Touching One Another
My client touched something in me today.
I enjoy the adventures of being a therapist. On any given day I can find myself on a road headed anywhere. I love listening and journeying with others. While being open to the journey is fun sometimes you have to guide and sometimes you have to put your foot on the brakes. But often you get to go along and just observe the scenery and road maps of people’s lives.
So when my new client began talking about the stress of his job I recognized the road. I have been on that road many times. There are some crazy managers out there that should be given a profit by pharmaceutical companies because they impact the health and well being of employees. And there are a few companies who should be investigated because of the number of employees that seek medical and mental health intervention. Being stressed by the manager is a common phenomena.
Just as I was settling in to the familiarity of the story, however, more unfolded. My client mentioned many escape home by going to work or escape work by going home but at home another battle awaited him. His wife is fighting cancer. And then she is challenged by acute allergic reactions. On any given day she can have a reaction. And it’s nothing for him to check his wife to make sure she is breathing. And before I know it we’re on a road I’ve never seen and it spirals downward and there seems to be no bottom. And now we’re in a hospital. And his wife is in critical condition. And we stand on the other side of the door waiting for doctors to tell us if she is alive.
And as the story continued to unfold a tear trickled down his face. And then a second one found gravity and came forth. And that one was joined by a third. And then there were no more tears. Instead he began to shake. There was silence. He was trying to hold back the dam. He was trying so hard he was shaking. And in the silence I felt the incredible weight of his burden. I felt the tears trickling down my own face and I prayed. I desperately prayed that this time he would be strong for me, the therapist, because I knew that if the dam broke I would not be able to hold my end of this client therapist relationship. And I can’t find anything to hold on to because the pain is so heavy and disorienting. I was so morphed by his pain that I too could not speak. We were dangerously on the edge of sanity and it took us a while to find our way back to safer grounds. And then we found another road. But I cannot forget how close we teetered to the edge.
As we are coming up on Martin Luther King Holiday I am reminded that King touched others by showing them his own humanity. King spoke to those who were hostile to him as though they had the capacity for compassion and understanding. He believed that hearts and minds could be changed. I think perhaps we all have the ability to touch others. King stated the obvious, that blacks were human beings and as such deserved to be treated with respect and dignity. We should not have to wait any longer for our civil rights. We deserve to be able to sit anywhere on the bus and at the counter. We deserve to have the same tools to pursue happiness. Through organized nonviolent protest the global world saw how black were treated in America. Our story now had an audience. Through peaceful demonstration our story showed the ugly face of racism. King along with others of the civil rights era pricked the conscience of white America.
Maybe by touching one another we can slowly break the chains of racism in America.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Monday, January 2, 2012
A Place to Be
A Place to Be
When I was a teenager I remember the wonderful world that was opened to me through journaling. Perhaps not unlike most, adolescence was an awkward time for me. The world was big and my place in it seemed uncertain. All sorts of things were happening around me and I felt like there was no one I could really talk to or confide. And then one day in the 10th grade the teacher announced we were going to start journaling. Each day she would give us an incomplete sentence as a way to help us talk about our feelings. For example one day she put up on the board, if I had one wish.
All of a sudden in an uncertain world it was as if someone had put a microphone up to my mouth and said in the most welcoming voice share. The journal was like a friend. I could write in it whatever I wanted. It was really my space. It was a place to be. At the end of each month we would turn our journals in so that our teacher could check them off as homework completed. She would write in our journals generally affirming positive feedback.
Journaling would be something I continued to do for a while. At times I would journal with more consistency than at other times but it would remain a haven for a couple of decades; there for me, when I needed it. And so it has been alarming to note in the last ten years of my life I have almost but all drifted from the discipline of processing situations in my life through journaling. At times I have tried to return to this haven but it just didn’t work. And then I realized I did not need a journal to find my voice anymore. The need was not there. This caged bird was free.
It is important for all of us to find places to be. For me at one point in time the only place that was safe was on the pages of my journal and even that was a risk because adults violated my boundaries. I am glad that the world is no longer the big scary place it was when I was a child. I am glad that I have other spaces in which I can unfold. It is important for all of us to have spaces and places where we can be our whole selves.
