Kill your heroes

Every election season we set about setting up our hero. The person, the guy, who will represent us and move the country in the direction that we think is best. This goes through several stages, but it culminates in this "election night" nonsense. The winner isn't chosen on election day. 

Democracy is not a once in four year spectator sport.

Democracy demands that you get up and get involved. Get your skin in the game. 

For some of us (BlPOC, Native Americans, women in general) our skin has been in this fucking rigged game, voting year after year for men who look nothing like us and who can never understand what it is to exist in the world as women, as BlPOC, as LGBTQ, as Native and hoping against hope that the person who wins might make an effort to understand and do better. Promote policies to make our lives better, to improve the world we live in, maybe try to advance policies that won't just fuck everyone except the old rich guys over. 

The fact that this election is even close, is even a contest, is insulting. Just to be clear, Trump is the antithesis of equity, justice, fairness, or anything else that's good unless you're white and rich.

I am not white, nor am I rich. I am the sole earner in my household. My husband lost his job just before the pandemic and thank God because he has been needed at home to help homeschool  our kids. Trump's policies have not helped my family. They have not put more money in the bank or made the future brighter for my children. Trump does not care about me or mine. 

Trump cares about himself. He cares about what makes him look good. He cares about power. He is a narcissist. 

I know it doesn't matter now, now that people have decided and votes have been cast and decisions have been made, but I want people to know. Voting for Trump is a vote against the people next to you. Voting for Trump is a vote for social policies that hurt people. Voting for Trump is voting against our own well-being and future. I want to be on record saying that so when they come to take me away for dissent, at least I earned that shit.

This virus is stupid and (sometimes) people suck.

I sat at my desk this morning, and I cried. I was typing notes, thinking about my clients, and it struck me again how many of them we might lose to this pandemic.

And how people in power do not seem to care that we might lose them. That their deaths, and the deaths of our elderly, and our sick, and our neighbors and friends, our coworkers, might just have to be the price we pay for a "good economy."

I look at those who are helping, who are showing up in spite of everything, who keep doing the good, necessary, hard work of keeping us safe, keeping us fed, keeping us well, and it makes me sad.

We are not testing people at the rate we should be. We are only testing people with possible exposure or showing symptoms. People are still partying, still travelling, still shopping, and do not yet see that the price for this frivolity could be their lives, or the life of someone they know and love, or even someone they don't know and will never meet.

I am finding it so hard to have hope. So long as your 401k is good and you have enough to eat, I guess that's all that's supposed to matter.

Listen to the experts, and the scientists, and the health providers, and the people on the front lines. Stay home if you can. Be careful if you can't.

Remember that all human life, any human life, is worth more than the stock market or another roll of toilet paper.

Trying to be OK with "good enough"

Recently someone asked me what I would be giving up for Lent, and I replied that I did not know. I've been thinking about it, and while I don't feel that any one thing or activity is really weighing on me to give up, I have noticed an interesting internal trend that might be worth examining and working on during the season of Lent.

Before we begin, it is important to know about me that my standards for myself are absurdly high. My therapist (when I was going to therapy) has told me that, my family tells me that, my friends tell me that. I am convinced that nothing I do is good enough, even if I acknowledge that I do it adequately. 

Two examples spring immediately to mind. Number one is writing. My whole entire life people have told me I am a good writer. I continue to believe that my writing is only adequate and any compliments are entirely based around being polite, but cannot possibly be sincere. I know I'm not "that good." I'm no famous novelist, not a brilliant poet, an award-winning journalist. I'm alright, but alright isn't good enough.

Number two is singing. I love to sing and have been singing in choirs since I was a small child. I have never had any training, taken any kind of music theory, or studied music in any serious way, but over the course of many years I've picked up a few things, and I'd say I'm alright. Even if someone tells me that I sing well, or that I have a lovely voice, I again will write it off as mere politeness because I know that I am no great singer. I'm alright, but alright isn't good enough.

