then I would come back and rule!  Once I got over the hurt, knowing that he was done advocating for me AND  he was essentially telling me I had gone as far as I was going to there.  So I finished the gig I had and quit.  That was nine years ago and I haven’t gone back and they haven’t asked me.  Draw your own conclusions.

AND SO I FOUND A PARTIAL COPY OF DEADLY VIPERS ONLINE.

I began to read.  I first learned one of the authors owns a Media Firm (Yikes! What a revelation!)  They need some sensitivity training.  But I digress, sort of.  I’d like to ask the authors of Deadly Vipers if they have daughters.  Because if they do, how can they speak so diminutively about girls and women?  Here’s an example:

“there’s little old us looking like school girls with plaid skirts on, because we are unskilled and undisciplined in the area of character. We’re weaklings with rail skinny arms and toothpick legs.” DV, page 8

I have a daughter.  I am a daughter and a woman and I must say I resent being used as an example of weak and pathetic, totally lacking in character and discipline and I do not want my daughter thinking that she is either.  Even worse, would be my sons learning about “leadership” from macho, cool, trendy dewdes.

These guys are my worst nightmare.  They even make fun of ugly people!! Yes, I mean nerds, geeks, “four eyes,” me.  Yep guys, you’ve gone and made me mad.  How can you use ugly people in such a way?  So that did make me cringe and wonder at their sophomoric attempts at humor, and cool, and their strange lingo.  But I stopped reading when I read the phrase:  “We are asking you to go balls out with us.” mostly because I had to look it up.  They can’t mean what I think they mean …?  Go look for yourself, but I can tell you that you exclude women from your book at this point boys, as this is something that we just physically can’t do.

So forget about Deadly Vipers.  I’m tired of that topic already and I don’t really want to beat up on these poor guys.  They are just trying to be cool, and hip and relevant.  Just trying is what they are doing, trying too hard.

I shall put my Communications hat on for a second and tell Zondervan and their PR people what I think.

1) Say you’re sorry and you messed up, when you’re sorry and you mess up. Just do it cause it will make you a stronger person. Humility is a part of integrity.  Then, fix it.

Once I produced a poster for a convention featuring all sorts of images of people serving in different capacities.  What I didn’t notice, nor did the graphic designer, or a whole slew of other people who saw the thing, that all of the servees were ethnic and/or darker skinned and the servers were lighter skin.  The posters got a reaction from our multi-ethnic staff.  I was crushed.  But I had messed up.  So, I pulled the posters and they were trashed.  We quickly redid a promo poster and I can tell you that I will never forget that.  Not because I messed up, but becuase I saw how you can do so and survive if your heart is remorseful and you are willing to change.

2) Change your infrastructure. You must have women and minorities at the table on all levels of your organization if you want to stop making these huge grotesque blunders.  (Well they are huge and grotesque to me.)  In the board room, in the leadership, in the communications team, as your artists and ideas people.  I’m not an ethnic minority so I can’t speak to that, but there are people who consult on such things who could generally help the communications of an organization by having advice on the ways that you communicate and what you’re saying.  I am a woman with a background in communications/marketing and I could easily look over anything quickly to tell you if it’s insulting to women.

3) If that seems too impossible a task (to hire us I mean) then get your organization some cultural sensitivity training.  Again, tons of firms that could help both secular and Christian.  Every person on staff should get such training.

And then tonight I read about Presidential hiring process at Wheaton College and to be honest I had no idea it had gotten to be so backward.  One would assume that Wheaton would hire the best qualified person.  Discrimination on the basis of race, ethnicity, or sex is not only illegal, but morally wrong.  I cannot believe that people feel they need to ask that some women and minority candidates be considered,but like Justice Sonia Sotomeyor said,

“if you are a white male who thinks that race and gender don’t matter, conjure up the image of a Supreme Court made up of all-hispanic and black women, and you will know how the rest of the US feels when faced by the prospect of an overwhelmingly white male Supreme Court.”

If women want an equal world, we have to work for it by accepting positions of authority and responsibility.  Not by walking away from the fight, like I did.  But I gave it everything and frankly almost lost my faith in the process.  And so, I have to look forward to a day when men work side by side with women,  people of every color and stripe, with joy and common purpose. That did not happen for me, but I speak out because I hope that things will be better for my sons and daughters, for my nieces and nephews who are all bi-racial or of a minority culture.   It will be a better world for them.  It just has to be.

Fundamentally, it is our hearts that give us up every time.  And out of our hearts spew what we believe.  It’s our hearts that need changing.

CS Lewis wrote: The heart never takes the place of the head: but it can, and should, obey it.

Enough for tonight.

Letting go. Thoughts on being an alcoholic. A cautionary tale.

Why do I tell people, up front, that I’m an alcoholic?  I certainly haven’t always been able to admit it.  That’s the journey really.  Once you can admit it, some of the sting is gone.  Once you can admit it, help looks appealing.  Once you can admit it everything changes.

It took me more than seven years to admit it to myself. And then s l o w l y getting help took another several years.  It is hard.  Proud people don’t easily concede and I was very very proud.

In November of 02 my father was diagnosed with brain tumors and it turned out to be a death sentence. I was abusing alcohol even then, but it took me years to process intellectually and spiritually that I might have a problem. And to be honest at that point it wasn’t bad — I was quite functional — just had bouts of over doing it.

Today I have to admit that I am an alcoholic and that I will never drink alcohol again, because I was headed toward being a falling down drunk. No, because I was a drunk.  But most people, even those I drank with regularly, didn’t see it and some still don’t believe it.  Of course I was careful.  And bless him, the one person that did see me the few times it got super ugly was my husband.  We’re talking black outs and you name it, it all happened.  He was never judgmental but he was worried — very very afraid and didn’t know what to do.  Over the years, we ‘quit’ together at his pushing and it lasted for a while.  But I wasn’t committed to that idea.  Let me be clear I am not proud of any of that, AT ALL.  I don’t write this to glory in it in some weird way.  I’m ashamed.  It was awful.  I’m grateful that my children were young and didn’t witness most of it.  When they ask me why I don’t drink I tell them I can’t and basically repeat what I’ve said above.  My daughter has asked me why I can’t just have one drink at a party?  I have to tell her there is no “one drink” for an alcoholic.  I wish it were different, but that is the plain truth.  One quickly becomes five, or eight.

I am sharing this story because, I think people need to know that I a forty-something, white, Christian women from the suburbs was a drunk .  It could happen to anyone.  This is a cautionary tale.

Alcoholism is partly genetic and my extended family is riddled with addiction.  With a parent who is an alcoholic, there’s one in four chance that you will be.  (Yes, I have told my daughter that and my nieces and nephews.) Scientists do not yet know how much is determined by our DNA and how much by our life experiences, but circumstances in your life play into it.  Also your emotional state.  And, although it’s not simple, but I can admit it myself that at a certain point in my addiction, I decided the following.  It was a clear-headed day when I said, “Perhaps I am an alcoholic, probably, but I will not quit yet.  Not until I really, really have to, because, at least I can enjoy a few more years of my life.”

Now that seems sad, that I believed life wasn’t worth living without alcohol. And I can say, today that life is way, way, WAY better without it.  (And I still crave it sometimes.  I’m only at the beginning of recovery.)

I told myself that I could “manage” my drinking.  And I did that, for about a year, until it escalated into drinking every day and then drinking a lot every day.  And then, … well, … all I can say is that God told me to quit. (And that is a story for another day.)

And so for years, I couldn’t imagine my life without alcohol.  It was more important to me than almost everything.  I had lost friendships because of it.  And other intangibles like personal integrity.  That was the sin I think.  I’m genetically predisposed.  I struggle with and receive treatment for major depression and I knew alcohol is a depressant.  I was on medication for depression that had warnings about drinking alcohol with it, but I did not want to give it up.  At one time I had a frightening suicide attempt.

I believed that I could not give it up, but here is the kicker . . .  I would not ask God to help me with it.  I mean how pathetic would that be? “God, please help me not to drink.” Swig.  Not me.  I turned away from God.

Now I can say publicly that I have struggled with addiction, depression and self-harm because I have finally let go. It all happened to me, but laying all that down was the biggest relief! I will never drink again.  I will likely struggle with major depression through out my life, though I have learned a lot about managing it and it’s better than it has ever been.

But I got help.  I had a supportive, rock solid, amazing husband, and family & friends that didn’t give up on me.  I have the best therapist.  I got trained in my addiction through Gateway Drug & Alcohol, which I cannot recommend highly enough.  But it was the ongoing teaching at Blackhawk, and my personal study of Biblical principles, and a small group of women praying, that was as or more important than anything else.  Through personal study I began to understand in a new way now, I can say to you, without shame, I may be an alcoholic but I am loved.

I am more than a year, free (as of July 08)!

I found, at last, unconditional love from God.  After wondering and struggling my whole bloody life, finally I fell so far down that there was only up.  I looked up and God was still there.  Somehow, I believed it and although I have to take up with Him (almost) daily it is good.

“Do you mean it?  You really, really love me? Accept me, with all my sh*t.  I mean, I’ve messed up good.  How can I ever stand in front of people and admit…….” You get the picture.  He says “Yep, I mean it. I love you.”

And I start another day.

And, I continue to figure out what it means to be loved.  And what kind of person I need to be: humble and yet confident, kind, honest and compassionate, striving to serve others who walk the same path … for starters.

***************************

Life Long Yearning

The galactic hole in my heart makes me tired

of holding all the pieces together. Tired of doubting.

Tired of needing.Wishing.Hurting.Crying out in all the ways that speak of your neglect.

All my life, Daddy, learning  that I am incomplete.

So am filling up, gorging on all the things that don’t fill that galactic hole.

Wishing for love that never came. All my life, yearning.

It stops when I say so.  I am here, not billowing in space without an anchor.

I want more. I need.  I wish. I hurt. I cry for love and find it.

At the cross, in peace I lay a life of yearning. I am home.

——————————————————————————————————————————————————

All of my poems are organized with images and can be found here.  One in particular is about that time when I turned away from God.  It can be found here.

——————————————————————————————————————————————————

If you or someone you love struggles with depression there is help.  If I had managed my depression better I would not have needed to drink.  I’d be glad to talk to you or there’s tons of help on the web.  This website, http://alcoholism.about.com/od/about/u/symptoms.htm, does a good job of breaking things down.  A caution:  Medical doctors are terrible at helping a person with these issues.  I don’t know whether they are just too busy or in denial or just don’t have the where with all to help.  But I would not go to an MD if I were worried about my drinking.  They will likely play it down.  That goes for most Psychologists as well.  There is no harm in talking to a Drug or Alcohol professional, with is covered by many health insurance policies.  Or, you can pay out of pocket for one appointment if confidentiality is a concern.

Whether it is you or someone you love that you are worried about, I can tell you that if you are worried enough to get more information, then the chances are they have a problem or are headed in that direction.  It doesn’t have to shatter your life, if they can get some help sooner than later.  I’m grateful that I was able to get help before I drove drunk and killed someone.

**Two out of three people who struggle with depression never seek help, and untreated depression is the leading cause of suicide.  In America alone, it’s estimated that 19 million people live with depression, and suicide is the third-leading cause of death among those 18-24 years old.  The good news is that depression is very treatable, that a very real hope exists in the face of these issues.”   Source: http://www.twloha.com/index.php

Eulogy to Life

 

eulogy to life

Originally uploaded by M e l o d y

There was a time, when to wake with a pounding head
meant total indiscretion the night before.
On this day, the one year anniversary of my choosing relief and power,
the day I rejected my empty Thirst, I celebrate my life.

There is shame in being a drunk; total confusion and self-contempt.
I do not remember to glorify it, for it was pure wretchedness, and I still
sometimes feel disbelief that this is my story.
But I cannot, dare not, blot out the memories.
It happened.
There is guilt, humiliation, self-disgust, but I dare not forget.

I choose sobriety.
I choose to be aware of my cravings and needs.
I am an alcoholic who chooses — every day — her Life.
What is suicide — picking up the glass knowing it is death, for me.
What is life?
Awareness.
Humility.
Service.
Love.

Life is facing down my demons. Knowing the dark times will come.
Life is wanting something more.
Power comes in the choosing.
Choosing love, choosing life.
Even as I remember, I choose this day to live.
I choose my life.

July 17, 2009
Melody Harrison Hanson

I woke up and realized I was afraid. Again. (Gender & Power)

I looked up and perhaps ‘woke up’ to realize that I have fairly happily jumped out of the fray of ministry and most especially gender advocacy for nearly ten years.  I stepped away to lick my wounds and be angry, because it was getting too hard and I was burned out and exhausted.  I didn’t want to fight any more.  I gave up.

“The fate of a nation depends on how it treats its women.” – Malcolm X.

What’s brought me “back” has been this damn book, Deadly Viper, and beginning to read blogs about the microcosm of the Christian world and realizing that after nine years –  it seems that it’s almost exactly the same.

Okay, I’ll admit that my sampling is small and cannot be representative.  There have got to be success stories and some happy women and minorities in the church and Christian world.  There have got to be examples of organizations that are doing multi-ethnicity well.  I’ll look.  You know me, I will look.  But the language  and graphics used in Deadly Viper and the whole Presidential search for Wheaton to name two.  Or the painful musings of a new person in my life, Kathy Khang, author of More than Serving Tea and multi ethnic director for a parachurch organization.  All of these make me shake my head and say wow.

But the other thing I realized is that I owe it to myself and to those involved in my situation to at least get some closure.  I haven’t spoken with people in IV about this.  For that, I am wrong.  I should have had some conversations about why I was really leaving, what I experienced, and worked at the very reconciliation that I refer to below. I’m a hypocrite in this.

But even as I write I can’t help hearing that nagging  and doubting voice saying: “How long have you been gone?  They didn’t want you there and aren’t knocking on your door to come back.  They are not going to care about what happened a decade ago.  Let it go. “  But for me, it is as fresh as if it was yesterday.  Not the pain, because I’m far enough removed from it all to not feel it anymore.  But the injustice of how that whole situation was handled still stands.  The fact that it was never resolved, and that I was “just sort of set out to pasture.”

A lot has changed.  It won’t be easy for me.  I’ll likely sound like a whining woman, a thing I dread and loath.  But I will do something about this.  I just found this great quote by Marian Wright Edelman: “If you as parents cut corners, your children will too. If you lie, they will too. If you spend all your money on yourselves and tithe no portion of it for charities, colleges, churches, synagogues, and civic causes, your children won’t either. And if parents snicker at racial and gender jokes, another generation will pass on the poison adults still have not had the courage to snuff out.”

And I’ll add, if you’re too scared to stick up for yourself, your kids will be afraid too.

And to follow-up on my ongoing conversation about race, gender and Deadly Viper, I wrote my letter to Zondervan.  It’s similar to what I said in my last post, but also different in many ways.

Dear Mr. Vines, Jason:

I wasn’t sure if putting Deadly Viper in the subject line would make you immediately biased against my email, because of all the frustration you’ve undoubtedly experienced over the last few weeks.  I hope not, because I honestly am writing out of care and concern, as a fellow believer, committed to reconciling our differences in the kingdom of God not fueling our fires.

That said, I am a forty-something white woman.  I have a background in communications both by study at Azusa Pacific University and in my thirteen years with InterVarsity Christian Fellowship.  I was the director of Urbana Communications for three of the student mission conventions ‘96, 2000, ‘03.   My responsibilities included PR, marketing, all publications, the website, development, etc.

But I’m writing today as a frequent consumer of books and a woman.  I am writing today out of care for and concern for Christian women. I tell you my background because I can never take that hat off really, but I can also never stop being a woman (thankfully) and since I began to read about some of the controversy around the culturally insensitive and offensive book, Deadly Viper I’ve concluded that the only way to change that story is to boycott the book.  Ha, a boycott of one is silly and ineffective but you know now that I will never buy that book or books like it, and I want to tell you why.

Apparently the authors are nice guys and didn’t mean any harm with it. I can accept that on the level of ignorance. But I have to say it’s still not okay for an organization like Zondervan to produce a book like that, with the racial caricatures and inappropriate humor, and sexist generalizations, in this day and age.  This is the 21st century and it’s just not okay!

I had read on some blogs that aspects of Deadly Viper are offensive to women.  But before you get annoyed because we women are always offended, please understand how much I do not want to write this email knowing you may think I should stop whining.

Here’s something I wrote recently on my blog:

“…For me it starts with questioning why people, but Christians especially, cause one another pain so needlessly out of our ignorance. And especially why do we cause pain for those that are different from us? …. We, above all, as followers of Christ are instructed to love, as Jesus loved especially if a person is in pain. I’m especially cognizant of this because I have three kids very close in age and my husband and I are constantly being called upon to administer justice.(i.e. break up fights.)  Is it: a) their own fault for being too sensitive or getting hurt? b) the fault of the person who caused the pain in the past so it’s pushing buttons and causing additional anguish, or c) the fault of the person who caused the pain this time?

I suspect though, as we try to figure out who did what to whom and why, that we are asking the wrong questions.  Someone was hurt and pain occurred.  Where do we go from here?  How to make it right.  How to create conversation and learn?  These are the things I try to work through with my children and these are the things we should focus on now, as it relates to very difficult painful experiences.

Let’s be honest, Mr. Vines, sexism is real though I genuinely wish it were not so.  And it causes women pain, sometimes deeply and scarring because it is often repeatedly happening. And yet we live with it.  We learn to get along. Sometimes we even smile and act polite; we don’t want to offend. Occasionally, we get angry.  Women don’t want to be perceived as a b***h.  Christians don’t want to be perceived a liberal.  Many don’t want to be labeled a feminist.   And so we live with the pain of repeated offenses, getting along and leaning on those who are the lightning rods for us.

I haven’t been in the fray for a long time.  And I haven’t missed it, not really.  But allow me to tell you a true story, the short version of nearly ten years of my life.  Every word is true although admittedly my perspective.  As I said, I worked at InterVarsity (a more open organization in terms of affirming women.)  I was lucky in that I was given tons of responsibility and opportunities for leadership.  I was using my abilities, influencing, it was a good place.   As fast as I could catch I was being thrown responsibility and I love it.  I was Gen X right when Gen X was hot and I was able to bring that to the organization’s communications efforts.  Admittedly, I was promoted quickly over just a few years.

Running parallel to this was a tension growing between myself and another leader.   He was older (by two decades ), white and male obviously, intellectual,theological, super influential and made a big splash all the time and he had made himself integral to all aspects of the organization.

I was an up and comer and although people liked my work, and my work ethic and my productivity, it wasn’t long before it was clear that we were competitors.  There are more spiritual ways of saying it without sounding crass, but there’s only so much turf in a small organization and we both wanted it.  Were fighting for it all the time.  Oh, not to each others’ faces but in everything we did we were working toward taking charge of the area of communication. Trust me I was not a perfect leader by any means, but I would say probably my greatest vice (other than an insane desire to be perfect and in control of everything and working too hard) was working my staff too hard and not providing enough coaching.  No one had ever coached me and I didn’t know how, but that’s another topic (throwing leaders into the fire without grooming them.)  His vice?  Temper, temper.  He threw a Bible at my friend in anger.  He treated people (below him) horribly.  He emotional/verbal abuse which I would hear about and would bring up with my supervisor and it hit the President’s office and stayed there.  They were buddies.

I cried floods of tears at home to my husband and I prayed, but at work I tried to prove to everyone what I “just knew” — that I was supposed to be the one in charge.  I was young, innovative, I was ‘the future.’ Meanwhile, I was also having babies while working full-time. I had no intention of slowing down or working less or becoming an at-home mom. I was committed to that job.

I would have these meetings with my supervisor where I would try to make him understand how horrible it all was the infighting and how people were being treated and that people were leaving the organization because of this person, and as he said “We waded through blood together.”

Then one day he brought me into his office and he had a time line on the whiteboard.  I kid you not, he had a time line for my life where I would finish out the current assignment, go be a mommy for a few years, and this person hopefully would have retired or something, but the organization would have more space for me, and then I would come back!

Once I got over the hurt of even having a conversation like that, and knowing that he was done advocating for me AND that he was essentially telling me I had gone as far as I was going to there I finished the gig I had and quit.  That was nine years ago and I haven’t gone back and they haven’t asked me. That man, has folded everything I used to do and more into his domain and is very happily ensconced.

Draw your own conclusions.

AND SO I FOUND A PARTIAL COPY OF DEADLY VIPERS ON-LINE. I began to read.  I first learned one of the authors owns a Media Firm (Yikes! What a revelation!)  They need some sensitivity training. But I digress, sort of.

You know what I’d like to ask the authors of Deadly Vipers?  Do they have daughters?  Because if they do, how can they speak so diminutively about girls and women?  Here’s an example:

“there’s little old us looking like school girls with plaid skirts on, because we are unskilled and undisciplined in the area of character. We’re weaklings with rail skinny arms and toothpick legs.” DV, page 8

I have a daughter.  I must say how much I resent being used as an example of weak and pathetic, totally lacking in character and discipline and I do not want my daughter thinking that she is either.  Even worse, perhaps would be my sons learning about leadership from macho, cool, trendy dewdes.

These guys even make fun of ugly people!! Yes, I mean nerds, geeks, “four eyes,” the person you would never have danced with in high school, me.  So that did make me cringe and wonder at their sophomoric attempts at humor and need for being perceived as cool.

But I stopped reading when I read the phrase:  “We are asking you to go balls out with us.” mostly because I had to look it up.  Are you serious?  Don’t you all have editors or someone reading this stuff?  Surely, I’m thinking, they can’t mean what I think they mean …?  I can tell you that you exclude women(and culturally sensitive men) from your book/s at this point, as this is something that we females just physically can’t do.

But if we forget about Deadly Vipers, because I don’t really want to beat up on these poor guys.  They are just trying a little too hard to be cool, and hip and relevant.

So, putting my PR hat on… a few thoughts on offensive situations like this.

1) Say you’re sorry and you messed up, when you’re sorry and you mess up. Just do it cause it will make you a stronger person. Humility is a part of integrity.  Then, fix it.

Once I produced a promotional poster for Urbana featuring all sorts of images of people serving in different capacities.  It was diverse, it was cool.  What I didn’t notice, nor did the graphic designer, or the writer, or a whole slew of other people who saw the thing, was that all of the servees were ethnic or darker skinned and the servers were lighter skin.  The posters got a reaction from our multi-ethnic staff that they could not and would not use a poster like this and you can imagine.  We had our conference calls and strategy meetings.

I was crushed.  But I had messed up.  So, I pulled the posters, went over budget to quickly create a new promo poster.  And I can tell you that I will never forget that.  Not because I messed up, but because I saw how you can do so and survive if your heart is remorseful and you are willing to change.

2) Change your infrastructure. I don’t care what you believe about 1 Timothy (okay I do, but it isn’t relevant here.) you must have women and minorities at the table on all levels of your organization if you want to stop making these huge grotesque blunders.  (Well, they are huge and grotesque to me.)  In the board room, in the leadership, in the communications team, as your artists and ideas people, we need to be there.  I’m not an ethnic minority so I can’t speak to that, but there are people who consult on such things who could generally help the communications of an organization.  With my background I could easily look over anything quickly to tell you if it’s insulting to women. Many times a few edits would save a whole lot of head aches.

3) If that seems too impossible a task (to hire someone I mean) then get your organization some cultural and gender sensitivity training.  Again, there are tons of firms that could help both secular and Christian.  Every person on staff should get such training.

And then tonight I read about Presidential hiring process at Wheaton College and to be honest I had no idea Wheaton had gotten to be so  backward.  One would assume that Wheaton would hire the best qualified people without discrimination on the basis of race, ethnicity, or sex which is not only illegal, but morally wrong. Truly, I cannot believe that women and minority candidates aren’t being considered.

Like Justice Sonia Sotomeyor said, “if you are a white male who (still) thinks that race and gender don’t matter, conjure up the image of a Supreme Court made up of all-hispanic and black women, and you will know how the rest of the US feels when faced by the prospect of an overwhelmingly white male Supreme Court.”

I’ll conclude by saying that I know if women want an equal world, we have to work for it by accepting positions of authority and responsibility and not by walking away from the fight, like I did.  You need to know that I believe I gave it everything and frankly almost lost my faith in humanity in the process.  (I only mentioned the name of the organization to you so that you’d understand it’s not small fry organization.)

Here’s my heartfelt prayer: For a day when men can work side by side with women and people of every color and stripe, with joy and common purpose. That did not happen for me, but I speak out here because I hope that things will be better for my sons and daughters, for my nieces and nephews, who are all bi-racial or of a minority culture.   It will be a better world for these boys and girls.  It just has to be.

I believe fundamentally, it is our hearts that give us up every time.  And out of our hearts spew what we believe.  It’s our hearts that need changing.  But until that day comes, can we at least edit for less offensive language even if you don’t believe in the principles of equality?

With regards,

Melody Harrison Hanson
Imagine Photography, LLC
distinctive photography for hire
http://logicandimagination.wordpress.com/

I will sort all this out.

I’ll take it one day at a time, before my Maker, asking what is it you require of me?  Why me?  What do you want?

And I’ll try to live it out with integrity and dignity.

Thanks, again, for reading to the end.

Melody

I’ve had a topsy-turvy, upside down and backwards experience with forgiveness.

I woke up thinking about the act of forgiveness and the impact it has had in my life.  It has completely changed who I am as a person.

When my father was dieing, I came to a point that I had to forgive him for the years of neglect and abuse.  My sisters and I had flown in from around the country for the surgery to remove two tumors in his brain. The day before, my sister Paula and I found ourselves in a small Episcopal church in Evergreen, Colorado where my mom and dad were living.  It had a retro 60’s interior, as if modernity hadn’t reached the mountains.  But it also had a serene beauty, with carved wood and stained glass windows.  It was a relief to slip into a pew near the back, two of about a dozen people in the small sanctuary.

It was a beautiful service and I was deeply moved — emotional and fearful for the next day and days to come. My dad had been meeting with each of us daughters to have the “last conversation” just in case he didn’t make it.  I wasn’t ready for mine.

As is typical tradition in the Episcopal church, communion was offered.  As took that long walk to the front and knelt there, struggling with my heavy heart, I was aware that my father could very well die in surgery. And I also knew that I could not, and in many ways would not, be able or ready to forgive him.  As I wrestled internally between my hypocrisy and a need to be faithful to my experiences with my dad, I heard the voice of God saying: “Melody, forgive as you have been forgiven.”  Even as I write those words I’m floored by the power of that moment.

Whether it actually was ‘the voice of God’ or my memory returning to the eternal truths of my childhood faith, I don’t know for sure and it’s certainly up for debate.  But it mattered not at all to me, in that moment.  I knew that it was true and that I had to respond. And in as much as I understood what that meant in my life, I acknowledged: “I cannot forgive him.  But if you could help me…” And I experienced a miracle, my heart change in a moment!  I was given a heart of absolution toward my father.