A member at my church this past Sunday reminded me of this need in us. He is a white gay male and has experienced being marginalized because of his particularities. Some spaces and places are not kind to people like him. But in an uncanny conversation with blacks on his job he/they found a common ground in discussing their experiences in life as “other.” He was amazed at how alike some of their experiences had been. Whereas “other” can often put distance between “us and them” it had drawn his coworkers and he closer.
I start this new year clearer about my sense of call – to create and participate in spaces that allow people to be who they are. Over at my church, Good News Community Church, we sit with people who are different from us and we are countercultural to the sentiment that 11am on Sunday morning in most churches is the most segregated hour. We come to hear good news about our situation and ourselves. We are different but we come together many because we are looking for a place that will not judge us for where we’ve been , what we’ve done, and who we are. And it’s amazing that in this space you have Korean man who addresses leadership as “the most honorable” and you have the Pentecostal brother banging the tambourine. It’s amazing to watch the Baptist sisters caught up in the spirit and then look across the pew at the former Catholic member stoic who still cannot take communion with us. Diversity flows at our church. My friend jokingly calls us the circus with real live entertainment. But as for me I call Good News Community Church a place to be.
When I was a teenager I remember the wonderful world that was opened to me through journaling. Perhaps not unlike most, adolescence was an awkward time for me. The world was big and my place in it seemed uncertain. All sorts of things were happening around me and I felt like there was no one I could really talk to or confide. And then one day in the 10th grade the teacher announced we were going to start journaling. Each day she would give us an incomplete sentence as a way to help us talk about our feelings. For example one day she put up on the board, if I had one wish.
All of a sudden in an uncertain world it was as if someone had put a microphone up to my mouth and said in the most welcoming voice share. The journal was like a friend. I could write in it whatever I wanted. It was really my space. It was a place to be. At the end of each month we would turn our journals in so that our teacher could check them off as homework completed. She would write in our journals generally affirming positive feedback.
Journaling would be something I continued to do for a while. At times I would journal with more consistency than at other times but it would remain a haven for a couple of decades; there for me, when I needed it. And so it has been alarming to note in the last ten years of my life I have almost but all drifted from the discipline of processing situations in my life through journaling. At times I have tried to return to this haven but it just didn’t work. And then I realized I did not need a journal to find my voice anymore. The need was not there. This caged bird was free.
It is important for all of us to find places to be. For me at one point in time the only place that was safe was on the pages of my journal and even that was a risk because adults violated my boundaries. I am glad that the world is no longer the big scary place it was when I was a child. I am glad that I have other spaces in which I can unfold. It is important for all of us to have spaces and places where we can be our whole selves.
A member at my church this past Sunday reminded me of this need in us. He is a white gay male and has experienced being marginalized because of his particularities. Some spaces and places are not kind to people like him. But in an uncanny conversation with blacks on his job he/they found a common ground in discussing their experiences in life as “other.” He was amazed at how alike some of their experiences had been. Whereas “other” can often put distance between “us and them” it had drawn his coworkers and he closer.
I start this new year clearer about my sense of call – to create and participate in spaces that allow people to be who they are. Over at my church, Good News Community Church, we sit with people who are different from us and we are countercultural to the sentiment that 11am on Sunday morning in most churches is the most segregated hour. We come to hear good news about our situation and ourselves. We are different but we come together many because we are looking for a place that will not judge us for where we’ve been , what we’ve done, and who we are. And it’s amazing that in this space you have Korean man who addresses leadership as “the most honorable” and you have the Pentecostal brother banging the tambourine. It’s amazing to watch the Baptist sisters caught up in the spirit and then look across the pew at the former Catholic member stoic who still cannot take communion with us. Diversity flows at our church. My friend jokingly calls us the circus with real live entertainment. But as for me I call Good News Community Church a place to be.
Monday, September 5, 2011
The Help
I read "The Help" over a year ago. I thought wow this is a wonderful opportunity to pull some Black, Asian, Latino, and White women together for a book discussion. I did an evite and it was on. Now in the final analysis there were some black women present and two white women. As it goes the black women were mostly verbal. Of the two white women one was very outspoken while the other was more reserved in her comments. Anyway the night went on and we had our discussion on The Help.
