For the Children

At some point in our lives we have probably all learned about forgiveness. The lesson is that the one who has hurt us may not deserve it, or be sorry, but forgiving them is something we do for ourselves. We understand that what we hold inside hurts us more than it hurts them. We forgive to let go of the power that pain has over us or how it consumes us. 

The same principal applies now. I think we need to let go of the power the stress, anger, and frustration with our country and the pandemic has over us right now. We can’t let it ruin the good things or the relationships we have worked for with our families and friends. We all have reasons to be angry, but personally, I feel like it is consuming us on most days.

When I speak to friends and family we are having the same conversations over and over. We still can’t believe this is happening. We have no control over our lives and do not know when this will end. We don’t understand what happened to our country. We fear for the future of our children and grandchildren.

Here are some things that I feel outrage over almost every day: the mishandling of the coronavirus and what it has taken from all of us, conspiracy theories and lies, outright hatred between Americans, continuing systemic racism, the election vitriol, social media comments, climate change, the widening division of America. 

Sometimes we talk about nothing else. It’s all negative. It’s all frightening. The children are listening. This is their childhood, when they should feel safe and look forward to their future. I am angry and sad about what the year 2020 this has taken from them. Not just school, birthday parties, and playdates, but stress free adults in the background talking about whatever it is we used to talk about—sports, music, movies.  All they hear now is politics, masks, protests, people ranting.

How do we block it all out once in a while? How do we stop caring about what is happening in the world? How do we take a break from being informed and aware and give our hearts a rest?

Winter is coming and I think we should prepare. We should treasure being in our homes with those we love. We should focus on our health and safety and know that there are millions of humans who have lived through worse than this. I worked with children all of my life and I don’t entirely agree with the notion that children are resilient. In some ways this is true, but their psyches can also be damaged in childhood by seemingly small events or words or things they don’t have the capacity to understand. Children get their emotional cues from the adults around them and if we are constantly raging, eventually they will feel the same—they just won’t understand why.

Give the children a break. Give your heart a break. We cannot completely ignore the mess we are in now, of course. But we can try to contain its control over us and not let it ruin our otherwise beautiful lives. 

What If You Need Medical Attention Now?

This week my husband became very ill. Immediately, we were afraid of Covid-19, of course.  I was frantic with worry since I’d spent the previous day with my small granddaughters. I laid awake at night imagining everyone that could be adversely affected by our plight— like a row of dominos.

My husband was so sick that I needed to make arrangements for him. I went on the Cleveland Clinic website and found multiple options that were unclear and confusing. (Why isn’t there just one phone number to call?) Getting an appointment with your primary care physician appears to be almost impossible now.  Only virtual and phone visits are offered. 

I sent an email to his doctor, and later in the day a nurse called. My husband was answering her questions for 15-20 minutes. Mind you, he had fever, chills, headache, dizziness, lack of appetite, and fatigue, and that didn’t appear to be enough to warrant a Covid-19 test.  If he was offered a test it would take 5-7 business days for a result. 

What could happen in 5-7 business days? He could deteriorate and need hospitalization, he could have something else being untreated, I could be careless and spread it to someone else since surely I had been exposed (I had kissed him goodbye that morning), we would not be able to inform people we’d been near if they were exposed and they could possibly spread it as well. See the problems here?  It also makes sense to me that if someone appears to have Covid-19 that the people they live with should be able to be tested as well. That’s definitely not going to happen.

Meanwhile, his company let him know they were under contract with a laboratory that could do the test the next day.  I drove him 30 minutes to the laboratory the next morning. After a lot of paperwork, waiting, and questions, they gave him the nasal swab. The results would be 5-7 days as well. We left, but while on the highway they called and said they’d just noticed where he worked and that he could get the saliva test and receive results in 1-2 days. We drove back and were then informed that neither the company or our insurance would cover the $225 test. We looked at each other and agreed it would be worth it to find out sooner. I said, “How lucky we are that we can afford it—unlike most people in this country.”

A day and a half later we learned that his test was negative. While I was relieved and grateful, he was still very sick and had spent four days not being treated for anything. I had spent a lot of time trying to navigate all the different options and talking to family members about the situation. People were calling, giving advice and showing concern. Why? Because this pandemic has consumed our lives—all of our lives. Even if we have not had a loved one sick or die from it, we live with the stress and fear everyday. 