Let me be clear, I believe that he was still responsible for the things he had done and said, but my heart was freed of the anger and hurt that had consumed it for many, many years.  At the very least, this experience allowed me to be “present” emotionally later, to bravely express my pain to my dad (which I had always been too afraid of him to do) and  to hear him, as he stumbled through an apology.  He asked me to forgive him for the hurt he had caused me over a lifetime.  If I hadn’t forgiven him the day before I would not have been able to receive his apology or grant him what he needed.

It was a little topsy-turvy and upside down and backwards, but it is up there on the list of one of most amazing spiritual experiences I have ever had.

————————

At some point we all find ourselves in the doghouse for something we have said or done.  It is interesting to see a culture of public apology as it has developed today.  It has become a natural next step by governments, politicians, cable newscasters, even ministers and it is easy to get cynical about such public apologies with our 24/7 public, cable-driven news cycle.

It is almost common place to mess up and need to apologize. My kids throw out “I’m sorry” like “please” and “thank you.’  I keep thinking we need to teach them this concept of forgiveness, but I don’t really know how.  When I was a child my father used to make us apologize, even when weren’t sorry.  Even when we truly felt we weren’t wrong.  And then he’d make the other person say “I forgive you.”  I cringe to think of it and refuse to do that to my children.

But what is the purpose of an apology?  It is an admission of wrongdoing.  An expression of regret for harm caused to another person by our actions or by our failure to act.  Sometimes we even apologize to get something off our chest or make ourselves feel better.   But people should apologize when they mess up and I want to help my kids understand this.  But it can’t be forced if it is genuine.

Or can it?  I think of the power it holds for people groups who have been mistreated and demand governments  to extend apologies for historical injustices.  The apology is called for and absolutely necessary. African-Americans deserved apology and reparations for two hundred years of slavery, Black South Africans for Apartheid, the Japanese Americans for the internment camps, Native Americans for stealing their land, imprisoning their people in Reservations, and demolishing their indigenous culture.  The same for what has happened to indigenous peoples in Hawaii and many places around the globe.  Many countries around the world, including the United States, have tried to make amends for past injustices by paying reparations, creating human rights tribunals and reconciliation commissions. This is all good and necessary.

But have those groups forgiven?  I think on an individual level this is needs to happen.  And sometimes as a public.  The story of the Amish here in the states, who, three years ago, unconditionally and publicly forgave the gunman who slaughtered five of their little girls.  It was an astonishing example of public forgiveness.

Until we can forgive we are condemned to remain victims.  All of us have been wronged, in big ways and in smaller everyday ways, through out our lives.  Until we can forgive those responsible we’ll be nagged by this sense of seeing ourselves as a victim.

That was certainly true for me with my father and I’m not done with the process of forgiving him as memory resurrects the past.  I don’t know how long it will take, but I’ll walk every day of my life needing to forgive him fully and working toward it.

What does that mean for those of us offended and hurt by the Deadly Vipers book or more importantly, the ongoing work between the white Christian community and multi-ethnic communities.

What does this mean for women that have been hurt by the Church/organized religion or organizations or men that have treated them with inequality and sexism?

It’s very easy for victimization to be internalized, but only forgiveness can release us from that.

“There’s nothing to compare with the therapeutic effect of forgiveness. Forgiveness is a far more liberating experience, both for those who forgive and for those who are forgiven, than a mere apology can ever be. It is one of the most generous acts we ever perform.” — Hugh Mackay is a social researcher and author.

Apologies are powerful in their symbolism admission and contrition, but asking for forgiveness is more important. It can’t be forced, either the asking or the granting.

But still, often the apology is not extended and we are forced to wrestle with that topsy-turvy and upside down and backwards experience of needing to extend personal forgiveness, for our own welfare and healing, even before the apology has been extended.   Listen up, friends, especially ladies, we may never get the apology.  But we cannot live in anger, because it’s a virus.

Only forgiveness can heal us.

Be well,

Melody

On a lighter note:

I did a little searching and oddly enough, found a website called www.perfectapology.com, which serves 50,000 visitors a month, offering advice on how to extend the perfect apology.  Having grown up in a house where my dad was never wrong, and never once apologized for his behavior in my lifetime (except that amazing day in Colorado when he knew he was dieing.)  Some people need it spelled out for them so here you go.

Apologizing is both an Art and a Science. The Art being the manner in which the apology is delivered while the Science is the recipe that forms the apology itself.  This is “Science” or ingredient list that when combined produces the perfect apology.

A proper apology should always include the following:

• a detailed account of the situation
• acknowledgment of the hurt or damage done
• taking responsibility for the situation
• recognition of your role in the event
• a statement of regret
• asking for forgiveness
• a promise that it won’t happen again.
• a form of restitution whenever possible.

Good Luck!

I am ready to disavow being any part of organized religion.

There are some days I am ready to disavow being any part of organized religion.  While I wasn’t paying attention some right-wing Christians are being scary [again.] It’s a benign sounding message, “Pray For Obama: Psalm 109:8″ which is being sold on T-shirts and other merchandise on websites like CafePress and Zazzle.

During the presidential election, I recall listening to an All Things Considered interview where people from the African-American community were expressing their fear of Barack Obama being killed. I was sitting in the parking lot of my local grocery store remembering Martin Luther King, Jr. JFK and Bobby Kennedy and others who had been murdered for their more liberal stance and I felt and understood the fear being described.

The UK telegraph reports that since Obama took office the rate of threats against the president has increased 400 per cent  for Obama compared to George W.  Bush . . . Most of the threats, however, are kept under wraps because the Secret Service fears that revealing details of them would only increase the number of copycat attempts.

But it is not evangelical Christians like the media is saying, but the Religious Right that is branding Barack Obama as foreign, brown, Muslim, or “not a real American.”

The message on the material is Pray for Obama: Psalms 109:8, innocuous right?  Wrong.  I do not think we can dismiss this as distasteful humor.  It is in no way funny.   Especially since the next verse reads, “May his children be orphans, and his wife a widow.”  The passage goes on in terrible ways.   This Prayer for Obama does more than want him to leave office at the end of one term, it entreats God to destroy our president.

CafePress, says they will listen to public discourse.  If it is being construed as threatening to the President, they will revisit the decision.  If you think these stickers are threatening, and not funny, you can let CafePress know that here.  Since the issue has raised such publicity Zazzle has since removed the merchandise.

Deborah Lauter, director of civil rights at the Anti-Defamation League says for the message to be considered hate speech, it “would advocate actual violence or cite scripture that was more clear in its message.”

Earlier this week, former President Jimmy Carter was interviewed by Brian Williams on NBC.  Here’s what he said (emphasis mine):

“I think an overwhelming portion of the intensely demonstrated animosity toward Barack Obama is based on the fact that he is a black man, that he’s African-American. I live in the South, and I’ve seen the South come a long way, and I’ve seen the rest of the country that shared the South’s attitude toward minority groups, at that time particularly African-Americans. That racism, inclination, still exists. And I think it’s bubbled up to the surface because of a belief among many white people, not just in the South, but around the country, that African-Americans are not qualified to lead this great country.”

And Rachel Maddow interviewed Frank Schaffer this week, to explain whether or not the citation of this Biblical text “means something less threatening to people hearing this in a Biblical context.”

No. Actually, it means something more threatening. I think that the situation that I find genuinely frightening right now is that you have a ramping up of Biblical language, language from the anti-abortion movement for instance, death panels and this sort of thing, and what it’s coalescing into is branding Obama as Hitler, as they have already called him.

His final and emphatic plea was this:

Obama supporters had better start speaking up in support of him and not sniping at him all of the time because he’s not moving towards change as fast as we’d like in every area. This is serious stuff. The chips are down, he has real enemies–some of them are violent–and as far as I’m concerned it’s time to support our president, stand with him and not only wish him the best, but pray for his safety in the face of these religious maniacs….There are not many steps left on this insane pattern.

It’s un-American. It’s unpatriotic. And it goes to show that the religious right, the Republican far right have coalesced into a group who truly want American revolution. If it turns out to be blood in the streets and death, so be it. It’s not funny stuff anymore. They cannot be dismissed as just crazies on the fringe. It only takes one.

I urge you to take this seriously.  I urge decent, loving Christians to speak up about the need for supporting our president and for civility in our churches.  This is no laughing matter.

All day, my mind kept returning to St. Francis of Assisi’s prayer:

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace,
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
where there is sadness, joy;
O Divine Master,
grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive;
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

I believe this is how a Christian is to behave : the exact opposite of what we are seeing my these conservative Right Winger.

St. Francis’ prayer is a brave request for strength to give of ourselves to meet the needs of others.  This is a situation that requires peace, consolation, and hope.

Nightmares: A conversation with my son.

 

Originally uploaded by M e l o d y

He says out of the blue, driving down the rode:

I want to live with you forever, Mom.  Because — what if  — I’m homeless some day?

Trying to understand what exactly he is trying to say, I reply:

You can always live with me, if you’re down and out or homeless. I would never let you live on the streets. Besides that doesn’t happen to very many people…

[pause to think and choose my words carefully]

… usually if you are willing to work hard (really Melody? homeless people aren’t willing to work hard?) and are smart enough to do well in school (this isn’t going well, because I’ve met homeless who are PhD’s) you will not end up homeless. (Which I know very well isn’t always true.  I considered launching into something about mental illness, and drug addiction and family, and job loss being contributing factors.

And then I realized he was just scared and I couldn’t make him understand something that I don’t completely.)

He said:

But what if I can’t find you? If I don’t know where you live?

I said:

You will always know where I am. You can always call me.

(And I found myself explaining about calling collect. )

I will always take your collect call.

Why is he thinking about this? He’s ten. Why is he so scared?

Was this sexist?

Here’s how it went down.  I was invited by my sister Paula to take photographs of her new church.  She is having her church website updated and wants it before Christmas.

After three years of seminary and commuting to work part-time at a church near Milwaukee for even longer, she’s recently gotten an appointment at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, in Monona, Wisconsin.  She has been there for about three months as head pastor.

I am very proud of her and excited to help out in any way I can.  I went over on Sunday to get some shots of the morning service and activities.

She’s talking to one of the people helping her prepare for the service, a man, who notices me taking pictures.   She says something to him and  he smiles and says something.  She has an indecipherable but polite look on her face, which I can’t hear because they are about ten feet away but they are clearly talking about me.

I approach questioningly?

As I walk up she tells me: “He said that you got the  good looks in the family.”

A shocky-kind-of-limbo comes over me, which is what always happens in these situations, while I try to decipher what’s going on.  He really just said that to his pastor?  Seriously?  Should she be insulted?  Should I?  Yes, my gut tells me.  And yes.

This is one of the most subtle types of sexism.  A comment masked as compliment but clearly designed (whether consciously or not) to make women uncomfortable.

I say, “You got the brains.” as I try to remember that  joke about “age before beauty.” No that doesn’t apply and why am I trying to be funny, except that I feel uncomfortable and I don’t know what to say.  Commenting on her smarts was all I could think of, in the spur of the moment.

She says, “We’re just smart about different things.  You’re definitely the better dresser.”

We both fall into a lame quiet, while neither of us knows what to say.   They begin to talk about microphones or something related to the service.  I finally mumble something about more photos and walk away, feeling sad and wishing my sister didn’t have to deal with stupid people constantly reminding her she’s a woman.

Was it sexist of him to talk about my looks? To refer to and rate his pastor’s looks by implication?  He was meeting his pastor’s sister for the first time who cares about our looks, I mean really?

When I got home, after a twenty-minute drive, I was still bothering over it and I asked Tom what he thought?

And now I’m asking you.  Was it sexist and what would you have said?

Of course I obviously do believe that this comment was sexist.  It’s a work situation and a man is commenting on his pastor’s looks.  However he does it , no matter his motives it is wrong.  Saying something in a moment like that is hard because I don’t want to make things harder for Paula or create a scene. But saying nothing is worse. Looking back, I know that both of our silence is interpreted as agreement, indifference, or fear.

And so I sit here simmering, thinking about what I should have said.

———————————————————————————————————————————————————-

Resource:  I found this website to be incredibly helpful as I sorted through my feelings and the facts.  If you’re new to the topic or still sorting these things through, give it a look and come back and tell me what you think?  http://www.stopsexistremarks.org/

On Black Friday, you can make a difference locally

Black Friday is coming.

All week my plan was to write about the International Buy Nothing Day: A 24 hour moratorium on consumer spending.

It’s called Black Friday, because it is the day stores move from red to black in their sales margin.  The time between Thanksgiving and Christmas is the highest spending month in the entire year.

Fueled by a culture of over-consumption millions of Americans will participate.  Although I am encouraging you to do something different, I do think this idea is worth a laugh, which I found on the Buy Nothing Day website.

Whirl–mart

This activity has the advantage of being most likely to piss off security personnel. You and nine of your closest friends silently drive your shopping carts around in a long, inexplicable conga line without ever actually buying anything.

(Anyway, it made me laugh out loud.  I would never be able to do it, but I can see my daughter Molly and nine of her friends involved in this kind of social protest.  Oh yeah!)

I found a better idea for those of us who are slightly middle aged and have $50-100 we plan to spend over the weekend of Black Friday. Well, I wish I had thought of it, really do.  But I console myself that there’s no new idea under the sun, even if you copyright it like this woman did.  I can sure support it, because it makes so much sense.  It is called the 3/50 Project.  But I explain it all here:

Spend at least $50 in three local businesses to show your support of local, independent businesses.

Ask yourself what local, independently owned businesses would you really miss if they disappeared?

Get into those stores and buy something.

For every $100 you spend locally, $68 stays in the local community.  If you shop or eat at national chains, only $43 stays in your community.  If you shop on-line nothing stays local, did you hear that? Nothing.

So I’m thinking  about that this week.

• Frugal Muse is a local bookstore alternative.  Did you know if they don’t have the book you’re looking for, they’ll order it and give you 20% off. It’s so easy to just pop over to Amazon and 1-click.  But just think the difference it would make to call up Frugal Muse and place an order?  Remember, if you purchase on-line NOTHING stays local with your purchase.

Ask yourself where you shop often and could you make some changes to support local businesses not chains?

• I give lots of money to Walgreens. (Yuck!)  One thing I want to do is research local pharmacies and find one to that I can put my dollars into a local business.  Why not.  I fill prescriptions every month.  I want as much of my money to stay local.

• Ancora Coffee. Is the best coffee around in my opinion.  Can be purchased at local grocery stores like Sentry.  Ancora Coffee can also be purchased in local coffee shops, though I’m not sure which ones.  I bet I could find out! Friday, rather than get revved at Starbucks (I love me some Starbucks) try a local place like EVP.  No there’s no drive-thru, but that’s okay.
• Speaking of Sentry Foods, they have a local campaign telling you everything in their store made within 100 miles of their store.  You can walk through the store and make decisions about purchasing based on local businesses you want to support.  I think that’s awesome.  Of course Woodman’s is local and owned by the people.  And cheap, nice and cheap.
• The Camera Company.  Rather than make my purchases online, which I like to for ease of shopping in my pajamas, pop down there or get on their website.

Ask yourself where you eat out?

Rather than choosing a chain, consider one of the amazing local cuisines.  There are so many.  What are your favorite local eateries?  I’d like to know!! I’ll make a list and post it later.

• Himal Chuli is an all time favorite.
• And a recent find,  The Weary Traveler.
• so many great local places.  What would you put on this list?

Almost $70 of every $100 spent is a pretty daunting number!

Shopping local, independent shops might take a little research.  But think how good you you feel!!!  Rather than suck up to the giant conglomerates you’ll drink from the fountain of pure and  local.

1. Choose three local independent shops and/or restaurants.
2. Spend at least $50 (or more) and rest in the knowledge that almost 70% of each dollar you spend will go back into your community.

What are the top things you spend money on?  CDs?  Books.  Medication.  Food.  Gas.  Guitars (okay that’s just Tom.)

If we make smart local choices this about the different we’ll make in our local economy.  It may not always be the cheapest choice, but in the long run it may just be the tipping point to keep our local economy alive.

I chose Black Friday for this wonderful investment, but it could be any day in the shopping season.

Please let me know the three businesses you choose!!!

Yeah, boycott big chains this Friday!!!!!!!!!!

P.S.  Last year I wrote about spending $100 locally. (So okay, maybe I did have this idea first.) But seriously, it’s pretty good.  Read it.

P.P.S.  Obviously, this is geared toward Madison, but the same applies to any local economy.  Just do it!  Let me know your three choices whether you are here locally in Madison or elsewhere!

What am I grateful for? Updated daily (almost). How about from time to time?

Science has proven that people who express their gratitude daily are 25% happier and significantly healthier than those who don’t—and doing it takes as little as a minute a day!

Here’s what I wrote about Gratitude a year ago.

11-23-09 — Monday — I’m thankful that most of the accidents of life are not serious. My son had a straw in his mouth, was running … (I know, I know.  How in the world did I let that happen? Well, guess what?  Kids do stuff when you aren’t looking!)  It was jammed into the back of his throat, apparently not by his sister whacking him with her book, to the right of his uvula across the soft palate.  I am grateful nothing terribly damaging happened though he can’t eat.  It hurts to swallow or yawn and he cried non-stop last night as we tried noodles, Keefer, and other soft foods, finally discovering the only thing that didn’t hurt was milk.  But he hasn’t done any lasting damage.

11-24-09 — Tuesday — Today I spent a 1/2 hour getting PT on my cheek for “clenching” my jaw which has given me TMJ.  And although I am obviously really grateful for this care, I am incredibly grateful to have health insurance. Because this is one of those things that I would not have sought treatment for if I had no insurance.  Or get my eyes checked soon.  Because I’ve been waking up with headaches about three times a week for unknown reasons.

11-25-09 — Wednesday — It’s 5:30 am and I wake early in order to get a minute with my coffee and thoughts before I rouse the children.  I am grateful for these few minutes.  I want to be a more intentional person, directed by purpose rather than the winds of the kids.  Their moods right now are gale winds (especially the tweener) that knock me sideways more often than not.  I am grateful today for new days, second and third and on and on, the chances to make this day a good one. Whatever may have happened yesterday can be set to rest and this day can begin fresh.

11-26-09 — Thursday — Ironically I wrote nothing on Thanksgiving about what I was thankful for, but I enjoyed and was grateful for a full tummy and family to share it with.

11-27-09 — Friday — Something’s going on and I can’t put my finger on it.  But I am feeling funky — Not thankful at all.

11-28-09 — Saturday — I am thankful for my dear friend Jeanette, who in the midst of a health struggle with the pain of living with MS and health insurance stupidity, and everything else, continues to express her creativity and verve for life through her art. She is an inspiration.

11-29-09 — Sunday — I am thankful for the anguish of the soul because it brings me closer to understanding.

11-30-09 — Monday — So grateful that I my questions and crying out to God are okay.  Grateful for my spiritual journey which is often more full of doubt and questions than understanding.  But when it comes, the clarity and Truth are so good.

12-1-09 — Tuesday –  Good people in my life that love me enough to be honest with me — so often I need that kind of love.

UPDATE on TMJ: Turns out the mouthpiece I got isn’t really helping though I’m going to give it more time. The doctor asked: Are you under stress? Me: well, I guess it’s relative. I quit smoking this year. And drinking I say almost as an afterthought. “My God” the doctor says. I can’t do either. Am I under stress? What a question. Anyway, prognosis. He said: I need Yoga, or Mindfulness work, or Meditation, or hypnosis, or some kind of therapy: …

12-2-09 — Wednesday –  Somehow I lost this day.  Does that ever happen to you?

12-3-09 — Thursday –  So thankful!  Parenting is one of my greatest challenges, as I have  no compass.  I doubt (almost) every move I make!  I am reading a great little book on this, (though the title is a little too enthusiastic.) The TurnAround Mom: How an Abuse and Addiction Survivor Stopped the Toxic Cycle for Her Family–and How You Can, Too!

12-4-09 — Friday –  Thankful for Health Insurance. A great pediatrician that I love as a person and trust as a doctor. And weekends, though I have to say that it isn’t much different than the week for at at-home parent, except they have eight more hours to make the house dirty!!!!! Yes, I am bitter and all of a sudden don’t seem thankful.

I am thankful that my annual Mole/Skin violation (check-up) produced no more skin cancer! I guess last year’s discovery was an anomaly.

12-5-09 — Saturday — Two things I am most grateful for today:

1) That I am sober. And although I do not know what this life will hold — sober — I’m taking it one day at a time.

2)  That my anger is strong but I don’t take it out on my family.  I don’t quite know how to work through it but I don’t hurt my family.

12-15-09 — Wednesday — Our incredible abundance.  May we have generous hearts.

12-19-09 — Saturday — A warm home.  More food than I can eat.  Love.

He wants to design, draw, make movies “when he grows up”

Also seen on Flickr.  For a book report on Stone Rabbit BC Mambo.

Top five reasons to buy Local

Reasons for Buying Local

Reason 1

Enrich the community economy. Each time money you spend money at a locally owned business, the tax stays in Dane County to support local resources such as schools, parks, police and fire and much more. When you spend $100 at a locally owned business: $68 stay in local economy and $32 leave the local economy. When you spend $100 at a non-locally owned business or chain, $43 stay in local economy and $57 leave the local economy.

Reason 2

Keep Dane County original. We make sure that unique, one-of-a-kind businesses survive which is what makes Madison interesting.  There are hundreds of locally owned restaurants and shops.

Reason 3

Provide more jobs. Altogether, locally owned independent businesses are our largest employer.

Reason 4

Ensure a solid foundation for local nonprofit organizations who serve us. Locally owned businesses give more.

Reason 5

Create good places to work.

Dane Buy Local is a group of locally owned and independent businesses, community groups and services working together to support a healthy local community.  Their website has information on over 400 shops and services that make our county unique.  excerpted from danebuylocal.com. Go to their website for an up-to-date directory of members.

Madison Originals is a nonprofit association of local, independently owned restaurants dedicated to preserving the area’s unique local flavor.  You can buy and print gift certificates online.

Supporting local organizations helps keep our county unique, interesting and vibrant.

Remember $50 spent in three local businesses on Black Friday or over the weekend will put money back into our economy and support jobs and the needs of those around us.  I’ve written about that here.

Gonna catch some deals? Make them count.

Going shopping tomorrow?

Ask yourself what local, independently owned businesses would you really miss if they disappeared and make sure to get into those stores tomorrow.

For every $100 you spend locally, $68 stays in the local community.

If you shop or eat at national chains, only $43 stays in your community.

If you shop on-line nothing stays local, did you hear that? Nothing.

Rather than suck up to the giant conglomerates drink from the fountain of pure and  local and rest in the knowledge that almost $.70 of each dollar you spend will go back into your community.

I wrote about this in more detail a few days ago and also here.

P.S.  Last year I wrote about spending $100 locally. (So okay, maybe I did have this idea first.) But seriously, it’s pretty good.  Read it.

P.P.S.  Obviously, this is geared toward Madison, but the same applies to any local economy.  Just do it!

Let me know your three choices whether you are here locally in Madison or elsewhere!

Finding my Voice.

(There is a caveat at the end.)

Of all the things that I do not understand in the Bible,

these verses about women top my list.

Oh, I know how some interpret them,

but I don’t feel resolution in my heart.

Historically and culturally, they make a little more sense in the time that they were written.  And I know the Bible wasn’t written to us today, but written for us as followers of Jesus so how they are being interpreted by many parts of the Church makes no sense to me.

 

• “A man is the image and glory of God; but the woman is the glory of man.” (1 Cor. 11:7) -- Inferior to men?
• “Husbands, in the same way be considerate as you live with your wives, and treat them with respect as the weaker partner” (1 Peter 3:7)  – Weaker than men?
• “As in all the congregations of the saints, women should remain silent in the churches.” (1 Cor. 14:34)  -- Silent?
• “I do not permit a woman to teach or to have authority over a man.” (1 Tim. 2:12-14) — Should women not have authority over men?
• If a woman does not cover her head, she should have her hair cut off.” (1 Cor. 11:6)  Must we cut our hair off if we don’t cover it?  I just added this one to poke at the cultural differences.
  

This is just a sampling ….  Those verses exist in the New Testament books of the Bible and they are up for great debate.  Some people even believe in picking and choosing, some of them are to be followed but not others, which is really silly.  But I don’t want to debate. 

I would like to share some of my feelings about this, because I have thought about this for some time.

The Church does not seem to believe in women.  This undermines our voice in relationships with men as well as in our churches. Underlying these ideas [which say women are subject to men when it comes to the leadership of a church] seems to be these messages sometimes bravely said  out loud and most of the time very subliminally communicated:

• the belief that women are somehow not quite able to interpret God’s Word,
• or gain the wisdom needed to lead the church,
• and definitely don’t have the Godly authority necessary to speak and teach (except to each other and children).
• Lastly women are not allowed, by edict of scripture, to be elders of the church.  This job trusted to males only.

They do this, because of some of the NT scriptures and yet there are many stories in the Bible of Jesus lifting women up and giving them a voice.

I have thought about two, one being in the Old Testament, Ruth  the Moabite and the other is the five women that visited the tomb of Jesus, four of whom were Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, Salome and Joanna.  The other is not named.

Ruth the Moabite

There is a story told in the Bible of a woman who led had great influence over a man named Boaz.  Her name was Ruth. a Gentile, an outsider, crop picker  in the fields near  Bethlehem, and she was a follower of Yahweh. Out of her experiences in life grew a perspective and heart that she turned into a strong voice.  Boaz listened to this poor, foreign female as she reinterpreted the Jewish law for him.  Boaz  was a Jewish landowner who strictly obeyed the Mosaic gleaning laws.  But if you were poor and hungry, I would bet the gleaning practices and interpretations would look very different to you than if you were a land owner.   The letter of the law said, “Let them glean” and in doing so you are being generous.  The spirit of the law Ruth said was “Feed them.”  And, Ruth’s perspective opened up a scenario Boaz hadn’t even considered.  And he fed them.

What does it mean as a woman to have a Voice in the church?  It isn’t just about the authority of eldership, it is more subliminal and it is frustrating and difficult.  I have spend years and years of sitting, thinking, stewing, praying, studying, learning, crying, hurting, and wondering.

Ruth seemed to offer Boaz a missing perspective, a compassionate perspective.  Boaz followed the letter of the law, and Ruth followed the heart of the law leading God’s people to sacrifice for the good others.  And I wonder, how many times a female perspective might have changed the Church, might have changed my church, if women were enriching the highest leadership conversations, the Biblical understanding, and the richness of creative perspective and ideas .