"The Help" was one of the best books I read in 2010. I read it because a sister, soror, black female friend recommended it. Now up front a brief description about a white woman writing on the maids in the civil rights era would have held no interest for me. In fact, it was a turn off. But because a friend had read and recommended it so highly I downloaded it to my Kindle. Now the book was compelling and I found myself finished almost before I began. The book pulled at so many emotions I felt the need to talk to someone who had read the book. I wanted to talk to others to at least process my feelings. It's one of those books you need to talk about with others.
The books seemed legitimate and believable to me. Now let me be the first to say as a black woman I wouldn't know how accurate the author was to that time period and the black women she portrays. We are reading of a situation where racism was not only oppressive towards blacks it also oppressed a nation. In a book I am reading now, "The Warmth of the Other Sun," the author talks about how we are all constricted by oppression. For example, she mentions this lady had an artifact in her home that got interpreted by her company as Catholic. The comments to the women implying she was Catholic were so scary the lady took the item down immediately after they left and worked hard to show she was in no way Catholic. This example remind me of just how restrictive racism was/is where we all stay in our place, we are all bound. Now I understand race + power means that Blacks are often doubly and triply oppressed and in no way am I equating we all suffer the same. Instead I am wanting to say oppression harms us all.
As a kid, I grew up watching my grandmother help white families. I watched her cater to them in a way that humiliates me to this day. Now my grandmother has always been a kind person to me but she would butter these folks up like they were sweet corn. She acted different and they loved it. They would donate stuff to our family including clothes. I watch my family eat up any scraps they threw our way. I refused to wear or use anything that was given by these white families. With no words or analysis to help me understand what I was experiencing, I hated them. I hated what they represented and the role that had been designated for my grandmother as the help. If I was around them I would not smile or play with their kids. My aunt has scars on her knees from scrubbing white folks floors. And to add insult to injury the family she still works for at 73 years old asked her when the wife passed away if she could wear a white uniform to the funeral. The Help is not just a movie or some book or some analytical argument but it is the street that passes through my heart. It is about the unequal distribution of power and the places we've been assigned as a result. I get that.
Over and against the painful history of blacks in America, for me in some small way these women rebelled against the system just by telling their story at this time. They said what many Blacks have not gotten a chance to say to listening white people. They said what I never got a chance to say to those white families. They said what America has not fully yet heard. They were a small counter culture colony. They were risk involved for both sides. They did not accept the system as it is and so for a little while they journey together. In the book, the white journalist gives these black women a literary platform to speak to White America. It doesn't seem big perhaps today but in that time period it was no small thing. They got a chance to cross lines.
I think the author of The Help has come under great critique and we live in such a world where that is a good thing. I applaud her for having the audacity to touch a subject that is a part of the country's history - race. I applaud her for having the audacity to cross the lines however successful or unsuccessful others deem her efforts. I applaud her for giving us another platform to talk about race. I always celebrate the opportunity to have authentic conversation about how are we going to learn, live, and love on this earth together celebrating the full humanity of all especially those who have been marginalized. Thank you!
"The Help" was one of the best books I read in 2010. I read it because a sister, soror, black female friend recommended it. Now up front a brief description about a white woman writing on the maids in the civil rights era would have held no interest for me. In fact, it was a turn off. But because a friend had read and recommended it so highly I downloaded it to my Kindle. Now the book was compelling and I found myself finished almost before I began. The book pulled at so many emotions I felt the need to talk to someone who had read the book. I wanted to talk to others to at least process my feelings. It's one of those books you need to talk about with others.
The books seemed legitimate and believable to me. Now let me be the first to say as a black woman I wouldn't know how accurate the author was to that time period and the black women she portrays. We are reading of a situation where racism was not only oppressive towards blacks it also oppressed a nation. In a book I am reading now, "The Warmth of the Other Sun," the author talks about how we are all constricted by oppression. For example, she mentions this lady had an artifact in her home that got interpreted by her company as Catholic. The comments to the women implying she was Catholic were so scary the lady took the item down immediately after they left and worked hard to show she was in no way Catholic. This example remind me of just how restrictive racism was/is where we all stay in our place, we are all bound. Now I understand race + power means that Blacks are often doubly and triply oppressed and in no way am I equating we all suffer the same. Instead I am wanting to say oppression harms us all.