I spend a lot of time weighing myself against people around me. That person exercises more, that person has way better fashion sense, that person is amazingly talented, that person is funnier, that person is a better writer. Everyone is better, and I'm not good enough.

It's a really self-defeating attitude, because you see, if you aren't good enough, then you don't really have to take yourself into scary, unknown places. Because you aren't good enough, someone better will do it. Someone better will step forward. Someone better, because you, clearly are not good enough so why bother trying? They don't need your gifts, or your presence, or your thoughts, because someone better has brought theirs.

And of course, when I do take my not good enough self out into the world to do all the life things, I have terrible and persistent anxiety that other people will notice how not good enough I am. That they will tell me to take me and my mess of a self somewhere else because I am not good enough and they don't need that.

Another thing to know about me is I am incredibly stubborn, and I refuse to let myself keep me from the things that bring me joy. Writing brings me joy. Singing brings me joy. Making people laugh brings me joy. Helping people brings me joy.  Cooking brings me joy. So I show up to do those things anyway, but it would be nice to do them without listening to me tell me all the ways that they weren't perfect.

So when I think about giving something up for Lent, I mean, sure. I could give up caffeine, or I could give up social media, or fast food, or something like that. But if Lent is about giving up those things that really hold us back from relationship, that really separate us from God so that we can deepen and grow our spiritual life, then giving up those things is not going to help.

Because what I need is a hard mental reset. I need to give up the idea that everything about me is not good enough because I am who God created me to be and that is good enough.

The Things You Never Expect

In the long list of things that I never expected in my life, owning either of these two objects would probably be near the top.

I am now in possession of these because on Friday we will begin giving my middle son injections of growth hormone.

Giving my child injections would also be at the top of my list of things I never expected.

In the last couple of weeks as we have met with his doctor and navigated the process of beginning this treatment, I have had so many well-meaning people tell me that soon this will become second nature. Soon, none of us will think anything of it. That I and we will be fine.

This is probably true. I expect that it will become routine and commonplace, as much as "Good night" and "I love you" at bedtime. It will become normal to have a sharps container, and little orange capped syringes, their purpose fulfilled, will reside inside.

Right now, none of this is normal. None of this feels commonplace. My every cell is crying out that my beautiful, darling Teddy will have a shot every night before bed. That I or my husband, or maybe a grandma, will give him a shot as easily as we give him a hug.

I am terrified that he will learn the wrong message. That he will find himself broken, or inadequate, or weak. I am so afraid that he will not learn to see his strength and his courage. That he will look at his size as the measure of his value and not his beautiful soul.

This feels broken, and scary, and hard. I don't know how to be strong for him when I feel so inadequate and small and helpless.

I know that this moment of fear will pass. I know that we will rise to the occasion. I know that Teddy is made of wonderful, resilient stuff and he will be fine. I know all of this.

On Friday I will face this thing I never expected. I will not give in to my anxiety and my fear. I will come to terms with our new possessions, and our new routine. I will be grateful for the science that allows us to help our son.

I am grateful for everyone who loves us, who is praying for us, who is genuinely wishing us all the best in this new thing.

I am beyond grateful for all the people in Teddy's life who have always loved him just as he is and have never once made him feel small.

I am simply, grateful.