When it comes to my church, there are those that would argue that women are in every level of the church, except Elders and ordained ministers.  And that is true. They would say that some day things might change and even go so far as to say, “What I personally believe is women should be elders.”   And I want to push back and say … how long do I have to wait?  If something is true then let’s be the prophetic voices for our generation of women who are at some point going to reject the form of Christianity that excludes them. Your exclusion of me, relegating me to pour the communion wine but not serve it, reminds me each time it happens what- you- really- think- of- me.

No, I will not impulsively or unthinkingly walk away from the church.  No, not today.  But I will reconsider how I hear and interpret your teachings in light of what I know you think of me.

The 12 and the five.

I leave you today with this reminder of the twelve disciples and how they served Jesus in the end.  It was the women who were full of faith — Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, Salome and Joanna and one unnamed.

Among the many things that need to be said about the gospels is that we gain nothing by ignoring the fact that Jesus chose twelve male apostles. There were no doubt all kinds of reasons for this within both the symbolic world in which he was operating and the practical and cultural world within which they would have to live and work. But every time this point is made – and in my experience it is made quite frequently – we have to comment on how interesting it is that there comes a time in the story when the disciples all forsake Jesus and run away; and at that point, long before the rehabilitation of Peter and the others, it is the women who come first to the tomb, who are the first to see the risen Jesus, and are the first to be entrusted with the news that he has been raised from the dead. This is of incalculable significance. Mary Magdalene and the others are the apostles to the apostles.  [By NT Wright.]

I believe.

I believe that all people are equal before God and in Christ.  I am coming to understand that I will be held responsible for NOT using my gifts and NOT obeying my calling, as will everyone. I believe God freely calls believers to roles and ministries without regard to class, gender, or race and that the body of Christ, in gender, in race, in culture is beautiful when we are all serving.

I must remember it was the women who were full of faith.  And as I sit in the pew and consider what the Church is saying to women and I’m thinking to myself “let’s just get on with it.” Perhaps I will.  I might just get on with the service to the poor, the widow and the prisoner and find some place where my Voice is considered with mutual affection and attention.  Listen, there is so much about this that I don’t get.  So much about the Church that I don’t understand.  But I can’t believe that a loving God would give me, and half the church, these abilities and talents and ways of thinking that are up to a point appropriate. The glass ceiling of the Church (and my church) seems to be eldership and ordination.

The Voice inside that draws me to stories like this and makes me wonder and question what I am hearing, could it be the voice of God?  Am I supposed to feel this disconnect?  Am I supposed to feel the strength of conviction that I do, that I am doing what needs to be done; to think, and write, and grapple with and yes, gripe at times.  Am I a Voice that needs to be heard?

What do you believe?

*** the caveat ***

Of course I know that there are denominations that are more welcoming to women.  And there are days that I wonder what I’m doing.  But I am not only at this church for me, I have children who are coming to the age of influence and decision and will need the voices of youth leaders.  Tom and I felt, at one point, that we were supposed to go here.  (Mostly Tom but still…) because we both needed to be challenged, to have soul-changing business done in our hearts and that happens for us weekly.  And I believe that my quite, droning voice will some day make some difference.  Some day, some how.    And, quite honestly I have run from opportunities at this church because of my painful departure from InterVarsity and a doubt in myself that I had anything to offer because of that experience.  It’s taken me years to sort this out.  Frankly I was only coming to an understanding of this as I spoke up for Asian Americans and women in the Deadly Viper fracus, that I heard my own Voice and woke up.

I read a lot of stuff, blogs and articles and at some point today I did read an article on this website about Women in Leadership where I was reminded of the story of Ruth and the idea of her using her voice with Boaz.  I got that tie-in from the article but I can’t credit it because I can’t find it.  Apologies to the author.

My Advent Lament: my endless and voluminous need.

Some have said Advent is an opportunity to walk into the dark night of the soul, as Nouwen called it. This works for me.  As I sat in church yesterday I felt unsettled and angry.  Stirred by the challenges of my life I felt a heightened awareness of my need — my endless and voluminous need.

For some weeks I have had a growing sense of discomfort.  This happens to me from time to time, though years can pass in between.  It is a strange unwelcome melancholy that affects me emotionally, spiritually, and physically.  In can bring a new level of understanding, a softening, an unfolding of my heart.

But in what I have come to know as predictable, my inner self resists.  I find myself becoming angry, distrusting, and irritated.  I do not know why I respond this way, only that it has come enough times in my life that I recognize it.  It may take me a while, days or weeks to finally see it for what it is, but then as I face it, the unsettling of my soul, I understand why nothing seems right, no one pleases me, and everything is causing a level of increasing frustration.

Especially expectations of Christmas, stated and unspoken.  I am overly aware of money or lack of it, kitsch or classy decorations, who is spending or not, and how special I can make things for my children and family.  This focus on material becomes enormous, crowding out what’s going on inside me.

My every sense is magnified. My heart tells me it is impossible to resolve all the conflict in my heart.

For the first time in a while I responded by writing a lament to God.  Restricted by the scenario at church of time and space, everyone jotting down on a small piece of paper their gratitude, praise or a lament, I resisted at first.  Then, I quickly wrote from my heart:

Tell me what you want me to do.  Speak.

Hearing God speak is one of my greatest places of doubt as a believer.  Oh, God does speak to me and when he does I am always totally blown away by its clarity.  But still I live mostly in the in between riddled with unfaithful doubt.

As a voracious reader, the world of blogging has opened up to me an instantaneous flood of information and I’ve gorged on it of late.  As is my nature, I tend to go to the extremes.  I have found hundreds of insightful people and blogs.  I wish I could read them all daily but my world around me would fall to pieces in disarray if I did.

Early this morning I read a summary of a presentation by the Rev. Dr. Christopher Beeley, professor at Yale Divinity School.  It put into words this cycling of despair, response, growth in a way I have not been able to understand or summarize myself. Don’t you love it when that happens?  Beeley presented:

“a three-step process of faith formation offered by John Newton and developed from a reflection of Newton’s on the parable of the sower. The first step is “Desire.” A person might feel “elation” and “joy” or “relief.” The sense of desire propels one into church with a sudden surge of awareness of God’s grace and love. This first phase is like the Hebrews freed from Egypt, it brings with it a sense of elation. While the sense of desire and God’s love persist they also change with time leading to the second phase.”

“The second phase is “Conflict.” This is the “dark night of the soul” phase where one wrestles with God, with faith,and often faces challenges that were not experienced in the first phase of Desire. If Desire is marked by elation like that of the Hebrew freed from slavery, this phase is marked by a sense of being lost, the Hebrews wandering in the desert for 40 years. This is a time of growing more dependent on God and deepening our trust as we travel through one challenge after another.”

“The second phase leads to the third phase. Newton is careful to spell out that one is not necessarily a better believer or person in one phase or the other, rather one’s sense of dependence on God increases through each phase. To me this phase sounds a bit like what the Buddhists call “Detachment.” This phase is marked by a shift in emotions where one becomes less emotionally engaged in the challenges and more able to view them with some distance, having put one’s trust in God.”

“…These phases, A, B, and C were not linear but perhaps a spiral that repeats over and over through life.” (emphasis mine).  Grace in the Blade by John Newton, three phases beginning on page 171.

As I sit fully within the Conflict stage, naming it helped me immensely.  I can say that my spiritual path has wound around and around in that spiral my entire life.  It wasn’t until I read these thoughts of Newton that I understood what was happening.

Much of my spiritual journey has involved doubt, restlessness and pain.  As I listen to those believer’s whose ‘faith’ seems to be pure saccharine goodness, I’ve felt constantly in revolt!  That has not been my experience!

My spiritual experiences have been marked by questions and confusion as I wrestle with the strange truth of this radical person Jesus and the rest of scripture and reconcile them with real life; Christians whose lives are tinged with hypocrisy, the weakness of my own dark heart, and a life riddled with iniquity.

As I learn to cry out as I did yesterday, I am certain that He will respond.  Advent for me will be a time of listening, and so I wait.  I wait for him to speak and tell me what to do.  I wait for Him to speak.

Am I welcome at a Juneteenth celebration?

Human progress is neither automatic nor inevitable… Every step toward the goal of justice requires sacrifice, suffering, and struggle; the tireless exertions and passionate concern of dedicated individuals. Martin Luther King, Jr.

Even as I write that title, “AM I WELCOME…” I’m thinking this is not about you, Melody! And it is most decidedly not, except in the fact that we white people are a part of the problem.  We’re afraid to talk about race, racism, ethnicity, and even good things like Juneteenth. If we don’t talk about it, we won’t take part and if we don’t take part thus perpetuates the ignorance and fear.

So here I go, knowing ultimately it’s not about me, but I don’t want to be afraid of acknowledging and raising awareness for white people.  I want to say, hey people this is a good thing!

I believe it is worth noting that Wisconsin Gov. Jim Doyle has signed a bill that makes Juneteenth Day a legal holiday in Wisconsin.  (It’s too bad the NPR headlines are leading with the end of puppy mills in Wisconsin, not this. But I always see the ‘cup half empty.’)

I have to be honest, I’ve been afraid or uncertain if I was welcome at Juneteenth celebrations.  OK, to be brutally honest, I have been unwilling to put myself in a context of (potential) discomfort.  Yeah, that is what I know is true deep down.

Ten years ago, when we were church shopping,  we attended Fountain of Life, a black Pentecostal church committed to multi-ethnicity, about two or three times.  (I even know the pastor, Alex Gee, but he wasn’t there while we were.)  But in the end it was too hard to be different.  I know, ew.  That was hard to admit.,  It sounds awful.  I have to imagine being in that scenario all the time, every day, is terribly difficult. (Mostly white churches, organizations, schools.)  I can only imagine what it is like to be a minority all the time — I was exhausted after a service there. I mean I like to move, and raise my hands (I do that frequently in worship) , but I was so self-conscious of my stiff-white-person-moves!   So, not for only those reasons but including them I walked away.  I guess because I could.

Perhaps I jumped into the deep end, with church, and Juneteenth will be a chance to dip my toe in.

If you don’t know on June 19, 1865, Union soldiers sailed into Galveston, Texas and announced the end of the Civil War.  The order given to free the quarter-million slaves residing in the state.

“It’s likely that none of them had any idea that they had actually been freed more than two years before. It was truly a day of mass emancipation. It has become known as Juneteenth.”  Read more history here.

Celebrate the end of slavery as a holiday?  Regrettably, most white Americans will read that headline and think, uh, what’s the big deal?

The recognition also is a chance to foster dialogue in the community, said J. Vincent Lowery, assistant professor in humanistic studies and history at the University of Wisconsin-Green Bay. Lowery’s work focuses on memory and race relations.

“I think that it really represents an opportunity for the state of Wisconsin … to have open conversations about the history of race relations in America,” Lowery said, “not just as they relate to emancipation, but the much larger freedom struggle.”

I look forward to it!  Can I attend the Juneteenth celebration and not feel like a fifth wheel?  Did I just say that?   Our state is recognizing that we should all celebrate the end of a disgraceful part of our history.

Today Juneteenth commemorates African American freedom and emphasizes education and achievement. It is a day, a week, and in some areas a month marked with celebrations, guest speakers, picnics and family gatherings. It is a time for reflection and rejoicing. It is a time for assessment, self-improvement and for planning the future. Its growing popularity signifies a level of maturity and dignity in America long over due. In cities across the country, people of all races, nationalities and religions are joining hands to truthfully acknowledge a period in our history that shaped and continues to influence our society today. Sensitized to the conditions and experiences of others, only then can we make significant and lasting improvements in our society.

As Dr. Lowry said it is important to remember.  I think it’s also good to feel the discomfort of being a minority, to stick your toe in the water!  And grab a hand of someone you don’t know  and to begin to talk.

Or perhaps it would be best to listen***…

Have you attended a Juneteenth celebration and if so what was your experience, as a white person or person of color?

***If I’ve done or said something in this post that is offensive culturally or otherwise would tell me (melhhanson@yahoo.com)?  While I want to talk about race and feel the risk is worth it, I would never choose to offend.  Never.  I want to learn.

get.me.off.this.ride

hey!  is anyone listening?  yeah you. God!

i.wanna. get. off. this. ride. you. got. me. on.

i am not the One you think I am.

i. am. not. good.

i. am. no. good.  i am no different from him.

oh i may not let the rage outside. but the stream of anger is W.A.I.L.I.N.G.

inside. polluting. my. mind. like. a. pinball. arcade. pow. pow. pa pow.

get. me. outta. here. i. say. get me away from your Children.

away from the hunger.fear.grief.self-hatred.shame.need.regret.poverty.addiction.cold.

your people are so c o l d.  cause old.man.winter’s blowin’ in.

give back, He whispers. you are forgiven.

the warm Breath of His Spirit Swirls Around.

Give back. You can.

And then I begin to hear it, the rhythm.  The pulse inside me and out. A quiet far away beat. Tu – tu – TU.  It’s repeated in my heart.  My stomach.  My soul.  My head.  It tickles my ear. It moves in my feet.   give.you.can.give.

Give. You. Can.  Cause you are forgiven.  I am hope.

I say Now that’s enough reason. Yeah, I hear you now, Tu – tu – TU whispered to me.  Yes, I am stepping back in.

They refused to obey. And they were not mindful of Your wonders that you did among them. But they hardened their necks, and in their rebellion they appointed a leader to return to their bondage.  But You are God, ready to pardon, gracious and merciful, slow to anger, abundant in kindness, and did not forsake them. 

[Neh. 9:17 (NKJV)]

merry merry

“I am not alone at all, I thought. I was never alone at all. And that, of course, is the message of Christmas. We are never alone. Not when the night is darkest, the wind coldest, the world seemingly most indifferent. For this is still the time God chooses.” [Taylor Caldwell]

Wishing you a merry, merry time as you close out the year and celebrate life and love together.

P.S. pictures I’ve taken in 2009 are found at: http://www.flickr.com/photos/m_e_l_o_d_y/

I hope you keep your nose clean in 2010!

I hope you keep your nose clean in 2010!

Originally uploaded by M e l o d y

When I told him that I was going to use the ‘nose pickin’ shot for our Christmas photo, he protested loudly. So I asked, “Then why did you stick your fingers up your nose?” And he looked at me like why – would – I- not?  Oh, the innocence of being eight.

remembering being eight

When I was eight my parents decided to move. We were pulled out of school in tropical Papua New Guinea where we had grown up.  We were put up a grade level, when we arrived in southern California.

My few memories of that time were not understanding what was going on at school, having a make fun of me, having an Aussie accent, missing my life long friend Carol, all of a sudden noticing clothes.  Bell bottoms were in and my father had white leather shoes and belt, which he wore with brown bell bottoms and a dark shirt Oh yeah, he was stylin’!

We took vacations to woods of northern California to visit my aunt Beth and uncle Loren (my father’s sister) and and got to sleep in a tent. Picking blackberries and then eating the best blackberry cobbler in the world made by my aunt, warm from the oven! We also visited cousins over Christmas, also in northern California, who were older  by a few years, and I thought were cool! They listened to “Rock Music” which my father thought was “of the Devil” — which made them even more cool.

But I also remember this was when I started not doing homework. Thinking I wasn’t smart. Hiding in my room. Trying to be invisible. Reading thousands of books, while I was hiding in my room, being invisible and not doing homework.  (This happened later in Texas as well.)

traditions past and present

Now I have my own family and I’m trying to figure out what traditions from our childhood are important to me. We had things imposed up on us when we were children. It was never “shall we read a Christmas story together?” but rather “Come in here and listen to Dad read a story. Now!” I mean what kid doesn’t want a story read to them? Unless they are never given the option to say no. Sorry, I digress.

Traditions: Reading Christmas stories, putting together a Christmas puzzle, cutting down our tree and putting it up over Thanksgiving weekend, baking Christmas cookies and sharing them with friends and neighbors, making fudge for friends & Tom’s colleagues, going to church on Christmas eve, … what are your favorites? I told you I’m working on developing mine.

dwelling on the past

I’ve have felt convicted of the fact that I dwell so much on the past. It’s true that I do at times seem stuck and unable to let go of my past. Unable to resolve things in the past and unable to live in the now. Guilty as charged.  My excuse to myself is that I have a memoir in there and I need to get it written and then let it go.  We’ll see.

friendship

Of late, I’ve also been convicted of the fact that I am not a very good friend. I am so afraid of rejection and I am lazy. My feelings parallel the feelings of my kids at times and I am saddened because I am 43. I should be at a better place. If it’s any consolation, our matriarch is even more isolated than I am.

buy nothing for myself

You may have been wondering how the ‘buy nothing for myself for 365 days” project is going? I made that pledge to myself on October 7th and thus far I have stuck to it. I can’t tell you how many times I have this impulse to go shop for myself because I was feeling down. It’s like crack! But the high doesn’t last.

So no, I have not bought:

• a new coat, though mine feel out of date (as in not bought this year.)
• new boots, even though boots are ‘it’ this year, long leather boots. And mine are almost ten years old and my brown pair are suede.  Who buys suede boots in Wisconsin, though beautiful they just might be the most impractical thing I have ever purchased.  You can’t wear them 90% of the year because of a) snow or b) it’s too warm.  …But no I haven’t bought either brown or black.
• I didn’t buy a Christmas outfit which ended up being no big deal.  I mean what is that anyway.  I don’t really like any of the red in my closet.  “I’m not a red person” as my kiddos would say, though I’ve been told I look good in it.  My son says he’s not a “collar person.” Sigh, we still have some work to do.
• I haven’t purchased pants even though mine are all tight (e.g. I am fat) and I’m just going to have to lose the weight.
• Not bought new tights even though some oldies have holes.  (Sorry) Wear them with pants.
• And I have not bought the cute, cute cute hats at the craft shows I’ve attended, and pins, and … stop.

I go to my closet daily (like everyone does) and I try to come up with something interesting and I have to say that it has been fun. I appreciate what I have much, much, much more.  I have been more creative and I often find myself thinking, “What- were- you- thinking?” when you bought that!?  Because I don’t try anything on so I have lots of things that fit only so so. What a stupid thing.

When I do shop for myself again, in 2010, October, I will always try it on, I will care about quality over price, perhaps spend a little more on things that I know I will wear a lot. The quantity of my shopping in the past has forced me to buy lower quality and as I look at what I have I am seeing it differently all of a sudden. Truly seeing my stuff is priceless.

And finally, (I hope you will) watch this astoundingly simple and profoundly good video on consumerism.

http://qideas.org/video/consumerism.aspx

I have to admit that it is difficult to not get caught up in the idea that Christmas is about presents.  I love giving them!  But, it’s all a part of a giant addiction too and I for one want to quit.

As for my other ones, I am happy to say that I am alcohol free 17 mos, and nicotine free 9 months!  Yay me.  I am proud of myself.  Though it hasn’t been all me – having a family keeps me accountable.  And I do believe that God is giving me extra strength to endure times when it may be difficult.

This is not some official report on the year, just had a number of things bubbling around in my brain.

P.S.  I did NOT use this photo for our Christmas photograph.  :-)

A year without new Clothes

I have always been the sort of person that appreciates aesthetics which I think are an outward expression of a person’s creativity.

I wrote here about how I decided to buy no clothes for myself for a year.  Confronted by our consumer culture and my own guilty part in it, as well as trying to raise my daughter and sons with the values I deeply believe in, I was surprise by how much I wanted to do this and was also scared that I was too weak to carry out this commitment.  A part of me also wondered how I might change if I weren’t so conscious of myself and weren’t “consuming” all the time.   In just a few months I am aware of how much we HAVE.

God has worked on my relationship to money for years, especially when I quit working (for money) nine years ago.

My relationship with money is somewhat dysfunctional. Being a missionary kid, I grew up with hand-me-downs (from my sister, who got them from the missionary barrel.  Yes, there is such a thing.  A place where missionaries go to get clothing others have discarded.  Like the Goodwill, but free.)  So as a teen I became laser sharp in my awareness of the latest styles which I would never have.  It was an unhealthy habit but I spent lots of internal energy on my lack. Although my parents were good and generous people, and we never really lacked anything important, I thought we did.  I always had what I needed, but not what I wanted.

So as an adult God has been pruning away at my fixation on external.  The thing in me when I am down on campus that notices subtle changes in college style trends.   Or what’s happening in magazines.  Or what the old money people wear and have.  I see these things and I want their life.  I pay attention.  And I really loath it, but it’s been a long road of coming to believe that it really matters not a whit in who I am.  Not really.  A Land Rover versus a Honda.  A Coach bag vs. TJMaxx.  Cashmere vs. a blend.  Anthropolie vs.IKEA.  My mind is always running on these lines and I know it is superficial and ugly.  I am loved without all that, … aren’t I …

But the missionary kid in hand-me-downs just isn’t quite sure she believes.

My thoughts are very often superficial.  I’ve had the moments in the last two months of freaking out as I really, really want something and then I breathe and step back and realize there is very little that I actually need.  As I walk away from a pair of boots, I realize that what I have is enough.  And I am so blessed and it is sufficient.   And besides in my current life of slogging after children, and trooping around town to carry out various tasks, my feet simply need comfort and warmth, not style!

After the first few days of living with this pledge it was a matter of changing my mindset of always being on the prowl for the “find” — the deal I can’t live without –  and I found I actually began to have much more time, energy and confidence for new ideas and what I might do with my time and resources.  I had a lot of ideas.  And a flurry of writing.  And my mind and heart were full of potential.

I have much more empathy.  I spent a recent snow day worrying over and over again about the school kids who I know eat breakfast and lunch at school — would they be hungry today?  Would their parent/s have to miss work or would those kids spend the day unsupervised, while I and my children enjoyed snow angels, hot chocolate and baking cookies.

Our abundance overwhelms me and I hope I am more present  in our bounty.

So although I am still aware of what others are wearing, conscious of magazines and television’s pressures, this adventure of living without new clothes is helping me learn a little better who I am.  I have more time to BE.  And to hangout and do things with my kids, and that can’t be purchased!

It really is priceless.

whatever you did not do for one of the least of these

My house is warm and I sit here comfortably in front of my laptop, the Christmas lights twinkling in the background.  Tom’s face is glowing from his own laptop.  It’s quiet and the music from this short film (below) is playing.  Please watch this short film.

It’s difficult to think about homelessness now, during this season of comfort and beauty, intimacy with family and friends, connection, goodness and abundance.  But you see it is only that for some of us.  For many Americans next Friday, Christmas day, will be like this Friday, and the one that comes after that.

Tonight, anywhere from 700,000 to 2 million people are homeless in America. The homeless population is about 50 % African-American, 35 % white, 12 % Hispanic, 2 % Native American and 1 % Asian according to the National Law Center on Homelessness and Poverty.

Last year was the first year on record, according to an annual study conducted by the National Low Income Housing Coalition, that a full-time worker at minimum wage could not afford a one-bedroom apartment anywhere in the country at average market rates.

At this time of such warmth, figuratively and literally, I think we should stop for a brief moment and reflect on our abundance.  I was struck during the climate change talks in Copenhagen, the spokespeople for the poor nations of the world kept saying things like: “You are not serious about global warming, because it doesn’t make any difference in your day to day life.  We are because it is a matter of survival.”

What does God think about our national greed and selfishness?  The homeless in our inner cities or on State street here in Madison, the teenagers hanging out in malls and public areas covered in piercings and goth clothing, the workers at Copps grochery store who clearly hate life and quite possibly hate you too, the cashier at the gas station clearly not from “here”, or the faceless people on the receiving end of food banks that our churches and school supply? What does God think about children going to be hungry?

What do you or I think about these people who if we actually notice them push us outside of our comfort zones?

I wonder who is just surviving this holiday — literally.  Who is hungry.  Who is cold?  And what I should do about it?

Jesus said:

“I tell you the truth, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.” (Matthew 25:45).

I don’t have the answers, but I think it is worth asking ourselves what then should we do?

Some reads about Homelessness:

• Without a Net: Middle Class and Homeless (with Kids) in America, (Viking Adult, 2005), Michelle Kennedy, about her experiences being homeless for several months in 1997 after her marriage fell apart.

• Tell Them Who I Am: The Lives of Homeless Women (Penguin,1995), Elliot Liebow, demolishes the anonymity of the homeless. Skillfully blending a social scientist’s objectivity with humanitarian concern, he observes women who live in a variety of shelters near Washington, D.C.–how they interact with one another, family and shelter staff; pass their days; and struggle to retain their dignity in the face of rejection by society.

• Lastly, this is a moving set of images of women striving to survive and feed their children from the New York Post (if I remember correctly.)

For Everything there is a Season

It is George Bernard Shaw that said what is the true joy in life,

“the being used for a purpose

recognized by yourself as a mighty one;

the being thoroughly worn out before you are thrown on the scrap heap;

the being a force of nature

instead of a feverish selfish little clod of ailments and grievances

complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy.”

I am starting to feel a such a sense of self-loathing because I need more to do with myself.   Do I have an utterly solipsistic life?  Not to be overly dramatic, but the care and well-being of my children is simply not enough.  I have wrestled with the demon and shame of that for nine years, since I quit working  at InterVarsity and began to take care of my kids full-time.  Even at the beginning, when I was trying to decide I never believed it would be enough for me.  And tho there have been wonderful moments, it has not been satisfying, not really.  How do you live with the knowledge that you should not have made the decision that you did?  I could hardly admit that after walking away from a really amazing job.  But my situation at work had grown intolerable and seemed impossible to fix.  So after nearly a year of soul-searching  — I quit .  I chose to become an at-home mom. Even while I was changing diapers and wiping noses, singing songs and cuddling, wiping away tears and reading stories — all thoroughly wonderful things, mind you — I struggled.  Though I know many, many women (and some men) do find it to be full of purpose, I was confused, very lonely, sad and missing my work.

Of course I questioned myself!  For all those years, thirteen at InterVarsity and nine years of being at home, I was searching internally for a sense of  my purpose.   At IV I was constantly pushing people and myself to try new things more out of a sense of my need for change and overworking as well.  I was frantic and dissatisfied most of the time.  So I don’t want to give the impression that WORK was a panacea or mecca.  I have searched for ultimate purpose my whole life and I still am looking.

On one level, have a father who was so dynamic and incredible made me expect more — of myself, of my work, of my life.

I think this blog was in part trying to sort that out.  Talk about things that are important to me.  Wrestle with ideas, doubt, passions and self-absorption, say something important or  at least interesting.  It was a venue for my poetry and a way to get feedback on it.