As a kid, I grew up watching my grandmother help white families. I watched her cater to them in a way that humiliates me to this day. Now my grandmother has always been a kind person to me but she would butter these folks up like they were sweet corn. She acted different and they loved it. They would donate stuff to our family including clothes. I watch my family eat up any scraps they threw our way. I refused to wear or use anything that was given by these white families. With no words or analysis to help me understand what I was experiencing, I hated them. I hated what they represented and the role that had been designated for my grandmother as the help. If I was around them I would not smile or play with their kids. My aunt has scars on her knees from scrubbing white folks floors. And to add insult to injury the family she still works for at 73 years old asked her when the wife passed away if she could wear a white uniform to the funeral. The Help is not just a movie or some book or some analytical argument but it is the street that passes through my heart. It is about the unequal distribution of power and the places we've been assigned as a result. I get that.
Over and against the painful history of blacks in America, for me in some small way these women rebelled against the system just by telling their story at this time. They said what many Blacks have not gotten a chance to say to listening white people. They said what I never got a chance to say to those white families. They said what America has not fully yet heard. They were a small counter culture colony. They were risk involved for both sides. They did not accept the system as it is and so for a little while they journey together. In the book, the white journalist gives these black women a literary platform to speak to White America. It doesn't seem big perhaps today but in that time period it was no small thing. They got a chance to cross lines.
I think the author of The Help has come under great critique and we live in such a world where that is a good thing. I applaud her for having the audacity to touch a subject that is a part of the country's history - race. I applaud her for having the audacity to cross the lines however successful or unsuccessful others deem her efforts. I applaud her for giving us another platform to talk about race. I always celebrate the opportunity to have authentic conversation about how are we going to learn, live, and love on this earth together celebrating the full humanity of all especially those who have been marginalized. Thank you!
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Diversity Will Require Something More
I have a diverse group of friends and associates because I intentionally engage people from various communities. I have had a lot of closed doors but I am proud to say my community is diverse. I have spent most of my life living in racially diverse communities. In fact up until about 12 years ago when I lived in Bronzeville for 3 years I had always lived in a racially diverse community. For people in my age group and those younger this is a rarity. Perhaps it says much. Perhaps it says very little.
I can remember when I first came to Chicago to go to graduate school. It seemed to me whenever I socialized with white folks all they would talk about was their animals. Now you need to know my background to maybe understand why this was such a struggle. In my home in Virginia, animals, including dogs and cats, lived outside year round. It was treason for an animal to step foot inside a home. Carrying an animal in for medical problems or getting shots didn't happen. Dogs and cats got leftovers and special animal food was a rarity. That's just the way things were. So now I'm sitting with these folks who are talking about their dogs and cats with such passion and life. I am at a lost for words and it becomes impossible to find an entry into these conversations. I was soon on a mental plane out at these gatherings wondering when the night would end. When friends would ask me to come to the party I would share with closer friends I wasn't interested in talking about cats and dogs.
Now I'm sure this was not all "they" talked about but it's all I can remember. It sure dominated the conversation. And it left an imprint on my mind that has stayed with me to this day. So what' the point? That was the first title of this blog, "The Point." The point is for those committed to racial diversity (meaningful relationships with people of different race/ethnic groups) it is sometimes hard to find our entry point and sometimes we use that as an excuse to not engage those that are different from us. I'm reminded of one of my white friends who when hanging out with my black friends tells me I do not know what you all are talking about. You go into this dialect and I have no clue what you all are saying. It's frustrating for her and she feels left out like I did at those graduate school parties. Lets admit it different cultures have different ways of existing which can make us feel left out. Whether it's the topic or the language it will require something more of those of us who are committed to living in a diverse world.