So now my husband has spent four days not being treated for anything and he’s still very ill. I spent another frustrating hour on the phone trying to get help from a doctor or get lab tests ordered. After 15 minutes of questions I was mysteriously cut off from the appointment person on the other end of the phone. I had to start all over with an email that may or may not be seen by the end of the day. A nurse called and I went over all his symptoms again. She had to get the doctor to order lab tests so she had to call back. She did and also arranged a Zoom meeting with a physician (not his). Later, I took him to get lab tests that took 30 minutes of waiting even with an appointment. 

He received another call before the Zoom meeting to repeat all the information once again. The nurse wanted him to take his temperature and blood pressure (we have a BP machine). When he got on the virtual meeting with a doctor they chatted for two minutes and the connection went dead. She called back and it was another 15 minutes until she said there was really nothing she could do for him—he could go to an urgent care. Really?  What would they do? My husband said it had all been a waste of time and she laughed. 

I used to feel sad about all of this, but now I just feel angry. A government exists to protect and guide its citizens in times of crisis and the current administration has failed us in every way. Eliminating a pandemic team in 2018 was only the first mistake. When a new one was formed under the vice president their only tact seemed to be to push off the responsibility on the state governors. What do governors know about pandemics and viruses? Nothing. It’s laughable to think that a virus can distinguish state borders and somehow each governor will do the right thing.  Experts were our only hope and they continue to be disparaged and ignored.

We all know the “hoax,” the “downplaying,” the political division. We’ve all heard about former White House officials who’ve said the president doesn’t care about the 200K Americans dead. I blame him for this disaster. It has affected every part of our lives and there is no end in sight. Even one of the best hospital systems in America can’t get it together, in my opinion. You cannot even see a doctor when you are sick now. The nurse told me he should be “seen” by a doctor, but that meant over a computer screen. I guess they have to save themselves. Many reports say people are not even trying to get medical help because they don't want to deal with all of this or enter a facility.

Then my husband found out that the saliva test was not accepted by his place of business. So were we scammed out of $225?  When the nasal test comes back it will go to his doctor, which will send it to his company before he can go back to work. He already missed two weeks of work because someone he worked with had symptoms and exposed co-workers anyway. I, too, had to stay home for two weeks that time, of course. 

Well, that’s just one tiny story in a million of much bigger tragedies and losses. Just remember that because of this out-of-control virus you may not even get medical attention when you need it—so take care of yourself.   

Of an Aesthete

Of an Aesthete

For love of the Cleveland Museum of Art

What the museum is not—

crowding, touching, breathing sometimes,

just free easy looking,

distancing and whispering.

But my back won’t concur 

and there is nowhere to sit now,

no place to contemplate

the overwhelming proof

of God on every wall, every

gallery a devotional to creation.

The Christ Child sleeps alone in heavenly peace

on a bed of marble, obeying the rules,

his illustrated life surrounds him,

from angelic innocence to piercing agony.

What would we know otherwise

if not this promise of preservation

in this stone pantheon, light swelling

through the open-sky atrium, so near, so eternal.

 

Are You A Victim?

The constant belief in or search for conspiracy theories is a victim mentality. If there are forces or organizations whose sole purpose is to deceive you, cheat you, or keep essential information from you, then you are entitled to be enraged all of the time. You are entitled to take less personal responsibility for your circumstances in favor of blaming others for depriving you of something you need. 

Victim mentality is what Fox News thrives on. It's what keeps viewers coming back to hear more outrage and blame. The network frequently reports inaccurate information, let's it spread, and then occasionally apologizes for the falsehoods. But too late, it's all over social media. They got what they wanted---ratings. 

If Alex Jones convinces you that twenty children were not brutally murdered at Sandy Hook by an assault rifle then you do not have to feel guilty about not wanting them banned. You don't have to imagine that you put the right to own a weapon (that is good for nothing but murder) above the lives of innocent children.  