I once was a human dynamo, even while learning the hard way how to treat others with the dignity and with the care they deserved.  I had failures which I feel deep sorrow.  I could name the people whose lives I hurt as a leader or manager and I have such regret. But at the time I was so full of my accomplishments that it didn’t slow me down.  While I was making mistakes I was also accomplishing a lot (some of it good, a few things I consider great) and people were affirming and promoting me.  As I have mentioned at other times, I had altercations with another leader and that conflict became too much for me .  It wasn’t worth it after a while.  I had reached a place of resistance and no-where to go in the organization without running into this person.  I guess you could say they ‘won’ if it was a competition (which it felt like) and I lost by walking away.

When I left work to be at home  full-time, I was at first almost giddy with how simple it was.  Uncomplicated.  The sameness of the days was a relief after all that unpredictable infighting and conflict!  And then it wasn’t so great.  More like Ground Hod Day, if you have seen the movie.  The same day over and over, the alarm ringing and waking to realize it is THAT DAY again and again and again.

“Don’t waste life in doubts and fears; spend yourself on the work before you, well assured that the right performance of this hour’s duties will be the best preparation for the hours and ages that will follow it.”  — Ralph Waldo Emerson

What being at home did, with one day indistinguishable from the next, was to strip it all away — shattering the persona I had created and forcing me to look hard at my internal grid work.  I had to face and try to understand my family of origin.  While caring for my kids,  the successful person that I had been was unimportant, even irrelevant.  And I had no choice but to face myself — look in the mirror and frankly I wasn’t very happy with what I saw.

Through it, I was overcome by a deep, deep depression.  It hit most powerfully over two months and because I didn’t know what was happening to me I thought I was going mad.  Crazy.  Cuckoo.  Insane.  And I was utterly helpless to help myself.  I couldn’t make decisions.  I couldn’t sleep.  I couldn’t DO anything.  I had no energy, my mind was sludge, my heart felt like it might stop.

I remember talking to my dad on the phone, sitting on my backporch in the beautiful warn summer sunshine, saying “Dad, I just want to be happy.”  That was June.  He mailed me a plaque that said “You are the one Jesus loves” and  at the time my skin crawled at the thought!  I had absolutely lost any idea of God’s grace in my life or belief in His  individual love for me.  I was in the pit of despair and I did not believe it.  If I were the only one that existed, I would be loved by Jesus.   Little did I know this was to become a theme over the next years as I began to fight with God over his approval and affirmation.

In October my parents came to visit and I had manage to get myself functional.  My dad acted wierd and kind of mean, but he has always been slightly mean so I thought nothing of it.  Then in November he was diagnosed with brain tumors and we discovered his tumors had made him behave oddly for some time.

By May of the next year he was dead, but he was “gone” long before that.  After surgery, chemo and radiation he was gone.  He never said my name after his December surgery but he did call me Linda, once.  My mother went into treatment that April and was sober to see my dad die.  We’re all grateful for that.  Her alcoholism, his illness and death, my depression, my own alcoholism which I couldn’t accept, continuing to care for three young children…  You can imagine it was an ugly few years.  I am most grateful for Tom hanging in there with me and even more than just hanging, he helped fight for me and got me back into a place of genuine health.

Through those years, I struggled to do the hard work of therapy and if anyone has never done therapy you really have no idea how much work it is.  Weekly and sometimes twice a week at first, which turned into years of work.  I won’t go into all the detail here (too much was happening) but I have had episodes off and on with the depression for these many years.  With medication, several doctor’s care, a hospitalization after a suicide attempt, the care and long-suffering of Tom, much prayer and internal work which became eternal work,

I faced that I had become an alcoholic,

I faced that I needed to learn to love myself,

I faced that all of this around me (stuff & things) mattered not a whit,

I faced my loneliness,

I faced my insecurities developed from a lifetime of feeling my parents didn’t approve,

I faced a pathological need to be perfect,

I faced that I start and quit many things – I’m good at starting things and have more trouble with maintaining them;

I faced that I was tired of being at home, …

_______

Jeez, that makes me one crazy messed up woman that no-one will want to hire.  yes, that’s what the voices in my head began to say.

For everything there is a season,

And a time for every matter under heaven:

A time to be born, and a time to die;

A time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;

A time to kill, and a time to heal;

A time to break down, and a time to build up;

A time to weep, and a time to laugh;

A time to mourn, and a time to dance;

A time to throw away stones, and a time to gather stones together;

A time to embrace, And a time to refrain from embracing;

A time to seek, and a time to lose;

A time to keep, and a time to throw away;

A time to tear, and a time to sew;

A time to keep silence, and a time to speak;

A time to love, and a time to hate,

A time for war, and a time for peace.

Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

I have carried many stones.  Lost so much.  Wept an ocean inside.  Seen death and mourning.

I am ready to dance, to seek and listen.  I am eager to know what it is that I am here to do.  My advent lament was to cry out for God to speak.

James Thurber said:

All men should strive to learn before they die, what they are running from, and to, and why.

Stay tuned as I learn to dance, seek and listen!

Resolutions for 2010

My New Years Resolutions …

I will Learn. See. Respond. Be …

1. I will give more of my time, voice, and energy to the disadvantaged, oppressed, and forgotten in my community. (Immigrants, LGBT, homeless, unwed mothers, the illiterate.)  To put myself in situations where I am the ethnic minority.  If given opportunity, I will tell their stories through word and image.
2. I will grow more of our own food.  I will learn to can.  I will shop locally, especially community based privately owned businesses.
3. I will save more, spend less. I will live on a budget. I will continue to not buy clothes for myself for a year, until October, 2010.   I will use the library.
4. I will help us be a connected family. I will turn off electronics while the kids are awake. I will turn off electronics 4-8pm. And do more together. (e.g. Go to ballgames, the symphony & opera,  plays (The Lion King), go camping, …)  We will call cousins and other family members.
5. I will continue to work at staying depression free. I will work the 12 steps.  I will exercise every day, if only 20 minutes.  I will taper off Effexor.
6. I will write for an hour every day of the work week.  About … What I am thankful for.  What I want to know.  What I think.  Who I need to hear from.
7. I will read with intentionality. (On race, gender & the church, faith, poverty, global issues …)
8. I will play my piano and find an avenue to sing.
9. I will work on a photography project with the goal of a gallery showing and work on a website for online sales & exhibition.
10. I will take Tom to Big Ben before he’s 50.

A year of  images : the people, places and things. I shot this year. (This will take you to a SET of my photography on the www. flickr.com.  Click on SLIDE SHOW in the upper right hand corner when you get there.)

Be well, friends.  Be well.  And if you feel like it, drop me a word about what you’d like to accomplish in 2010.

imagine photography, llc

Photography is truth.

Imagine Photography, LLC was first conceived when others began to approach me about my photography — asking if I would shoot their kids or for their publication.  Others have seen my zeal for making life live on in photographs, as I was doing that for my family.  And in 2007, after my youngest began school, I officially began Imagine Photography.  (Please forgive the moment of self promotion.)

I really believe there are things nobody would see

if I didn’t photograph them. – Diane Arbus

I enjoy capturing life in unique ways and sometimes I charge for it.  For many projects, I donate my time.  I never want money to be an obstacle to creating an image of your family, so please do not let it keep you from contacting me.  It is my way of giving back of my time and talents and it is my pleasure.

I shoot people (babies, children, families, seniors “old and young)” business events and parties (no weddings).  I shoot for magazines & newspapers.  I also have some fine art pieces for sale and I am working on a new project for showcasing in 2010.

I tell stories with my photography and would love to meet you and hear yours.

My rates:

1. For a photography session of any number of people (including animals): $135 per hour.  For $75, I offer a disk of all the images and give you copyright to own and print the images.
2. For an event: $145 per hour which includes 2 disks of all the images and give you the copyright to own and print the images.
3. If I have to travel outside of Dane County, I include mileage.
4. Prints can purchased individually from me.

For a list of client referrals, to schedule your shoot or to ask questions, please email me at melodyharrisonhanson@gmail.com or call me at 608-516-4269.

It is one thing to photograph people.

It is another to make others care about them

by revealing the core of their humanness.- Paul Strand

“Photography is truth.” – Jean-Luc Godard

a crooked road to home

a crooked road

by Melody Harrison Hanson
December 31, 2009

Mama, I never thought being an adult child would be so hard.

being an adult child, of an adult who – is – a – child.

Reader. If you’re confused,

welcome.  It is a crooked road, full of twists I cannot define.  I cannot see to the other side.

I cannot look back, because I would slip on the path of unshed tears.

Mama, I get nothing from you.  Nothing for weeks. Before that, nothing

for as long as I can remember.

And I’m trying to figure out what’s going on. I’m trying to figure out what you want?  Do you want anything [ from me?]

You never reach out.  You never check in.

Should I just assume you’re fine. You don’t want or need anything from me?

Reader. If you’re confused,

welcome.  It is a crooked road, full of twists I cannot define.  I cannot see to the other side.

I cannot look back, because I would slip on the path of unshed tears.

Mama, you can act like I’m not here.

Invisible.

Someone else’s child.

And [I think] I could live with that

if you didn’t act like you DON’T act

like that.  If you didn’t pretend

you are you.

If you didn’t pretent

You are the Mother.

Reader. If you’re confused,

welcome.  It is a crooked road, full of twists I cannot define.  I cannot see to the other side.

I cannot look back, because I would slip on the path of unshed tears.

And why, I think ,can I not be the adult?

Why can’t I make the calls, do the diligent thing? Why,

because I am somehow a little girl

waiting and hoping, for mama to Come Home.

I have a lot of poems about my feelings about parents… You can read them by going here:  http://logicandimagination.wordpress.com/tag/my-poetry/

Mel

beautiful resolutions

I did not write these, but I must say they are beautiful and I resonate with them.

1. I will live in the present moment. I will not obsess about the past or worry about the future.

2. I will cultivate the art of making connections. I will pay attention to how my life is intimately related to all life on the planet.

3. I will be thankful for all the blessings in my life. I will spell out my days with a grammar of gratitude.

4. I will practice hospitality in a world where too often strangers are feared, enemies are hated, and the “other” is shunned. I will welcome guests and alien ideas with graciousness.

5. I will seek liberty and justice for all. I will work for a free and a fair world.

6. I will add to the planet’s fund of good will by practicing little acts of kindness, brief words of encouragement, and manifold expressions of  courtesy.

7. I will cultivate the skill of deep listening. I will remember that all things want to be heard, as do the many voices inside me.

8. I will practice reverence for life by seeing the sacred in, with, and under all things of the world.

9. I will give up trying to hide, deny, or escape from my imperfections. I will listen to what my shadow side has to say to me.

10. I will be willing to learn from the spiritual teachers all around me, however unlikely or unlike me they may be.

Resources for spiritual journeys: www.SpiritualityandPractice.com.  Spiritually Literate New Year’s Resolutions by Frederic and Mary Ann Brussat

To read mine, go here.

[21 day detox]

[...]

Originally uploaded by M e l o d y

I have eaten

my last waffle.

I am doing my homework in order to do a 21 day fast. The theory is that our bodies are full of toxins from poor eating, our unhealthy environment and general bad living.  So, in order to have our body working at maximum efficiency one needs to flush it of all those toxins.

Over the last year I have had:

1. chronic headaches (two to three a week),
2. ongoing knee pain,
3. TMJ/jaw clenching with pain,
4. gastrointestinal issues,
5. a weight gain of fifteen pounds (at least),
6. to take antihistamines for constant allergies,
7. to take antidepressant medication because I suffer from depression and anxiety.

I have also:

1. gone off an anti-anxiety/sleep mediation,
2. quit drinking alcohol, and
3. quit smoking.

Good things, but lots of toxins stored up I’m thinking.

I’ve been reading the book 21 Pounds in 21 Days by Roni DeLuz, RN, ND. My sister did this fast and saw incredible health benefits, several health issues completely resolved and she felt fantastic!

I thought I might record the journey. Follow along if you wish.

Today I have to get organized by ordering the supplies and supplements which thanks to my sister Tonya I can order fro www.iherbs.com for much less than the package deal at the Doctor’s website. Dust off the juicer my mom gave me and on Monday make an appointment for a Colonic. (Yes, it’s that serious.) And call Tonya to get her advice and tips. She’s also doing the fast, starting today, so she’ll be a few days ahead of me!

I will begin when I get my care package in the mail.  Stay tuned.

Prayer: Would that I were more faithful

Would that I were faithful in prayer

in so many things.

That I would have the maturity to turn off the noise

and seek what faithfulness requires.

Solitude first,

Prayer compels, then demands an acquiescence of the will.

It asks for a level of trust and ascent,

surrender and humility.

Things I do not have, but as I sit and listen,

I am able to ask

for less of me that I might be, faithful.

[21 day detox] preparation & disclaimer

21 DAYS, oh boy!

I am embarking on an adventure to heal myself! And I could not be more excited!  The Martha’s Vineyard Detox is a cleansing detoxification program.

“We are all exposed to chemicals and substances in our daily environments: cigarette smoke, smokestack emissions pesticide runoff, carpet, paint and bleach fumes, artificial flavors, colors, and preservatives, antibiotics and hormones, dry-cleaning fluid residue, nail polish, hair color harm our body and compromise our health…Overtime, toxic elements accumulate in our cells, gunk up our organs, erode our quality of life, and cause many of the low-grade discomforts that are familiar: allergies, fatigue, heartburn, headaches and loss of energy.  Toxins make us more susceptible to serious chronic diseases like high blood pressure and diabetes.  In fact, these poisons foul up the delicate inner workings of our bodies so much that many of us gain unwanted weight.”

Upfront I will say my mom is a trained naturopath.  She has been a vocal proponent of natural remedies and the belief in the body’s ability to heal and keep itself healthy.  Generally I would agree that traditional Chinese medicine makes sense to me — which is based on the concept that the human body is a small universe with a set of sophisticated and interconnected systems, and that those systems usually work in balance to maintain the healthy function of the human body.

But my “universe” has been messed up for some time.

I’ve spent the last 20 years of my life hearing about ‘this or that’ theory or the latest diet or fast she was doing.  And since my mom had struggled with her own health, and weight, and has yo-yo’d, I pretty much dismissed it all cart blanch. I heard her testimony about healing herself of thyroid problems and lung disease and took it with some skepticism.  I would use the occasional L-lysine for boosting your immune system and tried a few other things, but mostly — unfortunately — I was patronizing and glib about most of her plans, though I never expressed it out loud (to her)  — I simply didn’t listen to her.  Like Charlie Brown’s parents, her health advice went in as “Wah, wah.”  Very sorry Mom!

It is a mystery to me why I was open to considering my health right now.  I believe spiritually and physically I was searching for some answers and for whatever reason the timing was right.

My sister was doing this particular detox last year and I saw the immediate health results — that really sold me.  Health issues that she has struggled with her entire adult life just “went away” via this detox.  (She has since backed this up with her medical doctor’s analysis.) And so I read the book over Christmas break and just finished it.  And the book is compelling!

Read my blog  “I have eaten my last waffle!” here for how it began for me.

My fast begins today (when my stuff arrives in the mail) but it was not something that you can go into without planning.  I have to admit upfront that this fast is going to be a challenge!  Thus far, I have ordered my supplements and green drinks.  I have had the first dreaded colonic. (Not as bad as you would think!)  I will have a Lymphatic Massage tomorrow.  My first reaction is expensive.  Already expensive!  Your average person would not probably afford $200 of vitamins, supplements, etc. and the $110 for colonic and ionic foot bath.  Only if you were already extremely ill would it make sense.  But we’ll see.  I’ll keep track of the expenses vs. what I get out of it.

As a writer I thought this book was badly organized.  So one of the things I want to do during this fast, is to break things down more clearly.  The science and personal reflections in the book are important to read, so if you’re interested in this detox you will still have to read the book. It is 21 Pounds in 21 Days. The Martha’s Vineyard Diet Detox by Roni DeLUZ founder of the Martha’s Vineyard Holistic Retreat.

Disclaimer: If you are at all squeamish about  how your bodily functions OR reading  about physical changes in mine, this [21 DAY FAST] segment of my blog may not be for you.  But I would say, give it a chance.  I may talk about colonics and other bodily changes, it is not because I’m strange but because I WANT THIS TO BE A REAL DIARY OF MY EXPERIENCE DURING THE 21 DAYS and we get squeamish about these things and ignore what our body is saying to us. And the point of a cleansing toxins out is to experience the changes within and I would like to be able to let others know of the benefits.  Because my prediction is that this will be life changing.

[OK, so you have been warned.]

As I finished up the book the Martha’s Vineyard Diet Detox and began to make my plans, one of the things I needed to do was think about my goals.

Why am I completing this detox?

I think my reasons have evolved.  As soon as I began to read the book I began to be more aware of my body.  The extreme discomfort in my clothing, certain aches and pains like frequent head-aches, strange pain in my right lower tummy area after eating, constant constipation, sore stiff knees,  and difficulty sleeping sometimes.  On top of that I quit smoking and drinking alcohol in the last year, so my lungs and my liver are toxic.  I struggle with depression and anxiety and have taken an antidepressant medication for about five years.  I stopped another medication this year.  I have chronic allergies and pop Benadryl like candy.  As well as Advil or something like it for headaches. I’m addicted to caffeine and joke about it as if it’s funny.

Well apparently most of these things are not or do not need to be a part of my life.  Huh!   I can detox my way out of most of them. And so can you.  NONE of these things are something one HAS to live with and endure.

Oh, and I forgot the most troubling reason: I have gained some weight all over, but especially around the middle, and I can not seem to rid myself of it!  I am not a dieter, so this has frustrated me like hell! A lot of it has to do with my sedentary lifestyle but I just have no energy for things.  No Zeal, no Zest for life!

Guess what, we do not have to live with these type of discomforts and we can heal our body of these things with a detox.

I am looking forward to and expect: more energy, less need to sleep, better mental clarity, memory and focus; fewer headaches and backache; less knee aches and joint pain; a reduction in cellulite; fewer colds and a stronger immune system.

Next time I will talk about exactly what the detox involves.

I will keep you posted as to how I am feeling.

When it comes to forgiveness, I’m lousy!

This is a very personal reflection.  I have written it to and about some specific people, but I believe there are lessons to be learned and so I share it here.

When it comes to forgiveness I have to admit, I’m lousy (here’s @ when I forgave my father).  I guess one could say that I hold on to things.  I would say that I hold on to them until I’m ready to let go, always intending to let go at – some – point.  When it is safe.

When you have experienced an abusive home life, it is pure survival instinct to be suspicious.  That lack of being able to trust has hurt me in my life, I know, but it has also protected me from other kinds of pain.  Growing into  Christ’s forgiveness has meant that I have to learn to trust.

When I went to work for my father in 1991 I did it for his approval.  I’d never in my life felt his approval and I just wanted a context where he might ‘like’ me or what I did.  Innocently at first, I stepped into a situation where others accused us of nepotism.  So not only did I have the pressure to perform so that my scowling, disapproving perfectionist father would love me and more importantly approve of me, but I had to live up to his expressed expectations so that others would see that I was competent and deserved to be there.

I learned a lot in the first few years there.  He pushed me in ways that I needed.  I was shy and insecure and he expected me to make things happen!  I learned to express myself clearly, get on the phone and make it happen and eventually I began to see that I was pretty good.  He definitely gave me a confidence boost but I wasn’t prepared for him offering me a huge promotion to Urbana communications.

I’m  still not sure why he did that?  I had a communications degree but it was meaningless at least in my mind.  It was a “I don’t know what to study” degree.   When I started that job I was equal parts thrilled and terrified.  I had tons of ideas and I felt so passionate about my ideas that I wasn’t afraid of what others thought.  Those were good days in the beginning.  Days of huge learning and beginning to shape communications for Urbana the way I wanted.  Yes, I was very I centered.  But things were going fine until I ran up against Scott Wilson.  He told me at one of our first lunches that this was “family” and family looked out for each other.  I had been looking at an external ad agency to help bring some new ideas into the promotion and in no uncertain terms I was told if I did that, I was not “in the family” [insert lingering unspoken threat]

This was so outrageous to me that I remember going home and laughing with Tom because it sounded so mafia-like.  Turns out he wasn’t kidding and that began a power struggle that only escalated and continued up to the day I left InterVarsity.  I take that back, after I left on maternity leave with my third child, after what came to be my last Urbana, he began to ignore me.

Ten years later, I know that I never wanted to leave InterVarsity.  I loved my job.  I was tired and very pregnant and burned out.  I felt like I wasn’t totally supported when it came to my job and that I was being ignored structurally.  I felt unsure about a new Urbana director and tired, did I mention how tired I was?  I did Urbana 2000 seven months pregnant, wrote my report totally exhausted, had my son, did the maternity leave and then … I didn’t know how to return and it didn’t seem like it mattered to anyone whether I did or not.  No one was there to help me get a plan together for the future.  I fell between the cracks.

I never experienced resolution to the conflicts with Scott Wilson.  I never got support for some of the issues I had on my team.  I felt that I had somehow failed and yet, I can’t think of how really.  Three bursting conventions.  The goal had been achieved.  I guess my problem was that I always wanted more.  And ‘more’ wasn’t going to happen at InterVarsity with Scott around.

The funny thing is how different Scott and I are.  I express myself in writing, he’s verbal and extremely articulate.   I’m shy.  I am not a people person, I’m an ideas person.  I have learned over the last ten years that I am really okay with lots of solitude.  I hate meetings and process, though I see how important they can be. I love team and community, but I don’t know how to achieve it.  If someone could have helped us, I think Scott and I together could have been very effective with InterVarsity communications, but as it was the whole thing crushed me.

But I can see God’s big and loving hands on this whole thing, because I don’t know if I could have learned the things that I have about myself and about Him if I had stayed at IV.  Spiritually, I was dieing there.  I equated all this pain I was experiencing with God’s care for me and it didn’t feel very good.  I was hurt, and angry, and ready to tell God to f-off!

My story changed at that point to one of personal redemption.  I was experiencing postpartum depression, I was coming off being a workaholic to being a full-time nursing mom of three in diapers.  My identity issues which had trailed after me all my life flared their ugly head and all of a sudden I felt irrelevant and like a total failure.  After thirteen beautiful learning years at IV, because of the lack of closure and lack of resolution to this conflict, I felt I had failed.

I should have been able to figure it out but I was incapable at the time.   I put some of that pain into my final report, but I guess no one that mattered read it because I never heard back from anyone at IV.  It was like I had fallen off the face of their planet.  What short memories organisations seem to have.

As I dealt with depression, which worsened I began to wrestle with alcohol.  I am not proud of those years certainly.  I was self-medicating and only later learned that it was genetic and my mom would soon get help for her own alcoholism.  I continued to wrestle with it off and on for years.  My father got sick, diagnosed with brain tumors.  He had surgery meanwhile I was trying to figure out if I should go on an antidepressant which was a heart wrenching decision.  At the time of the doctor’s appointment for that, I discovered I was pregnant.  I flew off to Colorado to be with my parents, knowing I was pregnant and clinically depressed.  I did go on the medication.  And for four days I considered an abortion, feeling I was an unfit mother. I don’t know where the thoughts of aborting the baby came from but I was in a major depression.   Six weeks later, the baby self aborted.  A miscarriage.

All the while we were dealing with my father’s illness, my mother’s her drinking became a danger to others including dad and herself.   In the end dad died, mother got help, and I was back with the problems I had before it all started.  Still depressed, confused, lonely and angry at everyone.

On and off over the years I have sought help for my drinking.  It was only in the last year that I knew I could stop.  I know my drinking would never have happened if I had a full-time job.  I hardly drank when I was working.  And I do believe looking back that the opportunity for ‘abuse’ came with too much time on my hands at first, boredom, the stress of little ones under foot, the genetic propensity, and the almost manic depression that I was getting help for at the same time.

I am grateful now that I had the last ten years to slow down enough to see myself – feel my feelings – stop achieving long enough to realize how badly I felt about myself.  When I was working I was maniacally overworking.  If I had a slow day I would get this crazy black cloud over me that I had to run from and so I just kept running.  Doing.  Achieving.  I stopped feeling.   I stopped believing in the purpose of Urbana.  I stopped experiencing God.   My faith was so disintegrated at that point that I remember feeling I had better leave before someone finds out what a hypocrite I was.

This is all to say that I know I had many failures while I was working at IV.  I allowed pettiness and bitterness to dominate me.  I overworked people.  I knew there were people on my team who were hurting and I didn’t know how to help them, so I didn’t.  I just worked, because like my father that is where I felt competence.  I was too proud to ask for help.  And the few times I did ask for help, I was so filled with bitterness and anger that it is no wonder no one could hear me, understand the issues and resolve anything.

To Scott Wilson, I ask that you forgive me for disparaging you in my heart and with others.  To Barney Ford, I ask that you forgive me for not keeping my heart healthy and free from bitterness.  I ask that you both forgive me for allowing anger to dominate and for being a hypocrite.  I stopped listening to God in those last years at IV and was probably more of destructive force then anything.  To all the people who served with me, like Barry Sherbeck, and many others I ask your forgiveness for being so bitter.  For wasting so much of your time with my dark heart issues.  For people who worked for me, like Paul, and Mark, and Grace, and Carol, please forgive me for pushing you so hard.  And for being a feeble boss.  Grace, I should never have hired you knowing I was not going to be the supervisor you needed.  Please forgive me.  I know you all needed things from me that I had no knowledge of how to provide.

As I said, I’m no good at forgiveness.  Or perhaps it just takes me a while.  I can only praise God that He gave me these years, that  as I fell on my face and looked up He was there with open arms.  I can rise up today truly able to seek forgiveness and to let go of all that pain and finally be free!

Be not judges of others, and you will not be judged: do not give punishment to others, and you will not get punishment yourselves: make others free, and you will be made free.  Luke 6:37

Serina Modugno

As I sat in a local coffeehouse listening to Serina tell me her story I thought to myself, this person should not be here. But for the grace of God, Serina Modugno would be a statistic.

Imagine for a moment that your only good memories of your childhood were from before you were six years old. Your “normal” was seeing the impact of drug addiction in your mom and receiving physical and emotional abuse from your dad. Imagine the extreme disappointment and anger that you would have with God.

It seems that Serina should not be who she is today – a 29-year-old, bi-lingual, college-educated, happily-married teacher and Christ-follower. She is a bright, engaging person with a gentle spirit. She does not carry the anger and bitterness one would expect with her life experiences.

For Serina, childhood was difficult. She watched her parents’ divorce when she was quite young and was separated from most of her siblings. Early on, she and one sister lived with her mother. At one point she decided she wanted to live with her dad, but home life there was no better.

Because home life was so erratic she came to depend on teachers – the few caring people who said a word of kindness or gave direction and hope when she was confused and lonely. “I didn’t hear very many kind things growing up, so this stood out to me. To have a teacher say something good about me was huge.” Teachers quickly became her role models.