The other night I was at a gathering with a racially mixed group. Towards the end of the night the Latinos congregated together and began singing some revolution songs in Spanish. I loved the music and so I made my way on over there. It was a spanish singing and spanish speaking moment. I did not understand one word but I swayed and allowed the spirit to sweep me away. It was still a little awkward. I didn't know how they felt about my presence. Eventually one sister came over and asked me if I spoke Spanish. She shared the words to the song. Then they played a song I know, "La Bamba." It was on. I could have stayed in my own comfort zone. We can all stay in our comfort zone. In fact many of us do. I left feeling glad I had ventured out.
Because this is my blog I can make generalizations and hope someone challenges me on my stuff. That said, multicultural/multiracial is often a word I hear white liberals sport. Some blacks are suspicious of the word. Liberal whites speak it so well and they share how important it is to them. But if you follow them closely like look at their gatherings or better yet check their facebook page out and with the exception of a few token non-whites you wonder if diversity stole away in the night. They take nice mission trips to Latin, Central and South America. They are concerned about the environment, and animals, etc. They love to cultivate their global awareness. They teach ASL classes, etc. but when it comes to reaching out to Black America, reaching out to the folks they still owe 40 acres and a mule to I find them lacking. Some will say I didn't do anything and I shouldn't be held responsible for what my ancestors did. To that I say you benefit from the privilege without any complaints. I don't hear them saying don't treat me so well because I don't deserve special treatment because of what my ancestors did in America. But I'm getting away from my point and my point is this - while multicultural is a word with so much potential for it to be a reality it takes intentionality i.e. moving beyond our comfort zones to have a conversation about cats. It takes more than interest it takes commitment. It takes more than a night of wine and cheese it takes us. Diversity requires something more!
I can remember when I first came to Chicago to go to graduate school. It seemed to me whenever I socialized with white folks all they would talk about was their animals. Now you need to know my background to maybe understand why this was such a struggle. In my home in Virginia, animals, including dogs and cats, lived outside year round. It was treason for an animal to step foot inside a home. Carrying an animal in for medical problems or getting shots didn't happen. Dogs and cats got leftovers and special animal food was a rarity. That's just the way things were. So now I'm sitting with these folks who are talking about their dogs and cats with such passion and life. I am at a lost for words and it becomes impossible to find an entry into these conversations. I was soon on a mental plane out at these gatherings wondering when the night would end. When friends would ask me to come to the party I would share with closer friends I wasn't interested in talking about cats and dogs.
Now I'm sure this was not all "they" talked about but it's all I can remember. It sure dominated the conversation. And it left an imprint on my mind that has stayed with me to this day. So what' the point? That was the first title of this blog, "The Point." The point is for those committed to racial diversity (meaningful relationships with people of different race/ethnic groups) it is sometimes hard to find our entry point and sometimes we use that as an excuse to not engage those that are different from us. I'm reminded of one of my white friends who when hanging out with my black friends tells me I do not know what you all are talking about. You go into this dialect and I have no clue what you all are saying. It's frustrating for her and she feels left out like I did at those graduate school parties. Lets admit it different cultures have different ways of existing which can make us feel left out. Whether it's the topic or the language it will require something more of those of us who are committed to living in a diverse world.
The other night I was at a gathering with a racially mixed group. Towards the end of the night the Latinos congregated together and began singing some revolution songs in Spanish. I loved the music and so I made my way on over there. It was a spanish singing and spanish speaking moment. I did not understand one word but I swayed and allowed the spirit to sweep me away. It was still a little awkward. I didn't know how they felt about my presence. Eventually one sister came over and asked me if I spoke Spanish. She shared the words to the song. Then they played a song I know, "La Bamba." It was on. I could have stayed in my own comfort zone. We can all stay in our comfort zone. In fact many of us do. I left feeling glad I had ventured out.