If someone can convince you that hydroxychloroquine is a cure for Covid-19 and it is being withheld from us then you do not have to comply with CDC standards for safety. You can do what you want because you have no responsibility for the fact that millions of Americans are sick. (If you believe that to begin with.)

Believing in conspiracies also dismisses you from believing the media or scholars on the subject. You can just say something is a hoax without any concrete information to back that up. You are free to believe anything you want.  You can also be comforted that you are not, in any way, to blame for anything. It's the government, it's the mainstream media, it's experts who have spent their lives studying the issue who somehow are out to get you.

So ask yourself why so-called experts are out to get you. Why have so many organizations and individuals spent years plotting just to deceive you. What is the pay-off for them? Do you actually think so many people have devoted their lives to something just to trick you?

A couple years ago a friend told me that Obama was going to take her guns away. This was after Obama was no longer president. I mentioned that he never said that and it never happened. She said, "but he was going to." She was still outraged about something that was misinformation to begin with, and something that never could happen. What a waste of emotional energy. 

I often watch network news. I have never detected an effort by them to convince me of something. I understand that they choose what to air, but the facts are presented with little commentary. They are accused of being strictly liberal but they interview many conservatives and do not argue their points or rant or call them names as I've heard on Fox News. In no way are they forcing you to believe something or make an effort to scare you. 

Believing in conspiracies is living in fear and this is what I told my friend when she insisted that "they" were coming to get us. I don't believe in living in fear. This friend lives in a safe area and her life has never been threatened in any way so where is she getting this fear from?

(I do realize that many Americans living in poor areas have reason to be fearful but it is not because the government is coming to "get them" or take what they have, it is because of gun violence and crime and I do not minimize that type of fear.) 

Absorbing scare tactics that you hear but have no actual experience with is just living in fear. It's paranoia, it's a way out of blaming yourself for anything. It's being a victim.

Do You Really Care About Others?

The same principle can be applied to all of our current issues: Do you care about other human beings?  If you answered yes then you must be able to distinguish the importance of people over inanimate objects like monuments, Chief Wahoo, the Redskins name, or Confederate flags.

Those things hurt other people but it does not hurt you in any way if they vanish.

If tradition is more important than the way those things negatively impact other Americans then you actually don’t care about those people.  You only care about your sentimentality and "the way things have always been," which doesn't make them right.

If you call yourself a Christian then you are to follow Jesus’s example of unconditional love for others. If he could die for others then you can give up mere symbols for others.  

The Protestant church does not believe in the worship of or need for symbols.. They are seen as being akin to idols. As a Protestant, my church has no statues or symbols of Jesus and yet I do not forget Him.

I do not need a monument of Hitler to remember the horrors of WWII. I can read about it in a book or remember my father's service to his country. Nothing can erase the past. 

Native Americans and Black Americans have been the most mistreated people living in this country since Europeans arrived—and are the poorest as well. How about we give them a break?   Really, it won’t change your life in any way.

This can apply to other traditions like saluting, the National Anthem, the American flag, putting you hand over your heart—-they are just symbols---nothing more. 

Wearing masks is in a different category but the principle is the same: Do you care about other people more than your convenience? Either you do or you don’t.

Now you can call me a snowflake, but if this offends you than you are a snowflake, too, since the term refers to someone's oversensitivity to another persons needs or viewpoint. It’s not an insult to me.  It means I care. 

Blossom

My last post was April 14th––over two months ago––and nothing much has changed with the pandemic. It is still raging and cases are rising again in America as people refuse to believe science, experts, and advice to wear masks to protect other citizens. There has also been racial unrest and protests of every kind.
So this poem is about a very small, innocent pleasure I am missing this summer among all the tragedy and needless suffering. In northeast Ohio we have a large outdoor concert venue called Blossom Music Center. Every famous band and musician has been there over its 50+ years, but it is also the summer home of the world famous Cleveland Orchestra. I sang in the Blossom Festival Chorus behind that orchestra for over fifteen years.

Blossom

What I will miss the most

is the grass checkered with blankets,

the light dimming with each movement,

crystalline sounds, the bows slivering

the stage into tiny shards of aural wonder

until they disperse into the night.

Then the moment of silence before the 

eruption of the crowd, like thunder 

under the shelter of wood and sky.