Meanwhile, Serina’s spiritual life was wrought with resentment. She says, “I hated God and was so angry with him for a long time!” Still, God was gentle and seemed to guide her life even when she was unaware, particularly through her teachers. They continued to play a significant role, emboldening and inspiring her, building up her fragile self-esteem, pushing and encouraging her to continue to learn. After high school graduation, Serina enrolled at a Christian University in Southern California.

Serina became a Christian when she was 17, but she continued to have doubts and questions about her faith. How could a good God allow these things to happen to innocent kids? Why do kids have to be exposed to drugs and experience abuse in their own homes? As the years passed, Serina saw the same hatred toward God come from her brothers and sisters as well as the impact of that hatred.

It was at college, finally away from home, that she promised herself that she would never go home to her father’s house. This presented challenges as she considered what to do with her summers and holidays. The first summer after her freshman year, she worked at a summer camp. But as the second summer loomed, the reality of her problems began to shake her resolve. She did not want to go back, but she didn’t have many options.

On a road trip for her softball team, Serina shared her childhood story with some teammates. As she wept and revealed to her friends how she had grown up and that “home” was unsafe, one person made a phone call home to her father, a pastor.

“Dad, one of my teammates has no place to go this summer. Can she come home with me?” After clarifying the details of a summer job and the rules for living with their family, Serina overcame her internal resistance to living with a pastor. She was afraid she wouldn’t be accepted and considered briefly not accepting their offer. But anything would be better than going back home.

At the end of that first summer with the Fox family, they gathered and made Serina an offer that changed her life. Through circumstances not in their control, the family had lost a baby girl during a pregnancy. They told Serina that they had always felt they should have another girl in the family and if she would accept, they wanted to call her their own. So although she’s not officially adopted, Serina became a part of the Fox family. She spent Thanksgivings, Christmases and summers in her new home. Living with a Christian family, Serina observed what it means to be a family. It was the first time she had ever seen what a loving family behaved like, what a husband and wife could be to one another, what a child who is accepted, affirmed and loved could go on to achieve. They offered her everything they offered their own biological family.

It was through the affection and care of the Foxes along with years of counseling that Serina eventually came to believe Christ’s promises. And that her life was full of possibility!

Serina eventually chose to spend her life helping children who struggle, so they can help themselves. She trained to be a Deaf Education teacher. Today Serina is an Elementary-aged Special Education teacher and her reasons for doing so are simple. “Growing up, classrooms were the only safe environment I had. I wanted to create that for other kids,” she says.

She affirms that these children deserve a chance to learn the life skills they will need to survive, even without supportive parents or all the opportunities that most of us have. Every day, she challenges her students to take risks, to work and push themselves in a safe context. And she encourages them to stand up for themselves and to learn.

One boy came to her classroom in a wheelchair with cerebral palsy. He was cognitively low-functioning, unwilling to work or do much of anything for himself. But through her fastidious attention this young man, two years later, is wheeling himself around, having full conversations and reading. He is doing many things that others said he would never be able to do.

That relationship and many others, Serina says, changed her. She began to ask herself how Jesus would love a child with a disability. It’s more than figuring out how they can learn, and more than just meeting their basic and immediate needs. “It is offering a child with a disability the choice of being helped or doing it themselves, as a way to teach them personal strength. It gives them a context to have mutual relationships. I want to show them what that looks like. That is how I love my kids, by creating that kind of community in my classroom.” Being a teacher is a long path toward sometimes ambiguous results. But Serina is satisfied for now that she can be a daily presence of Christ in her classroom.

God’s redemptive work is obvious in Serina’s classroom, but she sees it in the context of her family as well. “God redeemed and is still redeeming the difficult things that I have gone through. That is why I have been able to forgive my Dad.” She has contact with some of her eight siblings, though they do it without their father’s knowledge. She sees her mom, but not her dad. Still, she’s hopeful. Still, she prays.

“After all that has happened I can see that God somehow finds ways to redeem the hurt. In my mind there is no purpose in people suffering. But God makes it good in time and the good is God’s will. In my mom, in me and in my brothers who have chosen to believe in Christ, I see God’s way of redeeming the wrong and showing us what is possible. I continue to pray for the rest of my family.”

As I write this, Serina is in the classroom with her kids. Her life is devoted to them and to their potential. That’s the hope that keeps her going.

Written for a new publication at Blackhawk Church: illuminate.

I feel like saying something nice.

I’m one day into this toxic fast, which I haven’t technically started.  I have splitting headache, but my spirit is open and today I feel happy.  That’s worth commenting on because honestly the last time I can say I felt happy was … I cannot remember.

Before I digress into that quagmire, I just want to write some nice stuff about my folks.  If you’ve followed along here on the blog for any amount of time you’ve just coughed your tea all over the computer or fallen off your chair.  But hey, miracles do happen (they actually do) not that I’m saying this is one.  But I just feel like trying to remember a few things. So, …

I love the way my dad had a gut busting laugh.  (What I wouldn’t give to hear it again.) When he was amused he just laughed from the belly.  There weren’t too many people who could make him do that.  My sister Holly and I could at times when we weren’t pissing him off. When Tom was on a roll, he sure did make dad laugh.  And then there were TV shows from time to time.

I loved that my dad was consistent about his spiritual disciplines.  Every morning for as long as I can remember, he got up early, made coffee and a fire, and read the Bible.  I mean the actual word of God, not books about it.  Every day.  No matter what. And he kept a prayer list and tracked answers.

Both my parents struggled with insecurity and so they worked hard to fight it.  They used make lists for the other person: What’s good about you.  Strengths.  It may sound hokey, but it really was kind of sweet and it seemed to help.  They would try to do it to me sometimes, and I resisted, but I have to admit it feels good to read a list of ‘affirmations’ if want to call it that which someone else thought of and told you.  Aren’t we all just a little hungry to know what others think of us? I feels damn good.

I love how my dad always said my mom was smarter than him.  It was true, but it was nice to hear him say it.

I love how my mom is a walking encyclopedia.  She does know a little about everything.  And a lot about the Bible, natural health, history, politics, gardening, human resources, …

I love how my mom did her recovery work and hasn’t looked back.  I’m not saying it’s easy for her.  But let me tell you as a fellow addict, it isn’t a small thing.

I absolutely love my mom’s green thumb.  I wish I had it.  I seem to mess up plants, but I go over to my mom’s house and her plants actually look happy.  It’s odd I know, but she has it.  If plants can be happy, they are at her house.

I love that my parents were never in debt (after early mistakes in the early 70s), paid cash for cars, and planned for retirement.  They were some of the most generous people I’ve ever known.  They’ve given away everything from an actual house to enough money that the IRS would audit them regularly.  I guess they couldn’t believe that people with a missionary income gave away so much.

I was just reflecting that I have relationships with people all over the world, many of whom I’ve been keeping up with most recently on Facebook.  Oh, FB is strange and I could write pages on whether it is real, but I have all those relationships because of my parents and the influence they had on me.

I am a multi-cultural friendly open generous person, because of my parents.

If by now you’re in shock, cause Melody just wrote almost ten things she likes about her parents and childhood, and something good about herself, take a deep breathe and smile.

Cause that’s what I’m doing.  Breathing and Smiling.  God is good.

A Prayer of Resolve

God.  Help me. My life is about discovering how I am lost and helpless without you.  I am a sinner.  Always — daily — though forgiven.  Give me what I need to do only what you want. Give me the grace I need to unabashedly adore you; to bring you everything I own, everything I believe, everything I do.  Happiness I wouldn’t say no to and money makes life easier but life and love is all I really need.  Won’t you help me please?

Help me to care about how I live day-to-day.  Help me to show your goodness to others.  Help me to spend my time wisely and give me tomorrow to live and breathe.

Help me not to enjoy others’ mistakes, but cry to for them.  I am no better and I can never forget that. I have problems, life seems unbearable at times. But I will never forget the wretchedness you saved me from.  My addictions.  My need.  My pride.  My shame.

Day and night, give me places to go and people to help. Give me purpose, love and generosity. Give me love, more love.  Help me not to hate. Don’t let me think poorly of others or get angry all the time. And mostly help me to choose my words carefully.

I resolve to be a peacemaker, who brings people together. Help me know others’ pain and to walk the path of pain with them.

Help me to know your will by studying faithfully — daily — and to devote time to being with you in the garden.  May my prayers take me back to the garden.  Teach me to listen.  Teach me to hear.

What you give us, our hope, help me to live as if that is my reason for being, every day that you give me, until I take my last breath.

(Inspired by the first two dozen of  the Resolutions of Jonathan Edwards 1722-1223)



[21 day detox] A diary

“There is nothing that wastes the body like worry, and one who has any faith in God be ashamed to worry about anything whatsoever”

– Mahatma Gandhi

21 day detox fast

Read here for the background to why I am doing the fast.

Monday: 167.5

Tuesday: 170.00 (go figure)

Wednesday, Official Day -1

164.5

• Drank coffee with cream, toast before my package arrived around two.  Then officially began the ‘program.”
• Physically, suffered from an incredible and horrible headache, in my temples.  But emotionally, a m a z i n g!  (Oh, and it’s that time of the month.)
• Purchased a Dry Brush and teas from Community Pharmacy downtown.
• Cooked one of the veggie soups.  Weird, I have to say but not bad.  Broke down and used 1/2 tsp of salt.  I think of everything I am giving up for these 21 days, salt the most difficult.
• Cooked chicken, salad and mac & cheese for dinner for the family.  Good to cook a healthy meal, strange that I can’t eat it.  Didn’t even taste it.  But Tom said the chicken was “the best.”

Thursday, January 7th,  Day 1

-- Haven't weighed today.

• Drank coffee this morning.  Been thinking, on Tom’s advice that I shouldn’t try to quit cold-turkey.  But had no half-and-half.  (Missed the h&h. Sigh!)
• Got a Lymphatic Massage. ($80 or a package of three for $195.)  Eek, this is starting to add up.
• While that was going on I began to think about areas of my life where I feel powerless and full of fear.

1. That I am going to mess up my kids, because I’m learning so much but hopefully not too late!
2. A situation from childhood that changed the direction of one relationship for more than thirty years.  I’m going to do something about it.

The woman who gave me my massage was a bit “out there” but I resonated with the thought that when those worries come, don’t take them in.  Hand them over to your higher goddess or in my case the Holy Spirit.   Let go!  Intentionally think through, yes visualize letting go of that worry and fear.

Yowza!  I feel great.  And hungry which isn’t great.  I’m late on one of my drinks!

Drank Senna Tea (which is for constipation) and pureed bean soup from the book.  Not bad.  I have had enough for tonight too.

Friday, January 8th, Day 2

166  [go figure*]

*Tom says: “One who is on diet must weigh themselves at the same time and in the same circumstances (clothed or naked) etc, otherwise one can’t complain.” Thanks Confucius!

Woke up in the middle of the night, over and over with a stomach ache, air popping inside me (aren’t I discreet), pain when I would lay on my right side.  It was miserable.   Have the runs all day. The medicinal tea that I drank was Traditional Medicinals Organic Smooth Move SENNA.  I think this tea should have a warning on it!  Causes gas!

And the other thing I didn’t expect was peeing over and over, feels like when I was pregnant!  I guess that makes sense, when all I am “eating” is liquids.  And I’m still hungry though my mom says this will stop tomorrow.  Yesterday I was hungry!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I juiced twice today.  Beets, carrots, celery, apples, … it was yummy!  For mid-day I juiced something similar.  Yeah, I need to go to the store.  You quickly run out of veggies.

I am also drinking:

• an 8 oz glass of water every two hours and a cup of tea,
• intermittently: a Garden Greens VegeSplash Super Orac Concentrated Greens Drink Mix, Zesty Tomato flavor.  (It has 14 vegetables including Tomato, Kale and Spinach, 10 Green Foods including Spirulina, Barley Greens, Wheat Grass, Green Tea, Soy Fiber and Plant Based Enzymes.
• and Garden Greens 24 hr Inner Cleanse Daytime/Nighttime Formula.

I ate my black bean soup pureed, from last night’s dinner. I also cheated and backed two sweet potatoes in the oven, peeled and mashed them and ate them like that.  No chewing so technically I guess it’s okay.  It was delicious.

Saturday, January 9, Day 3

Last night I felt very sick.  My stomach hurt terribly, though not in any one place really.  An overall fullness and lots of gas.  I just decided to go to bed and hope to wake to a better day.  This am my stomach seems to be relieved but I have a headache.  This may subside after half decaf/half regular coffee as I somehow slept until 9:30!  Very strange to sleep so long since I went to bed so early.  I woke to the smell of toasting raisin bread – and I wanted to die!  I love bread in any shape or form.  I will sip my coffee slowly and hope for the headache to subside.

Sunday, January 10, Day 4 and Monday, January 11, Day 5

Weighed in on Monday at 166, which for the life of me makes no sense.

• I’ve juiced and have been drinking water and taking supplements.
• walking (started walking a full mile and breaking a sweat.
• 15 minutes on the Chi machine,  borrowed from mom.
• Also she brought me a Rebounder (small trampoline) which she got for cheap at Aldi.  Two minutes on that thing wears me out!
• Had the devil of a time finding an Enema bag.  Finally got one so that should be interesting.  My first Coffee Enema today.
• The vapid hunger is lessening, just drink a Tomato Green Drink when I get hungry and drink water every 1/2 hour.
• I have been constipated ever since I recovered from the diarrhea of Friday?

Emotionally I considered quitting Sunday because I haven’t lost any weight.  Tonya did the fast for 7 days and lost 9 pounds.  I told Tom I must have a tumor.  There is no way I can be eating like I am (rather drinking.  I haven’t chewed anything since last Wednesday.) and NOT LOSE WEIGHT??????  My mom convinced me to give it a week.  That would be until I weigh in on Wednesday.

Spiritually and Mentally I feel amazing!  Seriously positive, and energized and hopeful!  I

Tuesday, Jan 12, Day 6

Paavo Airola, one of the pioneers of fasting in America, states in his book How to Get Well” that “systematic under eating and periodic fasting are the two most important health and longevity factors.”

I am on day six of a twenty-one day fast. The theory is that our bodies are full of toxins from poor eating and drinking habits, our unhealthy environment, medications and general bad living.  So, to have our body working at maximum efficiency one needs to flush it of all those toxins.  My fast is based on the book 21 Pounds in 21 Days. The Martha’s Vineyard Diet Detox by Roni DeLUZ founder of the Martha’s Vineyard Holistic Retreat.

Down 6.5 pounds since a week ago Monday.  I officially began in the fast Wednesday night, but I began to get my mind into it the Monday before.  I was 170 at the highest and I was 146.5 lbs/39 bmi.

I went to Willy Street Co-op, became and member and bought grapefruits, oranges, apples, pineapple juice all to JUICE and cover the flavor of GREEN.  That’s been the most difficult aspect of juicing green things is they taste like crap!  Well, to be more literal they taste green.  Like grass.  Wicked bad.  So I am smothering them with fresh squeezed juice.  But the benefits of broccoli, kale, collard greens, lettuces, fennel, celery, etc are so high that I have to juice them daily.

Constipated.

Wednesday, January 13, Day 7

Didn’t walk, Did Chi, ran out of distilled water. Juiced fruit. I try to add green veggies and it’s just yuck!  Constipated.

Thursday, January 14, Day 8

I’m not drinking enough water.  Probably half that I should after looking at the daily schedule online.  I am drinking coffee and that is “not allowed” so I will not drink it tomorrow.  I was down to half decaf.  I missed walking on Tuesday so I walked 1.6 miles and burned calories.  I’ve been juicing more fruit than veggies.  I have not done the Kidney Cleanse because I do not have the Goldenrod Tincture (though I have looked three places) and finally ordered it online.   I absolutely can’t stand the green drinks and have revolted.  I only drink the tomato and have ordered more.  I made soup of root veggies last night and pureed it for dinner.  Several nights I have eaten two small sweet potatoes baked in oven and then pureed.  Wonder if these are bad?  I’m low on energy.  And today I feel bloody pissed!

Weight 164.5 lbs/41 BMI (-6.5)

I’m trying to figure out what I am doing wrong, what to tweak, because I feel like I am doing this for nothing.  I have another Colonic today, so perhaps that will get out some of this rage.  Because I am really angry!  Need to call Tonya.

Juiced two giant carrots, celery and one grapefruit.  It’s okay. Gagging it down.  11:00 am

12:00 Colonic.

Final report on Friday, january 15, day 9 & Saturday, Day 9 Weight 161 lbs (-9 lbs ) and the summation of this fast.

I am longing for spring! but thankful for today

It is a good discipline to ask yourself what you are thankful for, because the gloom of winter, the sameness of it all, can get to a person here in the cold of the Midwest winters.

Today I am thankful for:

truthful people

Honest people who are willing to tell you the good and bad are priceless.  I have been blessed over the last week to have people tell me good things about me and it is incredible!  Stunning how good it feels to have a person you love or respect tell you something good about yourself.  My father was always good about saying things like that.  Really very articulate and affirming, but his anger & rage made it hard for me to receive it.  But to have someone who has never yelled at you tell you something good, it’s like a balm on a burned hand.

old movies

We’ve been watching old black and white 1940s movies.  there is something so beautiful about the smoke and music, and acting.  The purity of the characters. I’m not totally sure yet what it so compelling about them — I’ll get back to you on this.

science fiction and fantasy genre

Tom has introduced me to many incredible authors this year from our own book shelves: C.J. Cherryh, George R.R. Martin, Louis McMaster Bujold, Connie Willis, among others.  Incredible books that I have given me endless quality hours of enjoyment.

LEGOs

Enough said.  I just love making things and it also gives my children endless hours of fun.

the power to control my health (thus far in my life)

I am taking charge of it by doing this 21 day fast. What doesn’t kill you, makes you better?

flannel pajamas

I just love snuggling for hours in my pajamas, with my coffee and laptop. That is what I wear most when I am blogging.

————————————————————————————————————–

The sun is shining and that doesn’t happen enough here in the Wisconsin winters!

My friends & lurkers, I know you are there and it makes me happy!  I hope you are well today, able to focus on the good things in your life.

Melody

“If I had my life to live over, I would start barefoot earlier in the spring and stay that way later in the fall. I would go to more dances. I would ride more merry-go-rounds. I would pick more daisies.” — Nadine Stair

What can’t our daughters do?

Quickly — I want to thank all my visitors from wordpress.com. Welcome!  Wow!  A lotta love happens when you get featured on the homepage.

Until yesterday, this was a little ol’ blog visited by some of my friends and a few Facebook contacts. I was essentially writing to myself and my lurkers (I do have quite a few of those.)

It would kill me to have you think I’m some ranting feminist and that’s what this blog is about.  Because that is NOT TRUE, about the blog, I mean. I am a feminist.  And I can rant (at times.)  Okay quite often.  But I rant — ahem write many things.

I post my poetry, and talk about all sorts of things from politics, faith & (dis)belief, family & parenting, depression & mental health.  It’s varied.

I’m a Haus Frau, free-lance photographer and generally vexed person who writes.  If it were not for my faith I’d be mean and ugly.  But if you find anything golden here it is because of grace in my life.

Please Enjoy!  Melody

————————————————————————–

I started writing these thoughts about two months ago.  But Nicholas Kristof’s article in today’s NY Times entitled, Religion and Women, got me thinking, again.   I am a regular reader of his Op-Eds.

DO you believe this little girl does not have the right to the same opportunities?  Even if she felt called to be a pastor.

Kristof mentions Jimmy Carter’s speech to the Parliament of the World’s Religions in Australia, which I read when it was first posted online.  (I think I’m in love with Jimmy Carter, how he lives his life with principles.  And standing up for women is sexy! But that’s irrelevant here.)  I don’t have complete or even very coherent thoughts on the topic yet, I just want to ask some questions:

• Is feminism as simple as giving women equality in work, home, church life?
• Do women deserve access to anything that men have access to?  Why do men have such a problem with this?
• Do you believe your daughter has a right to every opportunity that your son has?  Why would a loving God say she doesn’t?  What can’t our daughters do?

Personally, I think oppressing  a woman From war lords raping women in the Congo, to Afghani men who throw acid on girls faces, to men who psychologically abuse women, or the British woman who was arrested for being raped in Dubai, all of this should make us sick to our stomachs and even more culturally accepted things like putting women down, objectifying women.  And yes even keeping them from leadership opportunities they are obviously qualified for all give men the chance to believe that women are inferior human beings.  And when you do that, bad things happen in our homes, institutions and relationships.

Sexism is any mistreatment of women, ranging from violence against women, to treating women as inferior, to objectifying a women. Any time women are treated in any way other than a respected human being with every opportunity in the world!

“Women are prevented from playing a full and equal role in many faiths, creating an environment in which violations against women are justified,” former President Jimmy Carter noted.  “The belief that women are inferior human beings in the eyes of God gives excuses to the brutal husband who beats his wife, the soldier who rapes a woman, the employer who has a lower pay scale for women employees, or parents who decide to abort a female embryo.”

Jimmy Carter sees religion as one of the basic “causes of the violation of women’s rights.”

As a member of The Elders, a small council of retired leaders brought together by Nelson Mandela, he is speaking out.  The Elders are focusing on the role of religion in oppressing women, and they have issued a joint statement calling on religious leaders to “change all discriminatory practices within their own religions and traditions.”

Why do I have a problem with women not being elders at my church? Because in its simplest form it is saying:

• That I am not trusted by God with the complete story, or
• that I somehow don’t have what it takes to lead the church, or
• that I don’t have full access to God, or
• that I don’t have the wisdom and life experience, I do not have whatever it takes.

Oh, believe you me I know (some) churches will allow you to do anything else! Serve, give, teach, be missionaries.  Just not be the spiritual guide.  It just doesn’t feel right.  In my gut.

I’ve recently made a contact in the blogosphere, Eugene Cho, a pastor and leader and all around amazing, wise and prophetic person who has written and thought about this as well.  He asks these questions on the topic of women:
“Shouldn’t we work together to build a culture (even amongst our own churches) of respect and dignity? How do we do that beyond the debates of the ordination of women?  How do we do that in our lives, families and churches (or must it be connected to the issue of ordination?)  What’s clear to me is that it’s really difficult to pursue these things when we don’t hear directly from women. Or allow ourselves to listen to women… aka – that we take a posture of humility and submit, believing that God can actually speak through women as well. Why?”

I’ll tell you why.  Because they do not fundamentally believe they should be listening to women.  You can’t convince me otherwise.

There is a way in a progressive place like Madison that we settle for less on this subject as rarely in Madison are women subjected to overt forms of sexism.  Most of the men I know are loving and open-hearted.  And so, in the church especially, women let a lot go.  We ignore the whole Elder and women being ordained issue, just glad we’re all getting along.  And in fact my church is ahead of many others in the area.

What I don’t like is that we aren’t willing to talk about these things.  We need to talk about these things.  The fact that we don’t talk about it is painful to me. I believe if we want grow, to heal, and to have everyone truly empowered and working out of their gifts and abilities, it is crucial that we be willing to talk.

It takes an immense amount of energy to challenge someone on their sexism. It is much easier to sit here and write about it.  Even a situation that is simple and straightforward, which I wrote about a few weeks ago, sent me into a tailspin for about 12 hours.  I knew it was sexist.  I couldn’t believe how bad I felt and wondered how my sister, an ordained minister in her own church felt being spoken to in such a demeaning manner.  I suppose in some ways I forgot, being out of the workplace and not heavily involved at church, that this is still common, and widespread.

It would seem that sexism would be easy to recognize.  One would think that in a progressive town like Madison people would be willing to discuss this.  As with any type of discrimination, sexism can be both personal and institutional, obvious and much more subtle.  Do you think you could spot sexism when it occurs?  These are all in the category.

• Definitely commenting on a woman’s looks when you should be talking ideas can be a form of sexism.
• The use of pejorative names like ” ‘girls’ at the home office” and other patronising terms can be a form of sexism.
• A teacher or pastor or youth worker offering more attention to one sex gender can be a form of sexism.
• Only hiring people of a certain gender for a specific type of job can be a form of sexism.  (Every support role being filled by one gender.)
• Expecting only people of a certain sex/gender to be interested in specific activities can be a form of sexism.
• Identifying activities, roles and chores as male or female can be a form of sexism.
• Steering students towards specific subjects based on their gender can be a form of sexism.

For some strange reason, my 12-year-old daughter believes she is getting better grades than she deserves and doesn’t seem to be getting sent to detention for being tardy (and she’s testing it believe me!) because her teacher thinks she is cute.  I don’t know if this is true.  I wish she didn’t have to think about this.    She knows she should be in detention.  Objectifying her and making her unsure that she deserves the grades she’s getting, but perhaps being attractive is helping, but this cannot be proven.

More mutual respect, openness and conversation are what we need.

I have rung the bell too many times within my church on the role of women. I try to be respectful and teachable. But I am tired of being told “Talk to so and so, who is a woman who leads…” so that she can tell me why she’s accepted the fact and is okay that she will never be an elder in the church.  Pass.

I’ve decided it’s the denomination that speaks.  Women are not pastors or ordained in our denomination.  I cannot change the Evangelical Free Church of America denomination (Or can I? my son would say.  But I know I cannot.) so I have to decide if I can live with it.

And it comes down to whether I can counteract the message, subtle as it is from the platform, that says to my 12-year-old daughter sitting in the pew — you will never do that job.  You will never be a pastor.  You don’t need to study scripture as seriously as the boys, because you aren’t accepted at their seminary.  Women do not preach.

I just think that’s sad.  It makes me very sad.  That’s where I’ll leave it today.  As I said, I don’t have complete or even very coherent thoughts and this will be continued….

[21 day detox] Days 3 & 4 were pure misery

When I think of the role that food has played in my life it is inordinately flawed and dysfunctional.  The only way I can think that I wasn’t over weight growing up, is that my mom was into healthy eating and we never had junk food.  She baked our bread.  I never ate a Twinkie or Ding Dong until college.  Seriously.

When I got to college I got a really bad habit of eating for taste and comfort.  I was never over weight in college, but I survived on mostly GRANDMA’s cookies and coffee.  Oh, and donuts.  I didn’t realize I had a problem with poor eating, until I fainted dead away at my job in the library.  Turns out I was anemic and malnourished.  Yes, I guess nineteen year old well off Caucasian girls from the burbs become malnourished.  Of course this was the 80’s and there was little known about eating disorders.

My twenties were more of the same.  Eating poorly, feeling poorly, but never really gaining weight due to a good metabolism I suppose.  I have never been an active person, just a busy person.  I have been known to eat chocolate chip cookie dough (from the fridge) for a week for dinner.  Or melted cheese.  Or Ramen noodles.

Although my mom is a gourmet cook and a health nut, I didn’t learn anything growing up about cooking.  Four girls overwhelmed her I imagine and she was always shooing us out of the kitchen.

