:: not so free state of jones

Recently my son and I had an at-home date and chose to watch a movie I'd been avoiding, because I knew it would be hard: "The Free State of Jones." 

Now, I'm not a history buff and honestly, it's so much more blissful to just bury my head in the sand and ignore the sad parts of this country's history. I don't know how much of this movie was legit and how much was artistic license, but I think regardless, there's enough truth to it that we should all feel super uncomfortable. Furious. Grieved. 

There was a particular scene during this movie, when the men and women fighting for their freedom from the Union won a battle, and they took down the Confederate flag and raised the American flag instead, victorious.

And watching from the comfort of my couch in that moment, I was suddenly overcome by the thought of how devastated those people would be to see the political climate of our world today, almost 200 years later. To see that all of their standing up, all of their fighting, all of their suffering, all of their willingness to lay their lives on the line has made so little a dent in the way our government operates, and in the way certain people groups are treated.

January 2017, Immigration Ban Protest, one of many

As a woman, I know a little something about discrimination, but I'm also Caucasian (which in and of itself means my roots are from another country) and I know I'm privileged in ways I'll likely never even be aware of. To my knowledge, I have never suffered because of the color of my skin, never really been exposed to racism. But I have friends and family with skin darker than mine, and they have plenty of stories to tell of hatred that has been flung their way for no reason than they are a different shade than the person hating at them. I have much to learn here; I'm waking up to this, willing to listen, learn and make changes where I can.

But even with all the learning I need to do, I will not, for the life of me, ever understand how people have gotten away with treating other human beings the way they have, historically. I cannot understand how men, women and children have been murdered, hung from trees and left there like plastic bags blown by the wind, and it was just ok with the majority. I cannot understand how homes and churches and schools have been burned down to prove a point. I cannot understand how such hatred is so easily spewed at people who are different outwardly.

I know enough about anatomy to know we all have a heart inside of us, beating to keep us alive. And I know enough about the humans I've met and share relationships with to make a well-educated guess that what we all want is the same:  to be known, and to be loved. And if that's true, then what can it possibly matter that we have different skin, different clothes, different names for God, different ways of making a living, different ways of expressing ourselves? If we would only share a meal with those who we fear, we would realize that where it really counts, we have so much more in common.

Have you tried this? Have you ever spent time with someone different from you, someone whose life or beliefs made you uncomfortable because it's different from yours?  Or have you labeled them a certain way out of your own fear? I have done both, and I can promise you, putting the work in to get to know someone new, and someone so different from me is hard, sure, but it is oh so beautiful. It is so much better than resigning to live in ignorance (which often morphs into fear) of those we don't understand right away. We have so much to learn from each other, from the different worldviews we all share. Isn't that what this should all be about? Learning and growing and loving together?

Treating people with respect who are different from us can only hurt our pride. And I cannot embrace the notion that my ego is somehow more important than another human's safety, well being, or very life. If we all practice loving each other more, who could possibly lose?

 

Xoxo.

first post :: this girl is on fire

The idea of starting this blog in and of itself has made me cry.  Repeatedly, and for a long time.  For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to write.  And truth be told, I don’t just want to write for the sake of it, but I want to write because, embarrassing as this is to admit, I’ve been told I’m good at it, and dammit, that feels good.  There’s definitely some part of me that craves that kind of acknowledgement…and I don’t like how *that* detail makes me feel. I think that fact alone has stopped me from doing this so many times before. That, and laziness. But it’s definitely a dream of mine to write a book that legitimately gets published one day. I can picture myself sitting on the sun porch of our oceanside cottage, taking in the glory and vastness of the sea before me, typing furiously, full of grit and inspiration. This all happens in my 50’s or 60’s of course, because we currently live in an actual neighborhood with no ocean.  But still…I can see it.

I also want to write because I think there must be some value in what I have to share. My life has been full of ups and downs, pain and joy, just like anyone else, but with my own unique twist. Being able to connect with people through the written word is an idea that fills me with purpose. It’s especially important to me that the pain I’ve endured and caused in my life doesn’t go wasted. I often say I'm an open book. If being honest about every aspect of my story can bring me closer to God, to others and make us all feel less alone, then I want that.

But here again is where the fear comes in. Because I imagine a lot of you feel like you know me pretty well already. Yet if I begin sharing the details of all the things that move me to tears, I’m certain people I care about will be shocked at some point.  Offended or hurt even. And the people pleasing and empathetic parts of me don’t like hurting and offending people. And honestly, while I’m content to “agree to disagree” and I don’t always need to be right, I also don’t like the idea that someone may disagree with me so strongly that they choose to not know me anymore. (Or worse yet - try to debate me!  Oh the horror!) If a friend said that to me, I would nod understandingly, but also perhaps remind them that people come and go in our lives, and the ones who don’t stay, leave for a reason. And that’s ok. But the part of me that is still wounded from childhood and struggles with abandonment issues and fears rejection more than anything is still scared of that likelihood.

A quote read aloud during church recently hit me in my gut on this very topic. And even as I typed it out tonight, I heard it differently, and louder.  More of a reminder that I’m not alone, no matter what is happening. I’m a child of God and He is always with me, whether I’m aware of His presence or not. I don’t always operate out of that place, but I do truly believe it to be true. This quote feels more like a command, or a pep talk, a battle cry…

“Slow down, stop. Look. Take off your shoes…for holy is all around. Risk getting burned, looking foolish, being wrong. Drop what you are doing and turn aside, to look into every bush, every face, every event of your life – the big and the small, the hoped for and feared, the bad and the good – look into every one of them for God’s presence and call. Believe that whatever is going on, God is in it, and can be trusted. Then finally, if you are still willing, go the last step. Once you have gotten the knack of seeing ‘burning bushes’ everywhere, consent to be set on fire yourself, to be for someone else the presence and call of God. Like Moses without his veil, go ahead and frighten people with your shining face, so full of uncommon light, so alive with unimagined possibility that sometimes the fire scares even you. It may or may not hurt, but we will not be consumed, and we will not be alone. I AM THAT I AM, is with us, will be with you, has been, will be forever, world without end. It all belongs.” – Barbara Blue Taylor

So, here I go. Consenting to be set on fire.

Xoxo.