How my eyes will fill from the beauty,

how I will recall all the years on that stage,

one cog in a triumphant musical chorus.

I will even miss the long and slow walk 

back to the car among thousands of others,

pulling our coolers of wine and cheese,

blissful and sated under a tiara of stars.

April 2020 - Has Time Stopped?

Even as a girl I sometimes wished that time would stop. I was afraid of missing things, of not appreciating the world, of getting caught up in the day to day requirements of life.  I have always had a strong compulsion to never waste time. Even though it makes me efficient and productive, it is a characteristic I have often regretted. I believe it has kept me from developing stronger relationships with others in my rush to get on to the next thing.  As a teacher I would be one of the first ones out the door at the end of the day. It wasn’t that I didn’t work as hard as the others or complete my duties, it was that I worked quickly and often viewed standing in the hallways gabbing with colleagues as a waste of time––which it wasn’t. When I was in high school I usually walked home alone rather than spend precious time waiting for the bus.

One time I asked my mom about when my children were small. We were together a lot in those days. I asked her if I had rushed through their childhood, if I’d not appreciated it. But she said no, I enjoyed every minute with them. I thought I had too, but was relieved to hear it from her viewpoint.  If you have left your youth behind you are well aware that time seems to accelerate. It can be frightening how fast the weeks and years pass and there is nothing we can do about it. There is always a moment when you realize life on earth is much shorter than you expected it to be.

But now it seems like time has stopped in some ways. There is no urgency to the day, no requirement to get up at a certain time, no need to accomplish something that could be done tomorrow. I have felt small waves of depression when I have wasted one of these days during our country’s lockdown, when I just don’t feel like doing any of the activities available to me. I can’t imagine how difficult it is for those who suffer chronic depression or anxiety, who are completely alone, who are in unsafe situations with no escape.

Not only do these days blur together and often feel unproductive, we may feel helpless.  We can only do the things that can be done on a computer or phone to help others or communicate. I usually don’t enjoy talking on the phone, but now I welcome a call from a friend. We suddenly yearn to hug or touch another person. We might be appreciating our jobs and our freedom and learning about all the things we can do without. 

It has always been difficult for me to do nothing, but over the years I have learned to sit on my deck in the summer and just gaze at God’s creation. I can sit at my kitchen table in the morning and watch the birds at the feeder, and it doesn’t feel like wasting time anymore.

In a way time has stopped in its schedules, activities and socialization, but my new granddaughter’s weekly developments have not stopped. I can only hear her first laugh or see her roll over on a video. I have purposely visited and played with all four of my grandchildren every single week of their lives and now that effortless joy has been broken, and I feel some measure of grief over that. 

I have nothing to complain about though in this weird and surreal time in our lives. I have everything I need and am among the privileged. I go to church online, I read a book to my grandchildren on apps, I can even tutor my adult students over the telephone.  Even though I have learned to slow down a bit and not berate myself as much for a wasted day, I can still learn from this experience.  After all, no one else cares what I am doing every day in my home, if I have produced something worthwhile or not. Most of us have discovered that many of our anxieties and fears are brought on by our own expectations, and we truly have no idea what to expect of our world right now.  All things are not equal, but in that respect, we are in this together. 

Maybe I have learned that having time stop is not all that desirable, after all. 

Social Distancing Happy Hour - we each took a table.

PANDEMIC poem published in the Cleveland Plain Dealer

Dear Coexist Blog

Dear Coexist Blog,
Well, I have neglected you once again. You were born in September of 2007, and you were a brand new thrilling way to have a voice in this world. (You came along before Facebook.) There were many other bloggers out there and we constantly encouraged each other and seriously considered everything the others had to say. We consistently wrote thoughtful comments to each other.
     But after a few years of glorious self-expression, I realized that other bloggers were the only people reading my posts. I also realized that I only read theirs so they would read mine. This made me sad. No one was truly considering my deep thoughts, reading my sappy poems, or otherwise caring about me as a writer. They were racing through the post to write what might pass for a significant comment––just like I was––so I would read their post.
      So, I got discouraged. I got distracted with writing novels, poetry collections, and essays. I spent time taking classes and learning about the craft of writing.  I retired from teaching and had time to volunteer, help with grandchildren, and write to my heart's content.
     I would like to let you go, dear old friend, but you are all over Google. If someone (like a publisher or agent) Googles me to see what I've written recently they will be disappointed at this old blog. I've had essays published and two poetry books. I've written my third novel.
       My poetry is SO much better than in 2007. My writing is SO much better than in 2007.
     