I learned from her relationship to food though.  My mom had been a yo-yo dieter all my life, at least since we came back from Papua New Guinea and that’s the earliest that I can remember.  Certain things were forbidden and then eaten at other times when fallen off the diet.  For my mom two were Fritos and popcorn.  I hated all three for as long as I can remember.  For the longest time they even made me physically ill if I even smelled them.  I see now was very wrapped up in my mother’s ups and downs.  She hated her body.  I hated my body.

And I had never in my life dieted or been on a diet when I got married.  I hadn’t needed to, because I managed to stay around 130 lbs, give or take five for my twenties and early thirties.

Getting pregnant was the beginning of the end of the “innocently healthy years.”  I was hungry all the time while pregnant and I thought if I was hungry the baby must also be hungry.  Absurd, of course, but I ate my way through and gained 70 pounds.  Actually I stopped looking at the scale after 70.  Horrifying.  And really my OBGYN should be taken out back and shot, for she never said a word to me about my weight.  Nada. (Yes, it feels better to blame her or at least act like it wasn’t my responsibility at all.)

Not taking responsibility could be how you label those years.  Within five months of Emma’s birth I was pregnant again with Dylan.  I gained less with that pregnancy, but then I was carrying some carried over from the previous pregnancy.  With nursing and working full-time, I lost a good part of the Emma weight.   After Dylan was born, then I had more time to get back to my original weight and I was within 20 lbs when I got pregnant with Jacob a year or so later.

I said earlier that I never dieted before I got married.  I hadn’t.  That’s not to say that I have always been happy with my weight, but I would just start working out at the Y if I got to feeling too badly about myself.  And that worked for the most part.

I have actually only been on one real diet in that time.  In 2002 Tom and I went on the South Beach diet.  I lost 17 lbs, and at that point people thought I looked too skinny but actually that put me around 140-145 and that’s a really perfect weight for my age and being 5′ 6″.  I hadn’t felt that great in years!  All those baby years were gone!  I felt like a woman again, as opposed to being a mommy with boobies.

Since 2002, I have been at home and my lifestyle has slowed down year by year and I’ve felt a slow creep.  Of course there was the battle with depression which is a story told elsewhere.  But the weight just crept up, a little more every year.  When I finally decided to do this fast I weighed in at 169 lbs – okay 170 – last Monday.  That is the highest that I have ever been in my life.  It was do or die time.

This beautiful broken tea-cup is really a metaphor for me.  I mean ME, my body, my health, my physical person.  I broke it yesterday, because I wasn’t paying attention to my detox plan and let myself get too hungry.  I was experiencing low blood sugar and ignoring it and put the dishes away. Before I fed myself.  Ignoring my need I broke something that was important to me. 

The cup is from Ukraine – one of a kind, irreplaceable, beautiful, sturdy – priceless.  It was a gift from my mom.  I was at her place the day before and I admired it because I will always have a place in my heart for the Ukraine and Russia.  She said “Take it.  You can have it.”   She is like that these days, physical things becoming much less important to her.  Perhaps it is her age.  Anyway, I gratefully took it feeling a bit selfish. But thrilled!

And used it for a day.  Until I dropped it.

That’s what I do. I ignore my body.  I ignore my hunger.  I ignore the fact that this body, given to me freely and is mine to care for.  I need to take more care.

It’s a lifelong pattern for me to forget about eating. Then eat all the wrong things.  Carbohydrates mostly.

And yesterday I forget that I need to follow the plan.  I need to make sure I eat enough calories.

I am one-of-a-kind, beautiful, and sturdy (ha ha) and I only have this one life.  This one body.  One chance to make things right.

And that is why I have to follow the plan as if my life depended on it.

Back story on the 21 day detox is here.

Am I called to be comfortable or to be changed? (as a white Christian)

When I read an article in TIME Magazine Can Megachurches Bridge the Racial Divide? about the diversity journey of Willow Creek Church, I was left feeling surprised and unsettled.  Surprised by the influence that one person can have, a pastor in this case (Bill Hybels) who changed the face of that church – quite literally.  Willow Creek has gone from being  a lily white church to having diversity rates around 20% in about fifteen years.  It is a good story that’s worth reading.  (And quite unlike a lot of what you find in TIME; at least I find TIME Magazine is sanctimonious and moralizing about neoconservative ideas.)

Taking it a step further, Edward Gilbreath interviewed the Time religion writer David Van Biema who wrote the original piece about Willow Creek Church.  That interview was even more compelling, and as usual for me, unsettling. (If you have any interest in these topics this website, www.UrbanFaith.com, authored by Mr. Gilbreath, is thoughtful, challenging and informative.)  But the interview stirred up in me all the same feelings I have had for years, of dissatisfaction, doubt, and a strange wish for more diversity in my world.

I attend a 5,000+ church here in Madison, WI.  I have no idea of the diversity stats, though we have a lot of international students and college students.  I always see black faces in the crowd, but they stick out.  We seem to have tons of Asians.  Diversity is not talked about that I can tell as important in the Kingdom of God and the staff is Caucasian (the platform speakers are always male and always Caucasian, with very few exceptions.)

This was a strong theme of the Gilbreath interview  — the lack of people of color on staff and in crucial teaching roles, etc.

At times I become discouraged about all this, because after working on a convention like Urbana I have seen, experienced and participated in worship and leadership that is diverse.  Beautifully diverse, challenging, incredible, multi-lingual, multi-cultural, worship at Urbana is a transformational experience.  Heavenly.

My church is very white.

There is an ethnically diverse church here in town.  It is Pentecostal with a black pastor that I know and respect, Alex Gee.  I grew up Lutheran, United Methodist, Evangelical Free, and Presbyterian.  I am open.  Though I find the pentecostal experience is genuine and exciting, it also challenges this awkward extremely white person!  Let’s just say I want to like it.  I want a groove.  I want rhythm.  I want the holy spirit of the Pentecostal experience.  But it isn’t happening yet.

One thing I learned from my friends who are not white is that people with power (white like me) need to be willing to ‘risk‘ and ‘get uncomfortable’ and be the minority presence sometimes. Willing to give up their power.  In my heart-of-hearts I feel compelled to do this.  And at other times the ‘worship with your own kind’ argument resonates with the part of me that just wants church to be comfortable.  Is that sin?  Should I reject those thoughts and desires for what is known and familiar?

Jesus seemed to constantly be in situations with people very different from him.  Is that what he calls us to?  The author of First John says that to love is to lay down your life.

“We know love because Jesus laid down his life for us, and we ought to lay down our lives for one another.”

What he did, the greatest act of love, seems like an impossible thing to do for another person.  But just perhaps in a regular persons’ day-to-day life, our acts should be ordinary acts of love.  To live our lives based on that simple truth means our lives are built on self-sacrifice.  Every time we respond in love to someone else, we are laying down our lives for them.

“This is my commandment,that we should believe in the name of his Son Jesus Christ and love one another.”

Strange how he did not say “these are my commandments.”  He said one commandment.  To believe and love is one idea.  Believing in Christ means that we love one another.  Looking at it that way, there is a lot that I can do as a person with my affluence & power &  a voice for the cause of reconciliation in my city.  Things that have nothing to do with where I worship on Sunday.

• I could take a job in a community development organization, forgoing salary to do a job that made a difference.
• I could send my daughter (and sons) to Wright Middle School, a school named after one of Madison’s civil rights pioneers, which offers a multi-cultural curriculum.
• I could volunteer my talents to Madison Times the only minority-owned newspaper here in Madison.

And I am considering all of these things.

I’d like to hear what you think. Do white or black churches need to change? Do people, white people for the most part with the power and resources  need to be humbling themselves to be a minority somewhere in their lives?  What can we do to help change this story in our white churches?  What are the questions I am not thinking of?  What’s left unsaid?  Ultimately how do we love our community as Jesus would have?  Are we willing to change?

UPDATE: I wrote  this in response to Kathy Khang’s post on the subject on Sojourner’s God’s Politics blog.

It’s always disconcerting to read believers ranting at one another. So much emotion. So often so ugly. The danger of the medium I suppose.  I appreciate the intensity of Kathy’s post and the questions she is posing. Things were written that need to be said. Often. In a variety of places. I blogged about the TIME article as well, Kathy, not knowing you had written too. My perspective as a white woman of course being entirely different. I read the White/Asian thing and wondered about it, but it didn’t hurt to read it. That pain is why this is all so important.

The question “are liberals ever happy” though posed in jest, is to me (ironically) the important question here. And my answer is a resounding no, of course not. Not in the way you think.

• No, as long as our children are growing up to fear one another, and hesitate, and wonder about each others culture. To consider certain cultures suspect, simply because they are different.
• No, as long as a white child believes somehow they are more deserving than a Black or Korean or Japanese kid born next door.
• No, as long as white people believe they are the givers and POC are the takers, the needy.
• No, as long as there is poverty, and hunger, and homelessness in our country.
• No, as long as kids are not being educated well because they weren’t born into the right neighborhood or family.
• And no, we’re not going to be happy as long as women and people of color are kept out of opportunities to minister alongside white men.
• NO, liberals are not going to be happy as long as there is institutionalized discrimination and racism and sexism.

I could go on. But will say a final no. Inborn in a “liberal” as you call us, is a broken heart.  A heart that actually feels pain when they hear someone else talk about their pain.

“Learn to do good; seek justice, rescue the oppressed, defend the orphan, plead for the widow.”- Isaiah 1:17

[21 day detox] Day 6.

Paavo Airola, one of the pioneers of fasting in America, states in his book How to Get Well” that “systematic under eating and periodic fasting are the two most important health and longevity factors.”

I am on day six of a twenty-one day fast. The theory is that our bodies are full of toxins from poor eating and drinking habits, our unhealthy environment, medications and general bad living.  So, to have our body working at maximum efficiency one needs to flush it of all those toxins.  My fast is based on the book 21 Pounds in 21 Days. The Martha’s Vineyard Diet Detox by Roni DeLUZ founder of the Martha’s Vineyard Holistic Retreat.

Down 6.5 pounds since a week ago Monday.  I officially began in the fast Wednesday night, but I began to get my mind into it the Monday before.  I was 170 at the highest and I was 146.5 lbs/39 bmi.

I went to Willy Street Co-op, became and member and bought grapefruits, oranges, apples, pineapple juice all to JUICE and cover the flavor of GREEN.  That’s been the most difficult aspect of juicing green things is they taste like crap!  Well, to be more literal they taste green.  Like grass.  Wicked bad.  So I am smothering them with fresh squeezed juice.  But the benefits of broccoli, kale, collard greens, lettuces, fennel, celery, etc are so high that I have to juice them daily.

For the background on the fast, click on the 21 Day Detox at your right, under TAGS.

Be well!

Devastation & Hope

Fear friends and lurkers,

As the world knows by now a major earthquake struck southern Haiti on Tuesday, inflicting a catastrophe on the Caribbean nation.  Up to 4,000 dead.  It is difficult to know how to respond to a tragedy like this.  It doesn’t take a lot to ignore it.  I hadn’t checked the news yesterday, so I didn’t hear about it until my husband told me this morning.

Since ignoring it is a terrible option then what?  I tend to feel anguish and sorrow.  But if I start reading all the stories about the suffering it is too much.  Believe it or not it was Facebook that brought it down to earth for me.  I have a FB contact whose father lives in Haiti.  Another whose niece is there on a service trip for two weeks.  Another a brother. All of a sudden something that was intellectually tragic hits me in the stomach.

What if that was my father, or niece, or friend?

I can pray, but I need to do more.  So a small gift or larger if I can spare it toward a worthwhile organization seems the compassionate response.

I hope you will consider the same.

Be well,

Melody

P.S.  I do not make it a practice to “fund raise” here on my blog.  In fact I never have.  And I won’t very often. Thanks.

This organization, ONE DAY’S WAGES, is a grassroots movement of people motivated by their compassion and desire for justice.

Their goal — to fight Extreme Global Poverty. ODW is the emissary, in a sense, but gives away 100% of what it raises.

All of the money goes to the purpose of sustainable relief and they partner with smaller organizations in developing regions.  Their vision is to inspire people around the world to simply donate one day’s wages and to renew that pledge annually.

Here is the story of the couple that started One Day’s Wages. You can also find out how to give if you decide that is something you want to do.  There is a nifty calculator to help you figure out one day of your wages.

“They started a Facebook group, Fight Global Poverty, and pledged to donate $1 for each member who joined, up to a total of $100,000. The group now has more than 1 million members, and Mr. Cho and his wife will contribute about $68,000 this year — representing a year’s wages — and the rest next year. One Day’s Wages received tax-exempt status in May and started its Web site last month at www.onedayswages.org. “It’s easy to be drawn to the multimillion-dollar donations, but we’re doing ourselves a disservice by not elevating the stories of the working mothers and fathers who also contribute what are significant amounts to them,” Mr. Cho said.”  [New York Times]

The people of Haiti are clearly in need.   There are many worthy agencies that could use our help.  I urge you to consider helping in some way and this one I recommend.  But don’t take my word for it.

When the world is falling apart before your eyes …

Sometimes, when the world is falling apart before your eyes and you are powerless all you can do is pray.  If there is any stillness in your day, cry out to your God.

May God bless you

with anger at injustice,

oppression, and

exploitation of people,

so that you may work

for justice, freedom

and peace.

A Franciscan Benediction

My heart is heavy today. I have learned in these moments to listen well.  Cry out to God for hope and purpose in the midst of such tragedy.

May you listen and be well,

Melody

my God is not random (a poem)

My God is not random.  He loves me.  He loves you.

He created Adam and Eve.

He put them in a perfect place.  He had

communion with them. He gave them

e v e r y t h i n g.

My God is not random. He longs for that with you and me.

I am Eve, you are Adam but we live in a broken place.

We are wreckage.  We are turmoil and pain.

But he never stops loving us red, yellow, black and white.  All named Precious!  Precious brown and beige and ivory.  Precious bronze, chestnut and chocolate. Precious cinnamon and cocoa, ecru and ginger.  Tan and tawny.  Even terra-cotta.  Precious chestnut, alabaster, and milky white. Precious ebony and obsidian. Precious slate.  Cream and sand. He made us and calls each one Precious.

My God is not random.  My God loves all.

Big & tall.  Short and fat.  Skinny or petite.  Hideous.  Beautiful.  Proud.  Angry.   Perfectionists and slackers.  Healers.  Takers.  Know-it-alls and those that don’t.  Intellectuals.  Mystics.  Liberals.  Moderates. Conservatives.  indifferent. All. Those that clean and serve.  Those that won’t.  Prosperous or poor.  Passionate or indifferent. Foolish or wise.  Filthy or Clean.  Hungry or full.  Broken and hurting.  Devastated and afraid. Crushed.  Alone. Dieing.  Texting ten and those that don’t.  Those that go and those that stay.  Loved and precious.  ALL.

I am Adam.  You are Eve.

Don’t ya get it? Don’t you see?

We messed up this place.

Think you’re important?  He seriously does not care, unless you choose to help.

It is no matter to him who you are or what you have done .  That you have Hated.  Ignored.  Hurt.  Judged.

He loves you, Me, Adam, Eve.

All of us, He loves and calls us precious.

Then he let us choose.

We walked away. We ignored.

My God isn’t random. He says:

Come Eve.  Come Adam.  Come into the garden.  Dwell.  Be with me.

See the world  Do something. Feel the pain of others and respond.

I am the world.  I am hungry.  I am thirsty.  Feed me.  I am a stranger.  Invite me to your meals. I am cold and in need of clothes.  Cover me. I am sick, imprisoned won’t you look after me?

I gave you everything. What will you choose?

If you say “That can not be you Lord!  When are you ever hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison?”

Look! If we turn toward him, he will

break our heart. He will give us

Eyes. Ears. Hands. Feet.

He is not random. He let’s us choose.

He loves the hungry.  He loves the thirsty.  He loves the naked, the sick, the incarcerated.   He loves me and you.  No mater what we do.  No matter what we’ve done.

He wants your tomorrows.  He wants communion with you.  He named you Precious.

Won’t you listen, come.

Written in response to the crisis in Haiti.  To those who cry out in a moment like this and say “if there is a god he is terrible.  How could he?”  In my perhaps inelegant way I am trying to say he loves each of us and if we were to respond to him the world would be such a better place.  The poverty and tragedy in Haiti has been there for hundreds of years.  The world ignored, but for a few.  And still, he loves.

this poem is far from done.   a torrent of thoughts.  still unruly and a mess.

Somewhere in my heart, it’s the end of the world & Satan takes a pass. (Haiti)

I spent last evening from 9pm to 12am watching AC 360 and reading blogs about Haiti. Anderson Cooper, because he is there on site.  And I think he’s an excellent journalist (“Not to mention he’s a hunk and have you seen his muscles?” my 72-year-old Mother said to me recently. Yes, that’s funny.  You can laugh.)

And then, as it does all day long my mind goes back to Haiti.  I just can’t stop dwelling there. I’m vacuuming or making dinner and my mind is with the Haitians who are still being pulled from the rubble four days later.  Alive. Surviving on nothing while I am pulling boiled chicken off the bones for soup.  The fat is clinging to my fingers.

We are so abundantly blessed. If you haven’t yet, I would ask you to give money for Haiti. This blog I follow Blood & Milk: Examining International Development gave practical advice on giving.

“My own suggestion is this – the single most important thing you can do when choosing where to donate is to pick an organization with a history in Haiti. That will make all the different in the speed and quality of their work.”

Photographs (a must see).

Some disturbing and horrifying images from Haiti, six days later in the Boston Globe. Personally I think they are a must see.  For they are seared in my aortas and as I pray I cannot help but remember them.

History I never learned.

Many of us are coming up to speed quickly on this tiny nation.  To be honest I have given no energy or time toward this country.  It has never been on my grid.

This article Requiem for Port-au-Prince is insightful and interesting.  Haitian writers and visitors to the island nation talk about Port-au-Prince before the earthquake.  Also another interesting article with a time line of  the Unluckiest Country. Both articles are from Foreign Policy magazine.

A Personal Story

And then, late last night I read this by Régine Chassagne who is Haitian talking about her week since she heard about the earthquake.  It’s a first hand account and is very touching as the Haitian singer demands that her homeland isn’t once again abandoned by the west.  Heart breaking.

I let out a cry, as if I’d heard everybody I loved had died.

Somewhere in my heart, it’s the end of the world.  These days, nothing is funny. I am mourning people I know. People I don’t know. People who are still trapped under rubble and won’t be rescued in time. I can’t help it.  Everybody I talk to says the same thing: time has stopped.

Simultaneously, time is at work. Sneakily passing through the cracks, taking the lives of survivors away, one by one.

Diaspora overloads the satellites. Calling families, friends of families, family friends. Did you know about George et Mireille? Have you heard about Alix, Michaelle etc, etc? But I know that my personal anguish is small compared to the overwhelming reality of what is going on down there.

When it happened I was at home in Montreal, safe and cosy, surfing the internet, half randomly, like millions of westerners. Breaking news: 7.0 earthquake hits Haiti near Port-au-Prince.

Such emotion came over me. My breath stopped. My heart sank and went straight into panic mode. I knew right away that the whole city is in no way built to resist this kind of assault and that this meant that thousands were under rubble. I saw it straight away.

I ran downstairs and turned on the television. It was true. Tears came rushing right to my eyes and I let out a cry, as if I had just heard that everybody I love had died. The reality, unfortunately, is much worse. Although everything around me is peaceful, I have been in an internal state of emergency for days. My house is quiet, but I forget to eat (food is tasteless). I forget to sleep. I’m on the phone, on email, non-stop. I’m nearly not moving, but my pulse is still fast. I forget who I talked to and who I told what. I leave the house without my bag, my keys. I cannot rest.

I grew up with parents who escaped during the brutal years of the Papa Doc regime. My grandfather was taken by the Tonton Macoutes and it was 10 years before my father finally learnt he had been killed. My mother and her sister returned home from the market to find their cousins and friends murdered. She found herself on her knees in front of the Dominican embassy begging for her life in broken Spanish. Growing up, I absorbed those stories, heard a new version every year; adults around the dinner table speaking in creole about poor Haiti.

When I was growing up, we never had the money to return. Even if we had, my mother never could go back. Until she died, she would have nightmares about people coming to “take her away”. My mum passed away before she could meet my future husband, or see our band perform and start to have success, and though I have dreamed of her dancing to my music, I know she would have been very worried to hear that I was travelling to Haiti for the first time last year.

It is strange that I was introduced to my country by a white doctor from Florida called Paul Farmer who speaks perfect Creole and knows how to pronounce my name right. He is the co-founder of an organisation titled Partners in Health (Zanmi Lasante in Creole). There are several charity organisations that are doing good work in Haiti – Fonkoze is a great micro-lending organisation – but in terms of thorough medical care, follow-up and combining of parallel necessary services (education, sanitation, training, water, agriculture), there is none that I could ­recommend more than Partners in Health. It takes its work for the Haitian people very seriously and, indeed, most of the staff on the ground are Haitian. PIH has been serving the poorest of the poor for more than 20 years with a ­curriculum that really astounded me, given the limited resources available in the area.

Visiting its facilities, I was overwhelmed by, and impressed with, the high-level, top-quality services provided in areas where people own next to nothing and were never given the opportunity to learn how to sign their own name. I was delightfully shocked to see the radically positive impact it has had in the communities it serves. Of course, during my visit, I saw some clinics and hospitals that were at different stages than others, but through it all, I could clearly see that PIH staff are very resourceful and set the bar extremely high for themselves. I know that, right now, they are using their full ­capacities to save as many lives as possible.

So in these critical times where death comes every minute, I urge you to donate to Partners in Health (www.pih.org) and be as generous as you can. I know from having talked to some staff that they are on the ground right now, setting up and managing field hospitals as well as receiving the injured at their clinics in the surrounding areas.

I realize that by the time you read this it will be Sunday. The cries will have died out and few miracles will remain possible. But the suffering survivors should not be abandoned and should be treated with the best care countries like ours can offer.

Many Haitians expect to be let down. History shows they are right to feel that way. Haitians know that they have been wronged many, many times. What we are seeing on the news right now is more than a natural disaster. This earthquake has torn away the veil and revealed the crushing poverty that has been allowed by the west’s centuries of disregard. That we must respond with a substantial emergency effort is beyond argument, but in the aftermath, Haiti must be rebuilt.

Ultimately, we need to treat Haiti with compassion and respect and make sure that the country gets back on its feet once and for all. Haiti’s independence from France more than two centuries ago should be thought of as one of the most remarkable tales of ­freedom; instead, she was brought to her knees by the French and forced to pay a debt for the value of the lost colony (including the value of the slaves: the equivalent of $21bn by current calculations). We cannot ­overestimate the strength and resilience of the brave people living in this country whose ancestors had to buy their own bodies back.

The west has funded truly corrupt governments in the past.  Right now, in Haiti, there is a democratically elected government.  Impossibly weak, but standing. This is the moment where we need to show our best support and solidarity.

Since Haiti shook and crumbled, I feel as if something has collapsed over my head, too. Miles away, somehow, I’m trapped in this nightmare. My heart is crushed. I’ve been thinking about nothing else.  Time has stopped – but time is of the essence.

So I’ve been sitting here at my computer, food in the fridge, hot water in the tap, a nice comfy bed waiting for me at some point… but…  Somewhere in my heart, it’s the end of the world.

Régine Chassagne is a member of the rock band Arcade Fire.

Obviously a student of CS Lewis, a woman wrote a Letter to the editor in the Minneapolis-St. Paul Star Tribune:

Dear Pat Robertson,
I know that you know that all press is good press, so I appreciate the shout-out. And you make God look like a big mean bully who kicks people when they are down, so I’m all over that action. But when you say that Haiti has made a pact with me, it is totally humiliating. I may be evil incarnate, but I’m no welcher. The way you put it, making a deal with me leaves folks desperate and impoverished. Sure, in the afterlife, but when I strike bargains with people, they first get something here on earth — glamour, beauty, talent, wealth, fame, glory, a golden fiddle. Those Haitians have nothing, and I mean nothing. And that was before the earthquake. Haven’t you seen “Crossroads”? Or “Damn Yankees”? If I had a thing going with Haiti, there’d be lots of banks, skyscrapers, SUVs, exclusive night clubs, Botox — that kind of thing. An 80 percent poverty rate is so not my style. Nothing against it — I’m just saying: Not how I roll. You’re doing great work, Pat, and I don’t want to clip your wings — just, come on, you’re making me look bad. And not the good kind of bad. Keep blaming God. That’s working. But leave me out of it, please. Or we may need to renegotiate your own contract.

Best, Satan

LILY COYLE, MINNEAPOLIS

[21 day fast]

At the risk of being completely petty, considering what’s going on in the greater world, this is a last update on the 21 day fast.  Frankly I need the closure.  Here’s how it all started.

On Thursday, January 7th, I began what for me ended up being a ten-day fast.  My goal was 21 days.  It’s been a thoroughly frustrating experience.

Examining My Motives.

I have to admit that I went into this really wanting to lose the weight quickly and with very little effort.  I thought this fast would be “very little effort.”  I am not sure why.   My sister who has done the fast said it was “really difficult.”  I heard what I wanted to hear.  I underestimated the sacrifices. Here’s what I wrote a ten days ago.

“The theory is that our bodies are full of toxins from poor eating, the environment and general bad living.  So, in order to have our body working at maximum efficiency one needs to flush it of all those toxins.  Over the last year I have had chronic headaches (two to three a week), right knee pain, TMJ – jaw clenching with pain, gastrointestinal issues, a weight gain of fifteen pounds (at least), to take antihistamines for frequent allergies, to take antidepressant medication because I suffer from depression and anxiety.

I have also gone off a prescribed medication, quit drinking alcohol, and quit smoking. (I know I’m amazing.  I’m applying for angelic status.)  Ahem, back to reality.  Quiting these things was good for me but I now have toxins stored up in my body, I’m thinking.

I’ve been reading the book 21 Pounds in 21 Days by Roni DeLuz, RN, ND. My sister did this fast and saw incredible health benefits, several health issues completely resolved and she felt fantastic!