Because this is my blog I can make generalizations and hope someone challenges me on my stuff. That said, multicultural/multiracial is often a word I hear white liberals sport. Some blacks are suspicious of the word. Liberal whites speak it so well and they share how important it is to them. But if you follow them closely like look at their gatherings or better yet check their facebook page out and with the exception of a few token non-whites you wonder if diversity stole away in the night. They take nice mission trips to Latin, Central and South America. They are concerned about the environment, and animals, etc. They love to cultivate their global awareness. They teach ASL classes, etc. but when it comes to reaching out to Black America, reaching out to the folks they still owe 40 acres and a mule to I find them lacking. Some will say I didn't do anything and I shouldn't be held responsible for what my ancestors did. To that I say you benefit from the privilege without any complaints. I don't hear them saying don't treat me so well because I don't deserve special treatment because of what my ancestors did in America. But I'm getting away from my point and my point is this - while multicultural is a word with so much potential for it to be a reality it takes intentionality i.e. moving beyond our comfort zones to have a conversation about cats. It takes more than interest it takes commitment. It takes more than a night of wine and cheese it takes us. Diversity requires something more!
Friday, May 27, 2011
Relationships are Important
So it was time to visit my dentist. But before visiting the dentist I had this mental conversation in my head, right. My dentist lives far away from me. When I first started seeing her I worked a mile away from her office but some few jobs later my job nor my residence is close to her office. It only seems natural in a big city where there is lots of everything that I find a dentist closer to me especially with the rising gas prices. So this is the conversation I had with myself before walking in her office.
My dentist scares me. She's a strong black woman, the real thing. She's tall with lots of weave and she wears 3 inch heals or higher to work everyday. She dresses her but off and is keeping some cosmetic company in business. She has opinions and is not easily swayed which is an understatement. She is religious and she lives out what she believes. I think if we talked long and deep we probably would disagree on many things. I'm not going there. I love to playfully tease my dentist and staff but she has the ability to stop me or at least slow me down. I imagine I'll look like her in a few decades minus the heals and makeup. Okay so I'm somewhere between scared and impressed.
The exam is over. I'm like in her top 5 folks that take good care of their teeth. Please do not look at my teeth the next time you see me. I didn't start out on such a good page but like I said she scares me so I started flossing and brushing and doing what I had to do to keep the wrath of Dr. Young off my ----. And so another A+ report. I feel good but I'm still determined this drive is too far. I say goodbye and head to the receptionist. She follows. I'm keeping it cool. And then she announces she just had a birthday. My mother taught me manners so I say Happy Belated Birthday and asked what did she do. Well there must have been an open door because she spills out a few more sentences. I'm thinking I'm leaving so do not be friendly with me. And then she announces her age, 63. Okay so I'm totally shocked. I'm shocked because she looks younger. I squelch the question of retirement because she is still obviously good at what she does. I have new found respect for the sister with curly weave and 4 inch heals decked in red like it's nobody's business slightly hidden under the dentist wear. It is at that moment that I know I will drive far and I will return. I'm not even sure i can put it into words.
Good relationships are and have always been important. Good people are keepers. This dentist has been looking in my mouth for a while and she knows something about me. I dare say she's been looking inside of me. And i know a little something about her like she cares for her 19 year old with severed developmental disabilities. I know beyond the tough exterior is this wonderful caring person. I see it in her staff. I hear it in the glimpses of her life she shares. And I feel it in me. I will go back again and again because at the end of the day that's all that matters, you and me.
My dentist scares me. She's a strong black woman, the real thing. She's tall with lots of weave and she wears 3 inch heals or higher to work everyday. She dresses her but off and is keeping some cosmetic company in business. She has opinions and is not easily swayed which is an understatement. She is religious and she lives out what she believes. I think if we talked long and deep we probably would disagree on many things. I'm not going there. I love to playfully tease my dentist and staff but she has the ability to stop me or at least slow me down. I imagine I'll look like her in a few decades minus the heals and makeup. Okay so I'm somewhere between scared and impressed.
The exam is over. I'm like in her top 5 folks that take good care of their teeth. Please do not look at my teeth the next time you see me. I didn't start out on such a good page but like I said she scares me so I started flossing and brushing and doing what I had to do to keep the wrath of Dr. Young off my ----. And so another A+ report. I feel good but I'm still determined this drive is too far. I say goodbye and head to the receptionist. She follows. I'm keeping it cool. And then she announces she just had a birthday. My mother taught me manners so I say Happy Belated Birthday and asked what did she do. Well there must have been an open door because she spills out a few more sentences. I'm thinking I'm leaving so do not be friendly with me. And then she announces her age, 63. Okay so I'm totally shocked. I'm shocked because she looks younger. I squelch the question of retirement because she is still obviously good at what she does. I have new found respect for the sister with curly weave and 4 inch heals decked in red like it's nobody's business slightly hidden under the dentist wear. It is at that moment that I know I will drive far and I will return. I'm not even sure i can put it into words.