So what do I do with you? I want to rant about politics and climate change and the 2020 election and the horrible state of the public schools and on and on.... but no one wants to read that. Opinions and rants and complaints are rampant everywhere you look, thanks, in part, to social media. On some days I slam my laptop shut with anger over everyone's self-righteous (and often uninformed) opinions on Facebook.  I'm sick to death of opinions even though I have so many myself.
     I have a Facebook Author Page for news about poetry readings etc. I try not to post too much on Facebook, but when I do it is very clear what my stance on the subject is. So I don't need a place to vent opinions any longer, do I?

I guess I'll try to pop in once in a while and write something thoughtful–––just in case someone is out there.
   

Music I Missed

I think I missed a lot being a good girl. I grew up ensconced in the safety of a church. It sat at the top of my street and it gave me music, friends, and a deep love of God. There is nothing wrong with any of that. I was happy, but I missed a lot of good music, and maybe some coming-of-age experiences I should have had then––not later.

In the 70s it was James Taylor, John Denver, and Seals and Crofts. I went to their concerts at the Coliseum and Blossom Music Center. At Blossom, James Taylor was so popular that we sat in my car in the parking lot until 1:00AM just trying to get out. Seals and Crofts was so popular that we parked all the way out by the street on the grass, walking for 20 minutes to get to our car. John Denver was so popular that he filled up the Richland Coliseum––something very few artists could do today (especially since the Coliseum no longer exists).  So I wasn't alone in my love of these artists.

In the 60s it was definitely Motown. In the 80s it was contemporary Christian music all the way––especially Amy Grant and Michael W. Smith. I was a youth counselor at my church and we constantly took the kids to concerts of "famous" CCM artists like Petra, David Meece, Steve Taylor, Randy Stonehill, Kathy Troccoli, Phil Keaggy, Sheila Walsh...whatever happened to all of them? I lived and breathed that music. I sang solos of their songs in church. We taught the youth group their songs. It was a lot of fun. My kids still hear Amy Grant every Christmas morning at my house. It's all good.

I always liked the Beatles, of course, also Elton John, the Eagles, Crosby, Stills & Nash. But what I never listened to was Pink Floyd, The Who, Rolling Stones, Led Zeppelin, Queen, The Doors,  Grateful Dead, Fleetwood Mac, Aerosmith, Santana, Genesis, Deep Purple, Allman Brothers....

In Cleveland that was WMMS––never listened to it. 

But here's the strange thing. I LOVE this stuff now. I married a man who went to all of those concerts. When we met he was puzzled by my lack of classic rock knowledge since I am a bit older than him.  I'm learning to appreciate all this innovative and amazing music now, when I'm old! Even weirder is the fact that I have had the opportunity to go to the concerts I never saw forty years ago!

The first concert I ever begged to go to was The Monkees. I'm sure it's a big surprise that Davy Jones posters hung all around my bed. My parents felt I was too young to go and I was devastated. I still have my diary. I wrote: "Today is the worst day of my life because Mom and Dad won't let me go see the Monkees." (That turned out to not be true.) However, I saw Mickey Dolenz and Peter Tork at a small venue of other 60s idols. (Gary Puckett was even creepier as an old man singing "Young Girl.")

But in the last decade I have seen: Elton John––I missed the goofy costume era though, Eric Clapton––really fun to hear Layla,  Roger Waters–– the Pink Floyd concert I never saw, including the laser pyramid, Paul McCartney––I cried shamelessly, Diana Ross––still fabulous. We've also seen Greg Allman and Bonnie Raitt, and next week I'm going to see The Who!

Who would have ever thought I'd be seeing these icons in the 2000s? 

So, yes, I missed the true era of classic rock, but as long as these rockers are still alive there is always the chance that they'll come to Cleveland, and I'll try to experience what I missed––so long ago. 