It took me about six days to find a stride where I wasn’t starving all the time.  But I juiced fruit.  And it turns out that’s a no-no.  Also, I didn’t quit coffee totally.  Another rule breaker.  W e are to have our green drinks, Berry drinks, fresh veggie juice (mostly green) and the soup, the supplements and tea.  So, I hate green drinks.  I tried holding my nose but it’s just awkward to drink 6 oz of something totally repugnant, while holding your nose.  Another faster, who read my blog said this:

“Wow. You are persistent and determined with all these ups and downs. Good for you. I’ve done the detox 4 or 5 times before and am doing one now so there are a few suggestions I can make. You really should limit your use of fruits. Fruits are a feeding food and while a small piece of apple is okay to add for taste, any other fruits besides lemon or lime should be avoided until maintenance time. It could be that you are making and drinking too much fresh juice all at once. Six ounces is plenty and make sure you take something every two hours – tea, water with lemon, green drink (the Berry Berry is best but maybe you can find a better drink in your health food store, if your tastes are discriminating). Peach tea or cranberry weightless from Traditional Medicinals is good also. Are you taking enzymes? Also available at store and necessary to help digest. I always start a detox with a colonic so I don’t have the issues you mentioned. Senna tea is harsh and if you use it, don’t steep too much, especially if you haven’t had a colonic and there’s a lot of material in your system.”  — Lauren

Lessons learned.

Water, water, water.  I didn’t drink enough.   I juiced fruits, should not have.  But mainly I got pissed because I felt that I wasn’t seeing it on the scale and was tired of feeling bad about it.  I’m trying now to recall what I felt that was so bad.  Perhaps it was the boredom of not eating “food.”  Sometimes I am a mystery to myself.

All in all, I got down to 161, from 170 lbs.

My Problems with this Plan.

1. For someone who has never fasted this is a hard one to start with and I would recommend a three-day or five-day fast to start.
2. MONEY.  This is the rich person’s program:   $1,200 – $1,700.  Colonics  $65 x 3 = $195;  Lymphatic message: $60 x 3 =  (I did only  one) $180; Supplements & drinks: $200 +;  Veggies, distilled water = $100?; misc supplies (enema bag, dry brush, teas, tinctures) $75+;  Juicer = $200*;  Chi Machine = $180*;  trampoline = $25-40*;  Book borrowed, as well as *.   I didn’t even do the saunas and body wraps which would have added $500 from a Spa.  I did not spend that much as many things were borrowed or I already owned.   (Caveat:  If I were ill with cancer or had some other sort of “incurable” disease I would try something like this in a heart beat.  Because I am not saying that it doesn’t work or help.  Just too expensive for your average Joe.)
3. TIME.  It takes a lot of time to “take care of yourself” to this degree.  A luxury I have, but most do not.  And I experienced guilt.

Positives & Lessons learned.

1. You do lose weight.  Nine in ten days is actually quite dramatic and I am positive if I could have finished it I would have lost another nine at least.  It’s impossible not to with the amount of calories you’re taking in.
2. My mood is good today and I feel good.   This is a triumph for me as one who fights chronic depression and I look forward to discovering whether I manage to get through the winter without depression.  That would be a first in six years.

This fast forced me to spend a lot of time evaluating  my food.  Thinking about what I put into my mouth.  Thinking about the fact that we literally ARE WHAT WE EAT.  If you put sugar, fat, processed foods, preservatives and other toxins in your body you will suffer for it.   The purpose of food is to give us energy.  Anything that you eat that you know does not give you energy (donuts, cookies, chips, candy, soft drinks, too much alcohol, nicotine, medication) takes away from your good health.

You will not lose weight and likely will continue to gain weight if your lifestyle is sedentary.   The older we get, the more likely this is.   A person should have a BM once a day. The better you treat yourself the more energy you will have to live your life!

All in all, it was a good experience because of what I learned about myself.  The value of caring for this body I have been given — We only get one.  We only have one life.  Eating well is counter cultural but worth it!

What do I mean by counter cultural?

For adults, overweight and obesity ranges are determined by using weight and height to calculate a number called the “body mass index” (BMI). BMI is used because, for most people, it correlates with their amount of body fat.  An adult who has a BMI between 25 and 29.9 is considered overweight.  18.5—24.9 is healthy.  An adult who has a BMI of 30 or higher is considered obese.

I am now 161.  This BMI Index chart says I should be 125 to be in the healthy range. I think this is a bit extreme. The last time I was that weight was in my early twenties.  The only way I could get back to that weight would be eat healthy, build muscle, limit fat and sugar.  About four years ago I got down to 145 and my mother-in-law (who is quite healthy herself) said I was too thin.  But I’m thinking it was more that I was unhealthy.  Me at 125 would be counter cultural because it isn’t the norm to be so thin, but I would love to be.  We’re so used to being around squishy overweight people.  That’s the norm.

The Center for Disease Control and Prevention has a BMI calculator for every age.  Once you determine it, it’s important to track what you are eating and your exercise.  Because we lie to ourselves!  Here’s an online tool for tracking.

I’ll finish by suggesting that you read this article by Mike Adams, Editor of NaturalNews.com, from May 29, 2005. Here are a few sound bites.

“So why do we live in such a degenerate society? What’s the cause of this degeneration? There are basically two causes. Primarily, there’s an utter lack of nutrition, both in our national food supply and in our avoidance of sunlight and nutritional supplements. Secondly, the American people’s minds and bodies are being poisoned by prescription drugs, food additives, metabolic disruptors, artificial light, toxic chemicals in personal care products, household cleaners, and so on.”          …..

In the food category, the mass consumption of hydrogenated oils causes malformed brains and nervous systems in infants. It disrupts normal brain function, causes brain fog, and lowers the oxygenation of cells throughout the body. Americans eat well over 10 billion pounds of hydrogenated oils each year, and the FDA still refuses to ban the ingredient even though the World Health Organization urged nations to outlaw this substance decades ago (in 1979)!

Next Steps.

1. Cardio Exercise Daily. (currently 1.5 miles on treadmill.)
2. Build muscle by going to the Y with my mom three times a week.
3. For the next few weeks I will eat MOSTLY fruits and veggies.  Stay away from breads and small portions of meat.
4. Get regular.  (You know what I mean.)

Whooah!

Cheers to good health, mental and physical.

Be well!

Melody

P.S.  US Obesity Trends has dramatic statistics by Ethnicity & Race.

Questions, cause I’ve been thinking

I have a lot of questions right now because I’ve been  thinking.  And when I start thinking I find I end up with more questions.

diversity @ church.

One of my favorite writers, Philip Yancey, recently scoured his hometown churches to see what he might find.   His comment about diversity in a church stood out to me.

As I read accounts of the New Testament church, no characteristic stands out more sharply than this one. Beginning with Pentecost, the Christian church dismantled the barriers of gender, race, and social class that had marked Jewish congregations. Paul, who as a rabbi had given thanks daily that he was not born a woman, slave, or Gentile, marveled over the radical change: “There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.”

Huh, diversity is Biblical.  ‘Nuf said.

MLK day was it ignored or forgotten? does it matter which.

Can I just say I love my church.  I have never grown in my spiritual life the way I have at this church.  It is amazing.

That said, yesterday I realized a stunning thing.   I attend one of those “mainly white mega-churches that don’t mention commemorating Martin Luther King Day.”   That made me sad.  They likely bumped it because of praying for Haiti and there are many challenges managing program time.  Still, I think it is important for a church to communicate from the platform that remembering and celebrating with our friends of color is significant to us all and valuable.   It’s a national holiday?  How are people going to spend it? Just made me wonder.

I’ve been writing on multi-ethnicity.

A friend asked me to reflect on Ecclesiastes 4:1-3, after reading these thoughts I wrote about my experience of going to a white church and my question of whether I should consider attending a multi-ethnic or even Black church.

Again, I observed all the oppression that takes place under the sun. I saw the tears of the oppressed, with no one to comfort them. ‘The oppressors have great power, and their victims are helpless.  So I concluded that the dead are better off than the living.  But most fortunate of all are those who are not yet born. For they have not seen all the evil that is done under the sun.  (New Living Translation)

From my post:

To live our lives based on that simple truth means our lives are built on self-sacrifice.  Every time we respond in love to someone else, we are laying down our lives for them.  “This is my commandment,that we should believe in the name of his Son Jesus Christ and love one another.” Strange how Jesus did not say to us, “these are my commandments.”  He said is as if it were one commandment.

To believe and love is one idea.

Believing in Christ means that we love one another.  Looking at it that way, there is a lot that I can do as a person with my affluence & power &  a voice for the cause of reconciliation in my city.  Things that have nothing to do with where I worship on Sunday.

What my friend Jimmy was gently saying (I think) is that people are living with oppression in our nation my city, in my kid’s schools.  And no one white people don’t seem to genuinely offer care and comfort.

I will do further study on the word: COMFORT.  And that will sooth my intellect.  But can I DO something.  What can I do?

That takes me back to my Advent Lament and prayer. Oh God, Tell me what you want me to do.

And from someone I am coming to read often, a cautionary quote to white people.

I can only speak anecdotally on this, but there seems to be a growing movement of white people—including Christians—who feel so victimized by political correctness (and how it’s robbing them of their rights) that they’ve hardened their hearts to any suggestion that racial injustice is a factor in our society today. And they’ve become cold to how their privileged words and actions might affect others. That defensive mindset and callousness could be the biggest obstacles to true reconciliation in our churches and nation. Ed Gilbreath, emphasis mine.

I believe God speaks and it is not random.

I believe that God challenges and moves people from within by breaking our hearts over injustice around us.  He is not random about this.  He leads us toward things.  And away from things.  Problematically I have been told  and I can affirm that I have the gift of mercy.   I pop open my laptop and the needs and issues all over the world, and in my community, flood toward me and it all hurts.   If I open myself up to it it’s crushing.  It makes me sad, and mad, and sometimes depressed.  Hopeless and sometimes despondent.  And I slam my laptop shut, but that’s just an excuse for doing nothing.

I challenge  myself to pray every day asking God to tell me how to respond to the OPPRESSED in my life and community.  Who are they?  How can I comfort?  Help me to know what it means to comfort the oppressed?

This means that I cannot be free until all men are free. And if in some distant future I am no longer oppressed because of blackness, then I must take upon myself whatever form of human oppression exists in the society, affirming my identity with the victims. The identity must be made with the victims not because of sympathy, but because my own humanity is involved in my brother’s degradation.  The Christian Century (15 September 1971)

what should I do with myself?

I continue to pray that I would know what God wants me to do with my time, work, contribution, opinions (*smirk*), and talents.

I’m still mulling on a conversation I had with one of my girlfriends (Someone I would trust with my life.)  We discussed what I am doing now.  I found myself saying this,

“I need a job.  I’m feeling like a kept woman.”

Why she asked? Laughing at me, if can you believe it.

“I need to make a contribution. I feel guilty that I don’t have a ‘job.’ The feminist in me is screaming that I should be carrying my weight… I was never going to be a stay-at-home mom..  And look at me, my kids are in elementary school.”

After leaving full-time work in 2001, I had no idea as it was happening that was beginning a long journey of “recovery” from being totally addicted to work — the rush, the sense of purpose, the affirmation (Oh, how I miss the affirmation!)  I came out of that detox a better person.  A stronger person.  Much better understanding that I am not what I do.  And I’m glad (mostly) that I have been able to be at home with my children for the last eight or is it nine years.  I feel okay about it, some days even good.  I can see every day why I am home when it comes to my kids.  Jacob’s need for an advocate for his learning disabilities is just one example.  On one level, I think I started Imagine Photography to dispel that feeling of being ‘a kept woman.’  Bring in a little income myself, but still have the at-home life.  But I haven’t taken off with that even though with my marketing background I know how to promote myself.  Something has held me back.

But I digress.

What Carol did was confront those ideas head on (yes, the voices in my head) that say I should be ‘making money.’  It freed me to consider any job or volunteer situation because  I was thinking about it only in terms of money not in terms of values and interests and calling and heart’s desires.

I just feel freed.  It was inconceivable to me at first that someone who manages to work and be a mom (my friend who I really respect and need) would not look down on me for not working.  She actually said, you do work.  Every day.  Well, we don’t need to have a debate about what I do all day and whether it’s work.  Her blessing (not that she represents all women) and her opinion is one of the more important to me.

But now,  I can pray and wait.  Listen.  Try things.  Explore.  I can give of myself without thinking about “earnings.”

Haiti

When it comes to Haiti I have more questions than answers.  This poem is a part of that conundrum.  Also, a post.

This week’s message @ church

I wanted to respond to the message this Sunday at my church.  But I don’t have the time or energy today.  But something new I am going to add to this blog, is a personal reflection on the talk.  I think it will force me to take it to the next level of integration into my life.

Be well.

I feel dread, but I am strong

Right?  I’m strong! I’ve been a mother for almost twenty years.

I have dreaded this day for about three months – as long as I have known that the dentists want to extract three teeth from my youngest — My baby.  He’s terrified and so I am calm and reassuring.

“You will feel nothing” I keep saying.  And Tom repeats as well.  Which I am not certain is true because the last time I had teeth pulled I was in high school.   I remember drooling blood as I walked out of the doctor’s office.  That’s about it.

Why do I feel so afraid?  So unprepared?  Because parenting 101 says with everything in your arsenal, you protect your children.  That’s the gut impulse.  That’s what intuition says to do.  And from the beginning, when Emma was born I felt inside me this Mama Lion; powerful enough to hurt someone else if they hurt my child — from first day jitters in kindergarten, to all the testing we’ve done for his learning challenges, hours of extra tutoring,  advocating at school — day after day protecting my baby from the world and getting him what he needs.

I just read that the Mother Lion Defense has actually been used in court where it seeks to justify mother ’s violent reactions taken to protect her children. Often admitted and successful.  (Good to know.)

I don’t know why I’m thinking in such extremes today, but Jacob has been through so much.  He’s had eight cavities fixed this year. No one prepares you for days like this.

I will bring my weeping, struggling child into the dentist as he begs me to not let them do it.  Worst case scenario I have to carry him in and hold him down.  The pit in my stomach will remain. At that point I have no idea if this is the right thing to do.

I am trusting the experts (first and second opinions given) that he ‘needs’ this.

Jacob is trusting me that I would never let anyone hurt him.

And I feel like crying.

What’s another word for angry? irritated, miffed, annoyed?

I’m in a bad mood.  It could be because I’ve had a headache for 36+ hours but actually this mood has been building for a while.

I feel stuck. I’m looking back over my life.  Being a missionary kid, born overseas, multi-cultural upbringing, being a Christ-follower a long time, tons of biblical study, college degree, worked for a mission agency, worked for Urbana student missions convention, summers overseas, the gift of mercy that breaks my heart over and over combined with an iron will, good people skills, a gift for writing, being articulate and passionate, with cross-cultural skills and training, ten years of management experience, being innovative, creative, willing not to mention a decent if not good , truly willing to live anywhere in the world… and I am

an unemployed homemaker.  And that isn’t what makes me mad, per say.  Because these ten years that I have spent caring for my family and getting well have been absolutely necessary.  God took me by the lapels and said some fairly harsh things. What I needed.  I guess I had such a sheltered childhood and adolescent years that I needed to make some mistakes and pretty much fall bald-facedly forward – splat – in my humanity and stink.  And that makes me grateful not mad.

What makes me mad is reading about people who get to serve, now in Haiti.  In Afghanistan.  In Iraq. Russia.  Kiev.  Turkey.  Anywhere.

I then I read this a few minutes ago, on one of the blogs I follow.  She’s going to Haiti and she’s “not quite sure about it.”

There will be dead bodies, and she’s really busy already, never slept anywhere but her bed and a hotel,“and my sense of smell is really overactive so there’s no way I could possibly handle what Haiti must smell like” You have to take those malaria pills that make your stomach hurt and what if there’s another earthquake while you’re there? What if you get shot at? You won’t have your choice of firm or soft pillows and it very well will smell like the rotting stench of death. You might be sleeping in a tent on the ground.” We all get to be a part of that story – whether it’s by donating money or supplies or by taking a couple of Valium and getting on a plane.

Excuse me?  That’s not even cute and definitely not funny.  I think she meant well, but I resent her attitude.  I can’t help but think why her?  It’s so damned unfair. She’s clearly not even prepared.

And then I begin to be angry at myself.  I resent all my mistakes and weaknesses that made my being here in Madison the story of my life.  Two times I started to answer that voice in my head that said go.

I was training as a Red Cross volunteer when Katrina happened, but I was too soon out of the hospital with depression and suffering from chronic bronchitis.  They encouraged me to not go because the place was full of mold.  Subsequently I learned a lot of things about the Red Cross that concerned me with them as an organization.   I did not continue my training.

I want to be trained in Emergency Relief, just not with the Red Cross.  Am I too picky?  Would I be there in Haiti right now if I had continued on with that organization.  They make it easy for the average person to pursue relief work.

October of last year (2008) I applied and was accepted for a Master’s Photography Class set in Cambodia.  For the first time in years I felt a quickening in my heart and anticipation for the future!  Long story short, it cost too much money which we didn’t have going into a recession.  Door slam.  Dream over.  I know now, beyond looking forward to learning about photojournalism I was looking forward to the smells, the people, the food, the danger, the excitement (I hope that’s okay to admit) of being in another culture.

I am angry at myself.  I am angry at this woman.  I am angry about my past, my mistakes and weaknesses and fear. I’m a messy person but I know that those lessons have made me the person that I am today.  And tho the journey of walking with God is more learning that truly being “ready” in my heart I’m ready Lord – for anywhere – sleeping in a tent – serving – helping – whatever is next. And I know that the whole journey of who I am, where my life started in the jungles of Papua New Guinea to being (potentially) a third generation missionary, to being an artist and writer and photographer — it is all full of purpose and a journey of consequence.  My life story was no accident.

All I can do right now — today –  is relent for now, keep learning and studying,  and do what is in front of me; serve locally and hope against all hope that some day God will send me.

Be well, even when you’re angry.

Melody

Anger cannot fully describe my emotions.

Folly is what occurred.  (But no dentists were hurt I promise.)

After preparing myself and Jacob all day for the extraction of three of his teeth ….

… took 1/2 day off school.
… talked about it dozens of times, about bravery and necessity and consequences.
… bought bribe toy, comfort stuffed animal, and bribe milkshake.
… spent almost an hour numbing his mouth with the dentist poking him up to 20 times with his long needle of Novocaine, ten of which he actually felt.

… finally,  a small amount of kicking (more like writhing),  screaming (at times blood curdling I will admit) and lots of tears, holding his mouth saying “Don’t pull my teeth!” …

the damned dentist says:

“We don’t have to pull them today.”

“YES WE DO!” I say! It just burst out of me.

“Are you f***ing kidding me?” did not come out until I was in the car later.

But once this was out, my already traumatized eight year old son was very willing to put off for another day what he did not want to do anyway.

I reaffirmed that he would still have to have the teeth pulled, that he would have to repeat everything that happened in the last hour, and he would NOT get the toy in the trunk of my car.

But once the option was on the table, no matter my protest, there was no cajoling, no amount of pushing, (mild) threatening, frustration, anger, disappointment, or fury was going to change his little freaked out mind.

“I can recommend an Oral Surgeon, who has the capability to make him more comfortable ( a dentist’s euphemism for “knock him out cold”) so that these teeth can be pulled.”

Fine. Give me the referral. We start anew on Monday morning at 8:00am where we will have a Consult for pulling the teeth.  Then schedule a teeth pulling, where they likely give him a shot that knocks him out and he won’t remember anything.

I have no more words. But for those of you who have followed this saga here, and here, if I was not convinced before I am now we will be changing dentists.

Here’s what I think he should have done.  Pulled Mom out in the hall to discuss the options.  Let mom decide or at least have a say in whether the child is offered a reprieve.  Am I wrong?

Rwanda. Haiti. A photographer’s work.

Of the many things that one could do with their photography, this would be my dream. Telling stories that need telling. This photographer is incredibly talented, and tells his stories so well. I discovered him checking who the photographers were on the doctors without borders website report from Haiti. (I think.)

Jonothan Torgovnik is in Haiti right now. Be well, sir, be well. Tell the story that needs to be told.

Intended Consequences by Jonathan Torgovnik

An estimated 20,000 children were born from rapes committed during the 1994 genocide in Rwanda. Intended Consequences chronicles the lives of these women. Their narratives are embodied in portrait photographs, interviews and oral reflections about the daily challenges they face today. See the project at http://mediastorm.org/0024.htm

. I found the photographer’s reflections to be incredibly powerful.

Hope for Haiti

I thoroughly enjoyed watching a Hope For Haiti Now fundraiser the other night.  This collaboration between Jay-Z, Rihanna, and Bono jumped out at me.  I loved it because it was innovative, interesting and original.  Am I being redundant?  I loved it.

Taylor Swift was also incredible.

Just don’t want to forget Haiti.  I heard a report on NPR today that some people STILL have only received water as “aid.”  I do not want to criticize people on the ground doing good work.

Haiti – a learning curve indeed.

I’m running a fever and have body aches.  I’m fairly grumpy at this point because I just don’t do sick.  When I was working full-time my modus operandi was pop some pills and get on with it.  But that’s changed over the years.  Being at-home I can’t ignore how I feel, there is not enough to distract me.  So, I feel my pain.  And especially since I’m trying to listen to my body (after this experience).

Anyway, one of the things I do when I am healthy or sick, is read – blogs, articles, anything and everything.  I got to thinking how much amazing stuff I find online and I could let others know about it.

ON HAITI, hopefully soon NGOs are going to get food to the folk in Haiti.

First, one blog I read, from an NGO worker who is not in Haiti said this today:

In the next day or two, non-governmental organizations expect to begin mass food distributions to earthquake survivors in Haiti. They’re planning to do this in conjunction with military support- specifically, the US Marines and the United Nations Mission in Haiti (MINUSTAH).

It’s taken more than two weeks to organize. I’ve explained some of these reasons elsewhere. In short, the logistics of trying to organize food distributions to hundreds of thousands of people simultaneously is an immense undertaking. As well as importing and moving that amount of food (food is heavy stuff), there’s the matter of locating and organizing distribution sites, coordinating dozens of agencies, working through broken infrastructure, communicating the details to the residents of Port-au-Prince, and trying to define the relationship between the military and aid agencies.

I thought his explanation for why things are so damned complicated in Haiti and what the NGOs and the government are doing, are not doing and why was brilliant.  So many in the media are asking questions and criticizing.  This person explained.  It may not be what we want to hear but I feel it was forthright and honest.  And since he’s not on the ground there he doesn’t need to feel defensive.

Secondly, I have found MFAN, Modernizing Modern Assistance Network.

MFAN is a reform coalition composed of international development and foreign policy practitioners, policy advocates and experts, concerned citizens and private sector organizations.  MFAN’s goal is to help build a safer, more prosperous world by strengthening the United States’ ability to alleviate extreme poverty, create opportunities for growth, and secure human dignity in developing countries.

Fantastic!  I’m  totally with them and when they provided a list of articles I realized that many of them I had already read in the last week.  These give you a sense of the discussions going on in and around Haiti about the aid that is and isn’t getting there, how things are organized (or not) and folks criticisms and affirmations.

From MFAN’s website:

Since almost the moment that a devastating earthquake struck Haiti nearly three weeks ago, high-level world leaders, development experts (including MFAN Principals), and others have published pieces with opinions on what went wrong with development in Haiti and what we can do to make things right.

One common feature of the commentary, with the exception of a few pieces (Atwood and Birdsall come to mind), is the fact that they call for a new development approach in Haiti without mentioning that a transformative debate is happening at all levels of government about how to make overall U.S. development and foreign assistance efforts more effective and accountable.  In spite of this omission, the pieces touch on important themes of foreign assistance reform that MFAN has been aggressively advocating for more than a year, and which are now being discussed as part of the White House’s Presidential Study Directive on Development Policy, the State Department’s Quadrennial Diplomacy and Development Review, and Congress’ anticipated efforts to revise the Foreign Assistance Act of 1961.

I hope you will read some of them.  I hope they are as interesting and informative to you as I found them.  I hope you will start talking about the reform that has already been in the works.  Here’s the list of articles again.

Sorry for a less than passionate post.  I am — very much so  — deeply interested.

Just under the weather.

Stay healthy yourself!

A Sacred Contract (a poem)

Tonya (8), Melody (10), Holly (3) and Paula (12) with Dan Harrison in southern California, 1976.

SISTERS: A Sacred Contract

A sacred contract between sisters;
My secrets are yours,
yours are mine,
And theirs

are ours together.

Four sisters.
Bound to one another
by secrets.
‘You don’t owe each other,’
my husband said.

Oh, but we do.
For we are survivors of secrets,
together.

by Melody Harrison Hanson, 2005

I’ll never forget how terrified I was when I wrote this.  When I sent it on to my sisters to read I feared their rejection because you see we never talked about dad much, not negatively.  Not until he died because  of his anger.  It just wasn’t worth it.

[Now some of you who knew the gentle charming character of Dan Harrison will be rising your eyebrows and questioning me right now.  Some day, perhaps I will have the energy to remember and write what our childhood was like.  Because we remained until the day he died strangled by his anger.]

You see, when you experience psychological trickery and  mental torment or suffering it creates a level of fear that is insurmountable.  We all suffered physically from this over the years.  I had stomach aches, Holly and my mom had headaches, the others in their own way.  The worry, the knowledge that at any time he might lash into a rage, get stirred up over the smallest thing, I never understood his trigger.  It caused us mental and emotional anguish.  But the very hardest for me was the secret of it.

That’s where this poem comes from.

// <!–[CDATA[-->
var wl_ord=new Date().getTime();
document.write('');
// ]]>

I’m fat. You’re fat. The first lady is not fat. Hey what’s up with that!?

According to the Mayo Clinic I am overweight.  (Thank you very much.)  And I have a sneaking suspicion that my kids are not doing so well either.  But it turns out most parents do not even realize that their children are over weight.  Even our First Lady, Michelle Obama, was caught off guard by a recent pediatrician’s warning.

12.5 million children in America are overweight.

By now we all know obesity is having an excessive amount of body fat.  (check)  Especially around the waist.  (check) And  you know that doctors use a formula based on your height and weight — called the body mass index (BMI) — to determine if you are obese.  Find yours here.  Almost one-third of kids are at least overweight; about 17 percent are obese.

At his most recent checkup, our pediatrician measured one of our kid’s height and weight.  She talked with us about her concern over his BMI.  He has grown out a bit more than up over the last year.  But she seemed reticent to say anything that was too harsh though his weight is on the high side for his height.  I agree that we don’t want to mess with kids’ perceptions of themselves.  They are at very vulnerable age.

Even the First Lady’s girls got a warning recently.  The interesting thing I thought was that within just a few months she made some small changes that got her daughters back on track.  This is the kind of thing you or I can do.

• No more weekday TV. (Oops)
• More attention to portion sizes. (Okay)
• Low-fat milk.  (Check)
• Water bottles in the lunch boxes. (Rather  than milk or chocolate milk which comes in school lunches?)
• Grapes on the breakfast table. (Fine)
• Apple slices at lunch. (Don’t they go brown?)
• Colorful vegetables on the dinner table. (I’m in agreement in theory.)