Good relationships are and have always been important. Good people are keepers. This dentist has been looking in my mouth for a while and she knows something about me. I dare say she's been looking inside of me. And i know a little something about her like she cares for her 19 year old with severed developmental disabilities. I know beyond the tough exterior is this wonderful caring person. I see it in her staff. I hear it in the glimpses of her life she shares. And I feel it in me. I will go back again and again because at the end of the day that's all that matters, you and me.
Monday, May 16, 2011
A Face
Have you ever been to a shopping mall on a Saturday and looked for parking? You drive down rows and rows of diagonal parking. The only parking you can find is way at the end of the row. Oh and there's one more place close and up front, handicapped parking. Usually if there are four handicapped spaces only one car is parked. (Note: Occasionally I have seen cars without a handicap sticker park there or seen people park with no disability and get out and walk). Or have you ever been in the bathroom and there were two stalls and because the handicap stall was more spacious you went on in.
In undergraduate school I had a classmate whose mom was handicapped, confined to a wheel chair. She explained the challenges her mom faced. She talked about unclean stalls and how hard it is for someone in a wheel chair to maneuver such situations. She talked about buildings that claimed to be handicap accessible yet her mom's chair could not get past the front door entrance. That story touched me. As I listened to her share the struggles her mom faced I felt convicted that I was a part of a crowd that was insensitive and clueless to the challenges of another. Though I never met my classmate's mom that story gave a face to physical disability. It made me just a little bit more aware. And on that day I aligned my actions to be more sensitive to those who are physically challenged.
As I look at the political tensions surrounding illegal immigrants and same sex marriage I wonder if these issues had a face would or could we be more humane. On both of these issues I use to be very conservative. By conservative I mean "go back" and "get out." I am not saying liberal is the way but what I am saying is that through life experiences and being in relationship with people who are adversely affected by these issues has given me a face. It gives integrity to the discussion. It is not just an issue to debate but it is people's lives. I still do not have all the answers but having a face makes the discussion more humane.
Elisabeth Lesser introduced a notion of inviting the other to lunch. You explore the following: Share some of your life experiences. What issues deeply concern you? What have you always wanted to ask someone from the other side? Of course the other is that person or group that we can't stand. She says by going to lunch with the other you begin a real conversation. She gets that right now we are more divisive than other and we are good at demonizing other. So she invited a Tea Party member to lunch. What they learned is that they knew no one who fit the labels that the other group had given to them. What she didn't say but I will say is that they both had a new face for Tea Party and Liberal. Okay maybe I'm not totally won over by this idea but it is compelling.
It is so easy to be divided and to feel the rightness of our cause but that's another blog. It is easy to think and live as us versus them. It is easy to demonize others and feel justified in our acts. It is easy to never cross the tracks. It is easy to hate. It is much harder, more liberating, and life transforming to see the face of other.
In undergraduate school I had a classmate whose mom was handicapped, confined to a wheel chair. She explained the challenges her mom faced. She talked about unclean stalls and how hard it is for someone in a wheel chair to maneuver such situations. She talked about buildings that claimed to be handicap accessible yet her mom's chair could not get past the front door entrance. That story touched me. As I listened to her share the struggles her mom faced I felt convicted that I was a part of a crowd that was insensitive and clueless to the challenges of another. Though I never met my classmate's mom that story gave a face to physical disability. It made me just a little bit more aware. And on that day I aligned my actions to be more sensitive to those who are physically challenged.
As I look at the political tensions surrounding illegal immigrants and same sex marriage I wonder if these issues had a face would or could we be more humane. On both of these issues I use to be very conservative. By conservative I mean "go back" and "get out." I am not saying liberal is the way but what I am saying is that through life experiences and being in relationship with people who are adversely affected by these issues has given me a face. It gives integrity to the discussion. It is not just an issue to debate but it is people's lives. I still do not have all the answers but having a face makes the discussion more humane.