Self care and the weirdness of life

For Lent I gave up social media as a constant, daily part of my life. My rule is no more than 30 minutes a day and only after the kids are in bed. So far so good. I actually think this has been an amazing choice for my mental health. I'm less angry, stressed, and I have some distance from a lot of stuff that I was carrying that I really don't need to.
But...I'm also less connected because social media has been my main source of connection for years. Hello introvert. So the flip side of all this has been pushing myself to reach out and connect in meaningful ways with people I care about. This is not easy for me. It has recently become really important to me to show people that I care about, that I do care. See my recent post about church and the difficulties there to see why this matters.
The thing is, I have a tendency in person to just sort of jabber away and I don't know how much connecting I really do because it is hard to be with people. I don't know when to talk or when to shut up. I talk a lot to cover this awkwardness and then I feel weird so I sit quiet and then I don't know what to do. Just know if you're with me and I talk a lot and then have weird quiet pauses, it's because I don't know what to do with myself.
I also feel like I share too much, and again, hello introvert. I hate shallow interaction and chit chat so I tend to just jump right in to deep and complicated and strange because that's interesting.
I really feel like I'm just kind of weird on a fundamental level. Broken and strange and not put back together with all the pieces maybe.
In all of this though is still a desire to connect and build relationship and community, however awkward and weird. In that, I have found that spending quality one on one time with people is really important because that's where I feel safest. So for all of you who show up for my self care and my strange and keep coming back, thank you. It genuinely means the world to me.
Maybe I will come back to social media someday, but I think maybe not. I think maybe it's more important to talk to you directly about your life and your day and actually give you my attention and not a quick like, or emoji, or some thoughtless response.
I am so utterly tired of shallow, and trite, and easy. I'm tired of talking talking talking and nothing is said, nothing changes, nothing grows. Social media feels stale, and boring, and repetitive.
I had a drink after work this evening with a friend, and all of the above is true. I felt like I talked to much, I felt like I didn't listen enough, but I loved just being there. I loved talking about our lives and what we're doing and why. I wish I was better about extending those invitations and better about showing up for those conversations. I wish more of my life was about strange and weird and broken and imperfect. I'm so glad she showed up for that today. I hope it was as good for her well-being as it was for mine.

What to do?

You know how sometimes people grow apart? It's not anybody's fault, just sometimes people move in different directions in their lives and the relationship grows distant and sometimes just disappears entirely over time. It happens. You might look back and mourn a little for the relationship you used to have but you accept it and move on.

Then, sometimes, you have relationships that end out of necessity because the relationship has become toxic for whatever reason. Maybe you've changed and the other person can't accept it, maybe there are behaviors or attitudes that are dangerous or abusive on one side or another, and so you walk away or they do, and again, maybe you mourn for the relationship you had, but you recognize that sometimes you have to let it go and move on for your own sanity and peace of mind.

Finally, you have relationships that you see something going wrong and you have a choice, walk away or stay and try to fix it. What you choose has a lot to do with how invested in the relationship you were in the first place and how confident you are in you ability to salvage something from it.

And sometimes, this happens not with a person but with a group or organization. In all cases you have to decide what you're going to do and whether the relationship is worth saving or needs to be scrapped.

I bring all this up because I am currently facing this dilemma with my church denomination. I've been a United Methodist my whole life. We have our problems, as do all churches, but on the whole, I think we're a wonderful group of people and our hearts are in the right place. We recently (in the last year) found a new church and have been really happy there.

My husband and I tend to be liberal in our views. Church, for us, should be about drawing the outsider in and giving them a full and equal seat at the table. We believe that all people have something to offer in the body of Christ, regardless of gender, gender identity, sexual orientation, marital status, socioeconomic status, disability, race, criminal background, or any other category you can imagine. We all belong to God and God has a place for all of us, regardless of these things.

God shows us over and over and over (we're an incredibly hard-headed species) that he loves us as a parent. Consider your own children or family that you love. Sometimes they do things that make you so angry, or hurt you terribly, or confuse and upset you, and yet at the end of the day you love them. You forgive the hurt, you let go of the anger, you welcome the transgressor back and make them a sandwich. That is the love that God has for us and the love we are called to share with the world. It's a love that says, "Hey, it's ok. Forget about it. Pull up a chair and tell me how you've been." It's love that says, "I know the world can be a hard and scary place, but in this place, you are welcome, and loved, and accepted, for exactly who you are."

When we exclude others, when we draw lines between us and them, we are acting on our own authority. When we draw others in and we love them without condition or reserve, that is God's authority. And the bottom line here is whether or not my church is practicing this sort of radical inclusiveness. In years past I'd say we did better than most, but now I'm not as sure. And here is my conundrum. Do I stay and try to push back against an attitude of exclusivity or do I wash my hands of it and look for a new congregation? I believe the people in my church are as they have always been, but some in leadership have shown a willingness to draw that line, to exclude those who are already marginalized, and that concerns me.