The Life of a Book

There was a wonderful and inspirational author named Madeleine L'Engle.  You may recognize her as the author of A Wrinkle in Time and other imaginative and symbolic novels for young people.  I know her as a writer of great faith. In my years of searching, when I was much younger, her adult non-fiction books, taught me that faith, art, and science are all gifts to be used. She led a practical Christian life and claimed that all types of art could be inspirational whether they used words like "God" or not, which I found comforting at the time.  I recently pulled two of her books off of my bookshelf and found something I'd underlined long ago:

The writer does want to be published; the painter urgently hopes that someone will see the finished canvas; the composer needs his music to be heard. Art is communication, and if there is no communication it is as though the work had been stillborn.

 I spent five months last winter writing a novel. It is my third one. The previous two novels were self-published. It was disappointing to have resorted to that, but I desperately wanted to see them as a book, not just a stack of paper or a words on a screen. They would have been dead, stillborn, if I'd done nothing with them.  Their lives would have been like my grandmother's novels––pieces of looseleaf paper in cardboard boxes for someone to find after she died. 

I have no formal training as a writer beyond local classes and critiques by various authors and writing groups. However, I've written a novel of historical fiction based on the life of a real person. I had no intention of ever writing fiction again, but it was an idea I couldn't resist. Oh, how I want to see it published. I know this one is better (or maybe just the query letter is better) because it has had the attention of several agents. Some wanted to see a portion of the work and two have asked to see the entire manuscript. This, in itself, is exciting and encouraging. The agents who have read portions of it all have had something positive to say about it, but...it just didn't grab them quite enough. 

I have been told that the satisfaction should be in the creative process, the journey––but no, that is not true.  A book is a part of you, a piece of your soul, and contains, in some way, everything you believe in. This holds true for all manner of art and creativity. 

All of my life I have a deep desire and urgency to express myself through writing, singing, painting, crafts and playing instruments. I'm sure that will continue no matter whether this new book finds life and breath or not. The most ubiquitous advice is to never give up. I will try not to.

Nationalism vs Patriotism

From This America by Jill Lepore:

"But by the early decades the twentieth century, with the rise of fascism in Europe, nationalism had come to mean something different from patriotism, something fierce, something violent: less a love for your own country than a hatred of other countries and their people and a hatred of people within your own country who don't belong to an ethnic, racial, or religious majority.... but hating immigrants, as if they were less than human, is a form of nationalism that has nothing to do with patriotism.

"Patriotism is animated by love, nationalism by hatred. To confuse the one for the other is to pretend that hate is love and fear is courage."

The current president has proudly announced that he is a nationalist at his rallies and we are seeing the results of this now.

Are You Really Pro-Life?

Twenty humans dead in El Paso, Texas and 9 in Dayton, Ohio, dozens more injured, possibly fighting for their lives, all in one weekend in America. The tweets and messages of politicians with thoughts and prayers are useless. Flying the flag at half-staff means nothing. It will not return those people to their loved ones. The current president has vilified Muslim people and immigrants as dangerous, but none of the shooters are either one. None of the shooters in recent years have been either. They are white supremacists who have been encouraged by the president to hate, to blame, to exclude people unlike themselves, as he does publicly every single day. They are people who should never be allowed to buy a gun, let alone an assault rifle.

In church this morning I wept as the pastor asked us to form a circle, hold hands and pray for our country. But God will not save this country because God does not do what we can do for ourselves. So we pray for the hearts and minds of our lawmakers, that they will choose American lives over guns.  Those same politicians claim to be pro-life.

HERE'S THE THING LAWMAKERS: IF YOU DO NOTHING ABOUT SAVING AMERICANS FROM GUNS THEN YOU CANNOT CALL YOURSELF PRO-LIFE.

I cried as we prayed, I cried when I saw my daughter post that she was afraid to go to a public event today, a place where she makes her living, in a time she is carrying her second child within her.  I weep for the future of my grandchildren.

When we traveled through Italy, and someone discovered we were American, their comments were invariably: TOO MANY GUNS. Other countries have figured it out. They must truly be pro-life. They must value their citizens far more than we do. 

I thought this was supposed to be the greatest country in the world. 