And then I got to thinking — this isn’t just about my kids. Or even the First kids.  All of whom eat organic apples, have their own garden and can visit the farmer’s market.  And they have plenty of opportunity to eat three healthy meals a day.

What about inner city kids?  What about low income kids?  What about kids who eat two meals at school.  Or the kids whose parents have to work three jobs and are not around as much to cook for them?

What about kids who do not have a grocery store in their neighborhood?  Last week, the First Lady addressed the U.S. Conference of Mayors about cities creating healthier citizens because obesity is a particular problem in some minority communities without easy access to supermarkets, much less farmers markets.

I knew the grocery store over on Verona road had closed down a few years ago (turns out it is more like eight, and that was the third that closed down in that area.)  So I started hunting for information or articles online about that area of Madison, the Verona Road/Allied Drive area of town.

One of the things that Mrs. Obama wants to see happen is increasing access to healthy foods. She says parents tell her they want to feed their kids fresh produce but it is difficult “if you don’t live anywhere near a place that sells fresh produce.”  She also wants to make good food cheaper.  (Ahem, pardon my skepticism on that one.)

In Madison, the poor do not always have access to healthy food?  That should be a headline.

Last year, the Wisconsin State Journal reported that Cub Foods was closing its store on Verona Road.  It’s a compelling story:

As snow fell around her Monday, Melissa Orr set off on the five-block walk from her home on Madison’s Allied Drive to the Cub Foods store where she shops two or three times a week.  She does not own a car, so the store, 4716 Verona Road, is her only option for grocery shopping unless she takes a bus. At the store, Orr learned it will close by mid March, leaving her and many other residents of one of the city’s poorest neighborhoods without a supermarket within walking distance.   … Ryan Estrella, a Dane County social worker based on Allied Drive, said numerous residents lack vehicles and that the store’s closing will be a hardship. Many neighborhood families are headed by single parents, so taking a bus is a major undertaking when children and bags of groceries are figured in. In the future when people need only a few staples such as milk and baby formula, they will probably end up at a gas station, where costs add up quickly, he said.  “I think this will be devastating to the neighborhood,” Estrella said.

As of writing there still isn’t a grocery store near the Allied Drive neighborhood.  I’ve sent a few emails around trying to find out what the plans are for 2010.

Working together, we can ensure our children’s health—and their future.  But this goes for all children.

Haiti: History of a Shaken Country | Laurent Dubois | Big Think

It is always good to know a nation’s history — From Haiti Historian and Professor at Duke University.

From the 18th-century slave revolution to 2010’s horrific earthquake, Haiti has experienced endless volatility. How is its historical legacy worsening the current crisis?

Watch the seven minute interview via Haiti: History of a Shaken Country | Laurent Dubois | Big Think.

New Year’s Resolutions Update (Jan. 30th)

I thought it might be wise to check  in on my resolutions now a month later. My New Years Resolutions … they were:

I will Learn. See. Respond. Be …

I will give more of my time, voice, and energy to the disadvantaged, oppressed, and forgotten in my community. (Immigrants, LGBT, homeless, unwed mothers, the illiterate.)  To put myself in situations where I am the ethnic minority.  If given opportunity, I will tell their stories through word and image.

I’ve informally interviewed for a communications job at a local non-profit that works in the black community here in Madison.  I’m prayerful.  No money, but exciting, purposeful, wonderful opportunity.  I feel afraid, because I know nothing about communication to blacks as a demographic.  But most of what I’d do it communicate to donors who are (mostly) white, so I’ve got that one down in spades.  We’ll see.

I’ve written a few things here on the blog.  Here’s an archive of January, 2010.

I continue to shoot for Our Lives Magazine.

This is Petrovnia and Chris McIntosh with their son Jackson.

I have another shoot today.

I will grow more of our own food.  I will learn to can.  I will shop locally, especially community based privately owned businesses.

I’ve joined the Willy Street Co-op.  I love their options. I love their prices. I love their organic local produce. I love their vibe!

I am planning a protest of the TARGET that wants to move into my neighborhood.  Be national behemoth chain of evil that it is.

I will save more, spend less. I will live on a budget. I will continue to not buy clothes for myself for a year, until October, 2010.   I will use the library.

I have not written up a current budget, but we’re not spending.  I haven’t bought any clothes or paraphernalia for myself since October and to be honest I hardly think about it any more.  I still have trouble getting to the library for books I want to read.  It’s a mental shift to not OWN books but rather borrow them.  Why is that?

I will help us be a connected family. I will turn off electronics while the kids are awake. I will turn off electronics  4-8 pm. And do more together. (e.g. Go to ballgames, the symphony & opera,  plays (The Lion King), go camping, …)  We will call cousins and other family members.

Fail.  Clearly this is an area that Tom and I need to agree on.  He’s been in the basement with regularity cause of his current music project.  I have been a baby about it and just surfed the net, reading and improving myself.  And I pout internally.  I could or should turn of the TV and play games with the kids.

I will continue to work at staying depression free. I will work the 12 steps.  I will exercise every day, if only 20 minutes.  I will taper off Effexor.

Ahem, well let’s see.  Yes, no, sorta and not yet.

I will write for an hour every day of the work week.  About … What I am thankful for.  What I want to know.  What I think.  Who I need to hear from.

Definitely achieved the writing goal.  Here’s an archive of January, 2010.

Wrote an article for my church’s new magazine, Illuminate.

I will read with intentionality. (On race, gender & the church, faith, poverty, global issues …)

Check.  I’ll get a bibliography up soon. I read so many blogs.  I thought that list might be interesting as well, but I can’t think of an easy way to list them.  Anyone know?  I’m sure there is a way.

I will play my piano and find an avenue to sing.

Not yet.  Well I’ve tinkered with the piano, but it is sadly out of tune.

I will work on a photography project with the goal of a gallery showing and work on a website for online sales & exhibition.

I had an offer to exhibit in a show on Angels by my friend Drazen Dupor. As this isn’t something that I have shot a lot of, or created I didn’t do anything with it.  I will think about a project for both church (where I have an open invitation) and perhaps a coffee shop.

I will be working with my church to create and manage a blog for artists.  If you have thoughts on this shoot me an email.  It should be a fun avenue for both creativity and faith.

I will take Tom to Big Ben before he’s 50.

See I will start a budget.  :-) Save for Big Ben. W When I mentioned this to Tom he warned me to be prepared for a major falling apart when he turns 50.  And that I’d better hurry, only a year and a half.

Feb Goals:

• Write a current family budget.

• Get to Willy’s every week.

• Keep praying about the job.

• We really, really need to turn off electronics during the week!!!

• Get outside with the kids.

• I will walk the kids to school (Erk, that’s hard to write when it was -2 degrees yesterday morning.)

• Work on the Artists Blog for Church.

• Write an article on forgiveness for next issue of Illuminate.

• Walk on the treadmill every day and get to the Y with my mom.

  Be well, friends.  Be well.  And if you feel like it, drop me a word about what you are doing in 2010.

In Haitian Kreyol “tout moun se moun” means Every person is a person

Many people look at Haiti and despair. Some say that we have hungry and uninsured in America and that the people of Haiti need to somehow help themselves. Others though, like Dr. Paul Farmer, co-Founder of Partners in Health and United Nations Deputy Special Envoy for Haiti, have worked in Haiti for years.  Paul Farmer has reason to doubt and yet he seems to have hope.

He recently testified to the U.S. Senate Foreign Relations Committee.  The full testimony is here. (Emphasis is mine.)

Beyond hope, he has experience and wisdom and a history in Haiti and that is why I think he is worth listening to and potentially supporting with your financial dollars.

“They say that aid is wasted, that there is no hope for this country.  And indeed there are reasons to be cautious.

I would answer them with the positive experience of building Haitian-led programs in the Central Plateau and Artibonite Valley regions that have created five thousand jobs for people who would otherwise have no steady work. I advance this model not because it is associated with our efforts, but because job creation is the surest way to speed up the cash flow that is essential now. It is also the fastest way to make amends for our past actions towards Haiti, which have not always been honorable.  In other words, if we focus the reconstruction efforts appropriately, we can achieve long-term benefits for Haiti. The UNDP is helping to organize programs of this kind, which should be supported and extended around the country. Putting Haitians back to work and offering them the dignity that comes with having a job and its basic protections is exactly what brought our country out of the Great Depression.

Last night I read a New York Times article about the babies being born amidst the tragedy of Haiti.  My heart broke to hear of these mothers giving birth and having nowhere to go, no food or shelter.  Can you imagine?  Having done that three times myself I can tell you that it would be terrifying.

One, nineteen year old woman four days after giving birth was eating her first meal — a can of beans.  Another living in a sheet tent with her 12-year-old and eight year old and few days old infant.  Despondent as she lived outside the rubble of her home, because she does not want other’s charity.  Her husband is dead.  She has three children and nothing to feed them.  No way of providing for them.

“The street where I live, it’s so dirty; there isn’t enough food or water,” Ms. Antoine said. “I’m scared to bring a baby into this awful situation.”

The article said, ” roughly 7,000 who will give birth in the next month” of the 63,000 that were pregnant when the earth quake struck Haiti two weeks ago.

Back to Paul Farmer’s presentation:

“Despite $402 million pledged to support the Haitian government’s Economic Recovery Program in April of last year, when the country was trying to recover from a series of natural disasters resulting in a 15% reduction of GDP, it is estimated that a mere $61 million have been disbursed.

“In the Office of the Special Envoy, we have been tracking the disbursement of pledges, and as of yesterday we estimate that 85% of the pledges made last year remain undisbursed. Many of us worry that, if what’s past is prologue, Haitians themselves will be blamed for this torpor.

So here is our chance: if even half of the pledges made in Montreal or other such meetings are linked tightly to local job creation, it is possible to imagine a Haiti building back better with fewer of the social tensions that inevitably arise as half a million homeless people are integrated into new communities.

Haiti needs and deserves a Marshall Plan—not the “containment” aspects of that policy, unless we are explicit about containing the ill effects of poverty, but the social-justice elements. But we need to be honest about the differences between post-war Europe and Haiti in 2010. Part of the problem, I’ve argued, is the way in which aid is delivered now as compared to in 1946—well before the term “beltway bandits” was coined.

• We need a reconstruction fund that is large, managed transparently, creates jobs for Haitians, and grows the Haitian economy.
  
• We need a reconstruction plan that uses a pro-poor, rights-based approach far different from the charity and failed development approaches that have marred interactions between Haiti and much of the rest of the world for the better part of two centuries.

Our country can be a big part of this effort.  Debt relief is important, but only the beginning. As you consider donating to Haiti relief, remember that any group looking to do this work must share the goals of the Haitian people which are shared by Partners in Health as well.

They need:

1. access to quality health care, and
2. social and economic rights, reflected, for example, in job creation,
3. local business development,
4. watershed protection (and alternatives to charcoal for cooking), and
5. gender equity.

Considering all these goals together orients our strategic choices. For example, cash transfers to women, who hold the purse strings in Haiti and are arbiters of household spending, will have significant impact. This is a chance to learn and move forward and build on lessons learned in adversity—to build hurricane-resistant houses with good ventilation to improve air quality from stove smoke; to build communities around clean water sources; to reforest the terrain to protect from erosion and to nurture the fertility of the land for this predominantly agricultural country. It is the chance to create shelter, grow the local economy and incomes, and invest in improved health. This will do much to decrease the risk of another calamity, and to decrease the vulnerability of the poor—especially as we face the second wave of problems, including epidemic disease born of the earthquake

“tout moun se moun” – every person is a person

Won’t you help an organization that has experience in the country.   There are goofy groups popping up that seem to be exploiting the situation in Haiti.  Don’t be fooled into thinking they are helping.   And look, I know we all want to help.  I want to scoop up those moms and babies and take care of them.  Offer them shelter and food.  I want to hold that starving 18 month old in the hospital in Haiti, comfort him with physical contact and food.  (He has since died.)  I would do anything, offering up my blood, sweat and tears if it would help.

But we must be reasonable — adults — logical and informed.  They don’t need our frickin’ shoes.  Or blankets.  Or old clothes.  They don’t even need us to go, no matter how much we want to help.

This website, Good Intentions Are Not Enough, provides a list of ideas of ways that you can truly help if you are so compelled.

Or you could just send money.

• Doctors Without Borders »
• Oxfam America »
• Partners in Health »

There are a number of online tools available for evaluating charities and making donations to a broader range of NGOs, including CharityNavigator.org and NetworkForGood.org.

Be well friends.

Homecoming

Molly came to lunch on Sunday with some big news.

She wants to go back to school

to study theater and costume design.

She’s moving home to save money.  In August.

This is a good thing.

How quickly the years pass. In 1992 Tom was recently separated and I was just back from a summer in Russia.

Molly was the sweetest child and full of joy.  I was always amazed by the joy inside her.  She was an only child.  Her parents were separated.  She lived with her single dad.  But when Tom and I decided to get married she was thrilled.  She clearly wanted two parents who were married to each other.   Her “real” mom was around but not regularly at that point.

Over the years Molly’s gentle spirit and joy served her well.  It wasn’t until middle school that things really got tough for her. I was an insecure step-mom, fragile, controlling, and a perfectionist.  Some day perhaps I’ll write about those years.

But today it is worth noting that we have a great relationship.  I love her dearly and the idea of her moving back home after being on her own for almost four years is great!

Blind Sided by a Movie

I was never going to write this review of the movie Blind Side, because I still don’t know how to talk out loud about my response to it.  And I have thought about it  for more than a month.  But I just heard that Sandra Bullock is nominated for Best Actress for her role.  Good for her.  She was brilliant.  She made the movie fly.  And apparently she directed it as well.  So I think the movie will be getting more attention.  I’d like my thoughts out finally and writing sometimes helps me figure out what I think.

Blind Side is based on a true story about Michael Oher a young black  man; essentially homeless in Memphis until he was taken in and eventually adopted by an extremely wealthy white family.  The two children adored Michael and everyone in his life from teachers to family to tutors taught him a little something.  After a lot of work on his part on academics, he qualified to play football in college.  He went to the University of Mississippi. And Oher was eventually drafted by the Baltimore Ravens.

My gut reaction coming out of the movie was dismay.  And then I was dismayed by my own dismay as I heard my mom and daughter positively gushing. “Wasn’t it wonderful.  It was so beautiful.  What a story.  So uplifting.” They genuinely loved it and were inspired.

What’s going on?   It didn’t make me feel good.  It made me uncomfortable. But this is a true story. I kept thinking no wonder the book was made into a  movie they could not have made up better stereotypes for “white wealth” and “black poverty.”

I’m not sure which made me more uncomfortable the white family’s wealthy excess and sense of privilege.  Or the black kid’s poverty, homelessness and disadvantage.   I kept thinking about all the other kids that will never be able to achieve what this young man did — not because they aren’t as deserving, or willing to work, or wonderful like Michael Oher.  (Clearly is if he is anything like the person on the screen.)

But no-one will help them and the System is so messed up.

• The terrible, terrible schools in inner cities.   This boy got into a private school on a lark of a teacher.  He had a 1.0 GPA.  He clearly hadn’t been learning at school.
• The danger of living in abject poverty and neighborhoods riddled with crime.  Guns, drugs, illness and lack of proper nutrition.
• Being homeless and  just surviving.
• Having one pair of extra clothes so he had to go to a laundry mat to wash them.  Having  no money he had to throw his clothes into someone else’s cycle to be washed.
• Having few positive role models.

My problem with this movie is that it glorifies a kind of racism where rich white people are honorable, upright, righteous “Saviors” of the poor, black away from the gangsta and drug peddling culture and a drug addicted mother. My problem with this movie is that African-Americans are so often portrayed  like this in movies, especially black men. I have a problem that Leigh Anne Tuohy (played by Sandra Bullock) welcomes a homeless practically mute “Big Mike” (played by Quinton Aaron) into her family’s life.  The movie glorifies Tuohy while Oher is lectured, tutored, fed, dressed and loved like a big pet or a prize poodle.  Bullock shines while Aaron has perhaps twenty lines of dialogue.  Kind-hearted but imperfect whites save the lost black boy.  The movie really did make the Tuohys out to be generous and good people.  And I am sure they had good intentions.  And Michael Oher clearly has made something of himself which is great.

All’s well that ends well right?

Actually, not really.  Michael Oher is one boy**.  What is my problem with this movie?  It made me uncomfortable.   Uncomfortable with how wonderful everyone will think it is and overwhelmed by how sad it made me feel.  It made me miss Dr. and Mrs. Cosby.

You may not agree with me, my mom didn’t.  But I hope that I have made you think.

Be friends, be well.

Melody

THE FACTS

Among the 50 largest cities in the nation, Memphis has the highest poverty rate, approximately **18 percent, with many of our children living in extreme poverty.   No other city comes close.  The percentage of college graduates in Memphis is below 24 percent, a figure in the lowest quartile. And perhaps most problematic of all, the economic segregation in Memphis is crushing:  in an $87 billion local economy, minority businesses generate only $1.3 billion (1.5 percent) of the total.

[Observations from a year in Memphis City Schools, by Dr. Kriner Cash, written in Aug-2009]

The schizophrenic in me went to the library

The schizophrenic in me went to the library and found a few books I want to read.  So, I’m thinking of taking time off from the internet for a while (I’m going to try) so that I can read.

I am already reading CJ Cherryh Foreigner series.  I am on book four of ten. I read that at night.

The Depression Cure — The 6-Step Program to Beat Depression without Drugs by Stephen S. Ilardo, PhD.

Because I do intend to go off my medication this year.  It’s a matter of how not when.

Cool Careers without College for People Who Love Video Games by Nicholas Croce.

For my son, Jake, who has some learning challenges.  I don’t know if it is more to inspire myself or my son, but I just need a little hope as it relates to Jacob.

Speaking Treason Fluently — Anti-Racist Reflections from an Angry White Male by Tim Wise.

Saw this book mentioned on a blog I was reading.  And the author is highly recomended.

Empowering Your Sober Self by Martin Nicolaus.

Sobriety is a daily decision as well as relearning certain patterns.

No Enemy to Conquer — Forgiveness in an Unforgiving World by Michael Henderson with foreward by the Dalai Lama.

I am writing an article about forgiveness.

The Mother Factor — How your Mother’s Emotional Impacts Your Life by Stephen B. Poulter, PhD.

Ongoing journey of understanding my mom’s power.

A Lesson Before Dying by Ernest J. Gaines.

It’s Black History month.  It seems warranted to start reading black authors.

The Autobiography of Martin Luther King, Jr. Edited by Clayborn E. Carson.

Ditto.  Plus he’s a general hero to half of humankind.

The Unheard Truth — Poverty and Human Rights by Irene Khan, Secretary General Amnesty International.

The situation in Haiti has gotten me thinking about human rights in general and especially how it relates to poverty.

Strong Kids.  Healthy Kids. — The Revolutionary Program to Increase Your Kid’s Fitness by Fredrick Hahn.

It’s an ongoing interest to develop healthy habits in my kids while they are young.

A Good Neighbor — Benedict’s Guide to Community by Robert Benson.

Lifelong need for connection.

I feel a-swirl. I want to walk on the edge!

Silence frees us from the need to control others … A frantic stream of words flows from us in an attempt to straighten others out. We want so desperately for them to agree with us, to see things our way. We evaluate people, judge people, condemn people. We devour people with our words. Silence is one of the deepest Disciplines of the Spirit simply because it puts the stopper on that.

Richard Foster, from his book Freedom of Simplicity

Listening.

This is something that I have had to make an effort toward in my life.  I say too much, usually.  I am overly instructive with my children.  I am extremely enthusiastic with my friends.  I have too much going on in my head and it comes out in a frenetic pace both on Facebook and here.  I feel like I’m constantly “throwing up” all over every one.

Hearing.

I have such trouble hearing God.  I get impulses.  I get emotional responses.  I feel.  I emote.  I become afraid.  I become inspired.  But do I ever really hear God?  I believe what I do matters to God.  And then I don’t, believe.  I am a devout doubter.

I read his word.  When I am connected to the word, I have no doubts.  He absolutely speaks.  God is active.

I read blogs and articles, and follow the news.   My heart surges and leaps and responds.

Children in Haiti.  * Rape victims in Rwanda. * HIV * Girls in Afghanistan. * Forgiveness.  * Child rearing.  * Writing.  Photography.  *America.  Other. * Poverty.  Wealth. * visual Anthropology. * Educated.  Un.  *Racism.  * Sexism. *Immigration.  *Refugees.  *Aid work. * Adoption.

Primal scream! I feel a swirl.  I am schizophrenic, or at least I feel it.

“Let your heart guide you. It whispers softly, so listen closely.”

Purpose and calling.

I read an article in the New York Times about a woman who heard about the plight of Congolese women on an Opera.  She was so moved that she turned her life upside down to help.  She lost her business, fiancé, and home.  She lives to help these people.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to follow that path — losing family and love and home.

Listen.

Oh, don’t get me wrong I believe as long as I am listening my heart will be breaking for others.   But I long for just want the one thing.  The one thing to live my life for.  The one thing to learn about. The one thing to go back to school to study.

I’m 43 for God’s sake.

I have half my life to live and I want to live it with purpose.

With some sense of destiny and knowledge that God called.

I fear that I do not know how to listen.  Pray with me that I would be listening.

I would Live with intention.

I want to Walk to the edge. I want to live on the edge.

Listen hard. Continue to practice wellness and contentment.

I just want to know…

Black History: Commonly known facts? or are they.

Do you ever find yourself thinking we live in a post racial America?  There are some that say this.  Or that black people act white.

There are a lot of things that we all take for granted as being commonly known facts.

A friend sent  this YouTube video, which is mostly entertaining but also makes one think about the generalizations we have about black people.

This Week in Blackness’ host Elon James White wrote a few #BlackFacts in a Twitter Discussion and decided to share it  and in honor of Black History Month I’m sharing it here.

It’s worth the time (3.50) and your respect.

My Mother

My Mother

Originally uploaded by M e l o d y

This is actually my mom the weekend of my dad’s funeral. She looks nice. Slightly at peace.

He died on a Sunday and we had the service the next weekend because she was unavailable during the week. (That’s her story.)

There were all sorts of people at my house coming and going.  At this moment a bunch of us were sitting  in the sun, out front of my house, chatting.  It is a good memory – those moments with close friends and family – together.

Today she said to me:

“I’m 72 years old and for the first time in my life I spoke out loud the words — that my father and my husband had abusive anger.  That I was afraid.”

A miracle.

I told her it gets easier.   Once you say it out loud.

And reminded her of my poem about secrets.

If I could choose between books and online data, I’d choose books every time.

Image by M e l o d y via Flickr

I’ve just found the most astounding resource.  A website database that contains more than 6,000 articles and chapters. Topics include Old and New Testament, Theology, Ethics, History and Sociology of Religion, Communication and Cultural Studies, Pastoral Care, Counseling, Homiletics, Worship, Missions and Religious Education.

Sure I’d rather own the books, but since I am not independently wealthy.  I mean my basket at Amazon.com is $736.81 and I will never get those either. (Sigh.)

[lenten series] thou mayest in me behold

Image via Wikipedia

lent.  a time to slow down.  to peer into your own soul.  to face what you have become. a time for less activity and busyness.  to thaw from winter.  to feel the warmth  and hope of  spring.  lent. it is moments of listening, seeking, searching, clearing, hoping, resting — lent is a time of forgiving and healing.

Yes, I am still a parent, spouse, child, employee, and friend.  But I am more aware that I am a Child of God during Lent.

February 17th is Ash Wednesday, the start of the 40-day Lenten period.

Many have heard that during Lent it is traditional to give up or let go of something (or several things) that we wonder about its importance to us — perhaps something that is becoming too important we fear.   I have given up different things over the years during Lent, but like New Year’s Resolutions I have found this difficult to follow through with and so it becomes an area of guilt.  when I do not keep my “promise” to myself then I shove it into the “corner of my soul”  where guilt and shame gather in a messy pile.  And I try to forget I ever made that promise to myself — or — to GOD.

Whatever your heart clings to and confides in, that is really your God — Martin Luther

I have never done a true Lenten fast (I don’t actually know what it is.)  But I have chosen 40 days without television, caffeine or chocolate.  Or cussing, I tried that once.  Didn’t last long.

Then I read somewhere that Lent could be less about giving up something and more about adding a discipline to our daily lives for 40 days.  That started me thinking and wondering.  Do I listen well to God?

LISTENING — St. Frances of Assisi

It is good to pray in community, with one or two trusted friends and those are rich times.  But I have found most intimate and mystical, at times miraculous, the times of prayer in solitude.  Not usually petitioning, but quiet moments to listen.  Why then do I rarely find time alone for communicating and communing with God?  That is a great mystery.

St. Frances  “wondered aloud to God, asking many searching questions. Was his whole life a mistake? Why had he survived serious illness when others had not? Francis came to know his heart very well, and he accused it of every possible hint of selfishness. His restless spirit understood the psalmists’ passion.”

“Francis returned to the most basic spiritual questions. Toward the end of Francis’ life, one of his eavesdropping friends overheard him asking plaintively: “Who are you, my dearest God? And what am I?” His contemplation never steered far from a consciousness of his own sinfulness.  (Walking through Lent with St. Frances of Assisi by Jon M. Sweeney)

Some time over this Lenten period find the solitude of a hiking trail in the woods to take a long walk or an old empty church to sit in quietly.

DARK OF THE NIGHT

There are times when my soul gets restless.  I begin to get a whiff of God speaking to me, but I am a thick-sculled person and I do have trouble listening — hearing — so I begin to fret, and lose sleep, and get angry, and agitated.  And then, God wakes me up in the night.  The last times this happened I woke up at 3:00 am, four days in a row.  Finally I got the message (I told you I’m a spiritual dolt at times.) I got up, began to write and God led me to an awareness of my need to forgive.  A ten-year old grievance.  A deep-set bitterness that I had both neglected and in some ways forgotten.  An old, scarred-over wound.  An area I had put in that “corner of my soul”  where guilt and shame gather.  I had tried to forget but GOD would not allow it.

The dark of the night is one of the best times for supplication and crying out.  Beyond the ghosts shame and guilt in our soul — there is the trinity waiting.  They call and then wait.  And as we open our hearts, they heal.

So I will seek time quiet to be alone this Lenten season — quietly listening and I will add a discipline to my life in the morning and evening.

By doing the latter, naturally some things will fall by the wayside.  Time scouring the internet for that thing which has become a god of late, knowledge and information.  I will give it up only by replacing it with mornings and evenings of contemplation.  Perhaps reading the prayers of St. Francis or other spiritual people.  I suppose you can stay tuned.

Lent begins February 17th, Ash Wednesday.  Plenty of time to consider your own disciplines.

“Thou mayest in me behold” — William Shakespeare