I'm not sure of the answer. On the one hand we have developed some wonderful relationships and community with our church family. I feel like we have some obligation to speak up and insist that we remain an open and loving denomination where every person is welcomed and included. I don't feel like the relationship has become toxic. Maybe that's my privilege as a straight, white woman talking. But maybe we have come to a place where the relationship has gone in different directions and we should just go our separate ways. I know there are many other churches and denominations where our views are widely held by everyone from leadership to laypeople. I don't know what authority or right we have to push back, but I know the thought of telling someone they aren't welcome to fully participate in the life of the church for whatever reason, makes me angry. In the battle between love and doctrine, I choose love. Doctrine is something we dreamed up, but love comes always from the infinite love of God, and choosing to act in love is never the wrong answer.

So if you're the praying type, pray for me and my family as we try to navigate this relationship and the changes in it.

Oh what a beautiful morning

This morning, as I sometimes do, I joined our Outreach team on their biweekly early morning outreach. Early morning outreach is an opportunity for the team to collaborate with other local agencies serving the homeless and try to contact people in the community who may not regularly access services anywhere. We provide coffee, doughnuts, sack lunches, water, and other supplies. We gather by 8:00 am and spend about an hour and a half greeting people.

Today was notably beautiful. Sunny, clear sky with a slight breeze out of the west. Just warm enough that you know it's going to be hot later on. Many people wanted water for later. Some were inclined to stop and visit for a while and some wanted to get their coffee and bolt. I try to do coffee and doughnut service so that my Outreach coworkers can get the information they need without trying to juggle clipboards and coffee cups. As an added bonus it gives my awkward self something to do and say which is welcome. A smile, a cup of coffee, and a "have a nice day," is doable.

Of the many encounters this morning, two stand out to me.

The first was a woman who came and got a doughnut and coffee and then seemed to be waiting for someone. This was confirmed as some time later a man in a nicer pickup pulled up and she got into the truck with two other men. We all watched as this woman got into this truck, into this unsafe situation, and knew there was nothing we could do in those circumstances other than what we had already done for her, which was offer kindness along with her coffee and doughnut.

The second was a woman who came up, got her coffee and other stuff, and then I lost track of her, until 15 minutes or so later when she was walking across the far side of the parking lot, having clearly just left the semi-truck parked there and its occupant. The realization of what sort of activity was taking place hit me like a slap.

I'm here, enjoying this beautiful morning, in the relative safety and comfort of my coworkers and colleagues company, and here are these two women having completely different mornings. Did they stop to notice the sun, the breeze, the warmth in the air? Can they stop to notice? What a luxury it is to stop and smell the proverbial roses. Two women this morning placed themselves in remarkable danger, in situations most of us would never even begin to contemplate, just to make it through today. This beautiful day that I don't think they even noticed.

Regardless of your thoughts about their choices, understand that for women the streets are unsafe in a way they aren't for men. Understand that they make incredibly difficult and painful choices, often to trade in the only commodity they have for a chance at food, at shelter, and yes, maybe drugs too. For one second try to imagine that level of desperation. Sometimes I lose sight of what the daily experience for our clients can be like, and today was a sharp reminder.

Remember this, too. For most of us, hope is reflexive. We have learned, through experience, that life is not always unkind and that bad situations often have happy endings. We have learned that on the other side of pain is healing, and so we hope. For many of the people we serve here, hope is a luxury as much as noticing a beautiful day is. Hope is what you get when you aren't focused every second on simply surviving to the next second.

So then, our job becomes to cultivate hope in our clients. We do that in a multitude of ways, but some of the simplest are offering a cup of coffee with a smile, offering service without judgment, offering kindness without strings. My hope is that those things together perhaps remind someone who may feel hopeless, bereft of their humanity, that they are indeed a loved and valued person, at least in this moment. Small kindnesses given in love may be all someone needs to lift their head once more in hope. What a beautiful morning indeed to remind me of the power that I have to instill hope in others.