A Reminder From the Past

From today's Cleveland Plain Dealer:

Ronald Reagan received a letter that said:

"You can live in France, but you cannot become a Frenchman. You can go to Germany or Turkey or Japan, but you cannot become a German, a Turk or a Japanese. But anyone, from any corner of the Earth, can come to live in America and become an American. "

Reagan's response:

"Other countries may seek to compete with us; but in one vital area, as a beacon of freedom and opportunity that draws people of the world, no country on earth comes close... If we ever closed the door to new Americans, our leadership in the world would soon be lost."

Just for clarity and background:

Last week Donald Trump tweeted that four congresswomen of color should "go back" to the countries they came from even though they are all American citizens and three were born here. (To say nothing of the fact that they were all legitimately elected to Congress). One is a naturalized citizen, as is Melania Trump.  

He further stated that they "came from countries whose governments are a complete and total catastrophe, the worst, most corrupt and inept anywhere in the world.... why don't they go back and help fix the totally broken and crime infested places from which they came."

Funny, that's exactly what they're trying to do.

Life Sentence

It’s a holy war

with nothing sacred 

but a crucifixion of females

by those who claim that

they love freedom

and a flag.

They can smell the blood,

but not their own stink.

Thank you for reminding us

that life is sacred

while you embrace your gun

and weep fake tears.

A fifteen year-old

with an already ruined life

can’t fight back,

can’t make you care about

the child, the one 

you won’t adopt,

or feed, or raise,

or love.

Breaking Babies

I believe I wrote this a year ago....and nothing has changed except more damaged human beings.

You are breaking them

those children in cages

with their aluminum foil blankets 

their obscene days, damaged psyches 

broken for campaign promises

evangelical leaders preach the Bad News

a deluded Jesus would not 

let the children come to Him

they are under the same stars

lights of the future, those crying orphans

turn away, amuse yourselves

with the scandal-of-the-day, the blatant lies

but they will always be with you 

somewhere in your brain your soul

God is watching 

waiting for your Pro-Life response

their brown eyes see all know all

in a cruel imprisonment of

irreversible memories irretrievable childhoods, 

mothers with no children

fathers with no family

voters atwitter with relief

brown children will not sully the country 

with their abilities

talents

human

being

The Assault on the Spirit of a Girl

I have never been sexually assaulted, unless you count the assault on my innocence and self-image as a young woman. This long overdue “Me Too” movement has prompted me to think of how much I was shaped as a female and a human being by the actions and words of men. Men who felt free to comment, stare at, and belittle me without hesitation or the least bit of concern for what they were doing. We have heard a lot about unwanted advances and physical attacks. I have not read anything about the subtle damage that can be done to young girls by consistent objectification by men. It traumatizes the spirit and self-esteem of females. It’s something most of us just learned to live with, even if at times, traumatic.

This is something men cannot possibly understand. There is no equivalent for a boy’s experience. Men often think mere comments are harmless and should be taken as compliments or jokes. But they are not. They are damaging and demeaning to a young woman’s sense of self and understanding of her place in society.

At the innocent age of thirteen I developed breasts much too large for my 5’2” petite body.  I didn’t ask for them and I did not enjoy the attention they received.  Up until then I only knew the love and affection of my father and grandfather. My favorite teacher in sixth grade had been a man. Males were safe until my breasts showed up.

Suddenly men were hanging out of truck windows and shouting at me as I walked home from school. Boys were staring at my chest in the most obvious ways. Adult males commented as I walked through a mall, even turned around and gaped. My mother was shaken by this turn of events and started buying me matronly clothing and swimwear which just furthered my humiliation. I went from being a carefree and happy girl to receiving the message that I must cover-up and become inconspicuous as possible so I didn’t provoke male attention.

Unfortunately, the things I loved to do involved gymnastic outfits and performing on stages. I was a natural gymnast. I spent my childhood cartwheeling and flipping across the front lawn, but by eighth grade I dropped out of gymnastics because of my discomfort with my body and the uniform I was required to wear.  

At that age I discovered I could sing. My parents were thrilled and supportive. My church and the musicians there provided me with plenty of opportunities. I felt self-conscious in front of people no matter where I went, but at least church often included a bulky choir robe. Later, I did pursue musicals on stage but I was always aware of how the men in the audience were viewing me.

Throughout my teens and young adulthood my breasts were a millstone, a burden. Every piece of clothing I tried on in a store was evaluated by how much it de-emphasized my chest. I hated the off-handed comments of men like, “If you drop some food at least you have a shelf to catch it,” or wearing a Disneyland shirt, “Boy, does Mickey have big ears!” I’m sure men thought those comments were harmless, but they diminished me more every time I heard them.

At my first teaching job at age 22 the principal would comment on what I wore everyday. Each afternoon he would stand at the door of my classroom and stare at me—not the students or the lesson—just me.  I wouldn’t have dreamed of saying anything. When I think about how insecure and unworldly I was then I am almost sure I would not have reported a sexual assault either. My breasts were a part of me and I considered them my fault and my responsibility. It would be decades until I found my voice and would be strong enough to be assertive or defend myself against anything that would diminish my personhood. 

At the age of 40 I had breast reduction surgery at the urging of my respectful and loving husband. At the time I was teaching a college class. When I returned after the surgery it was the first time in my life that I felt comfortable standing in front of people. The very first time.

In our society there is terrible assumption of men believing they are entitled to say what they want to a woman, to look her over, sometimes to touch her as they desire. Not all men, of course. But that is the point. It is not an entitlement of manhood. It is not natural or just a “boy thing.” I don’t believe that crudeness in referring to women is part of “locker room talk” because the men I know, the men I have the utmost respect for, also respect women.  Most men are capable of loving a woman for who she is not just for their favorite body part. We need to teach young boys that it is not a presupposition to treat a woman as personal entertainment. Adult men who think it is need to grow up.

The Church Has Broken My Heart Again

First I was angry, indignant, now I’m heartbroken. The United Methodist Church has proven it is Divided—no different, no better than our riven country. A few verses taken out of context in the Old Testament have superseded the words of Jesus. (Verses that are surrounded with other dictates we do not live by any longer.) Jesus came to bring a new covenant. His message was love, acceptance and non-judgement. But fear wins. Judgement wins. I hope our denomination loses a significant amount of members. I hope there is a schism.

Bishops have voted to continue a ban on LGBTQ persons from marrying or serving as clergy in the United Methodist Church and to enforce this ruling. I wept throughout the service yesterday facing my choir director, a man devotedly and happily married to his husband. A man who has made my life better in every way; a friend, a mentor, a spiritual leader every single week. He draws people into the choir of every age, race and creed. He has done ten times more for others  than anyone else I know. He was crying too, and it broke my heart.

My pastor gave an impassioned and powerful message that our church would never exclude anyone. That we are the same diverse and loving church we were last week.  Of course, LGBTQ people are welcomed at our church. But what if two men or two women wanted our pastor to marry them in their beloved church home just as most of us have done? What if he did? Would he lose his job? Would we all lose his spirited and energetic leadership? Our church has continually grown over the years of his tenure—something rare in a mainline church. 

Many years ago an ego-driven minister moved my childhood church out of town. It was the place where three generations of my family met every Sunday. He took that from us and I grieved deeply. It split up friendships and left people without a church home and it was completely unnecessary. My children left the church which broke my heart. I told them that the church is not God. God does nothing to hurt His children. The church is made up of flawed human beings, and while I know that I still don’t understand why church leaders willingly choose anything that hurts its members. 

I hate the platitude: we love the sinner but hate the sin. No, you don’t love someone you are willing to deny basic human rights. Would you deny your own child food, shelter, love, acceptance?  From Corinthians 13: love is kind, love keeps no record of wrong, it always protects. Banning people from what brings them joy and fulfillment is not love. At the conference a young gay man gave a beautiful speech telling of his lifelong dream was to be a Methodist minister. He will be denied that dream.

I don’t believe those of us in the majority understand what it’s like to be marginalized, discriminated against, denied what the rest of us so freely take for granted. This country is fueled by fear right now and Jesus told us repeatedly to not be afraid. Laws are made to protect us. When has a person who is gay hurt you? How have they taken away your rights or ability to live out your own life the way you see fit? They haven’t? Well, that’s what we’ve done to them.