Elisabeth Lesser introduced a notion of inviting the other to lunch. You explore the following: Share some of your life experiences. What issues deeply concern you? What have you always wanted to ask someone from the other side? Of course the other is that person or group that we can't stand. She says by going to lunch with the other you begin a real conversation. She gets that right now we are more divisive than other and we are good at demonizing other. So she invited a Tea Party member to lunch. What they learned is that they knew no one who fit the labels that the other group had given to them. What she didn't say but I will say is that they both had a new face for Tea Party and Liberal. Okay maybe I'm not totally won over by this idea but it is compelling.
It is so easy to be divided and to feel the rightness of our cause but that's another blog. It is easy to think and live as us versus them. It is easy to demonize others and feel justified in our acts. It is easy to never cross the tracks. It is easy to hate. It is much harder, more liberating, and life transforming to see the face of other.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
The Distance
On my way to the airport last week I rode on the blue line with people going to work. There was this middle age Latino woman dark complexioned with long hair twisted up. There was a glow in her eyes and instantly among all the riders I felt a connection with her. Several stops later two more Latino women entered who sat beside her. She introduced me to them as her friend or so I thought form the little Spanish I understood. It was a brief encounter but it left me feeling good about her, myself, and diversity.
I love diversity really I do. People are just interesting and their particularities just adds to the fun. As a military kid I was raised in diversity so I guess I have always been exposed. In an era where many of my peers grew up among people of the same race/ethnicity I grew up with people from all over the world. I did not know then how rich and unique was my experience. I have almost always with the exception of 3 years lived in diverse neighborhoods.
That said I still think there is this unspeakable distance between people of different race/ethnicity, in particular blacks and whites. Perhaps it is not for all and perhaps if there is a distance that distance gets defined differently by each of us. And for some of us it is a distance we live with comfortably. For me that distance is this gnawing belief that deep in the psyche of whites (and other non-Blacks) is a belief that they are inherently superior and that Black have brought the lie that we are inferior. I think prejudice has conspired and made it a reality of sorts. This is the distance that stands between us and them.
Tonight I watched the 50th Anniversary of the Freedom Riders on Oprah. Oprah had 178 of the 436 Freedom Riders survivors on her show. Diane Nash reported that segregation was humiliating. She said that every time she walked through one of those signs that read colored or white she felt like she was agreeing that she was inferior. Another man tells the story of coming into a bus terminal and having a white man beat him until he was bloody. The police asked if he wanted to press charges and he said we didn't come to start trouble but that people would love one another. And the white man heard that and it gnawed at him for 48 years. And in 2009 he apologized to the man he physically attacked. The freedom riders got on the bus to face a hell on earth called hate. What courage it took to board that bus. Through nonviolent behavior they thought they could change the world and they did.
I hope that more of us will have the courage to lessen the distance from one heart to another. The distance is there but we each have a moral responsibility to lessen the gap by reaching out towards one another. Amen!
I love diversity really I do. People are just interesting and their particularities just adds to the fun. As a military kid I was raised in diversity so I guess I have always been exposed. In an era where many of my peers grew up among people of the same race/ethnicity I grew up with people from all over the world. I did not know then how rich and unique was my experience. I have almost always with the exception of 3 years lived in diverse neighborhoods.
That said I still think there is this unspeakable distance between people of different race/ethnicity, in particular blacks and whites. Perhaps it is not for all and perhaps if there is a distance that distance gets defined differently by each of us. And for some of us it is a distance we live with comfortably. For me that distance is this gnawing belief that deep in the psyche of whites (and other non-Blacks) is a belief that they are inherently superior and that Black have brought the lie that we are inferior. I think prejudice has conspired and made it a reality of sorts. This is the distance that stands between us and them.
Tonight I watched the 50th Anniversary of the Freedom Riders on Oprah. Oprah had 178 of the 436 Freedom Riders survivors on her show. Diane Nash reported that segregation was humiliating. She said that every time she walked through one of those signs that read colored or white she felt like she was agreeing that she was inferior. Another man tells the story of coming into a bus terminal and having a white man beat him until he was bloody. The police asked if he wanted to press charges and he said we didn't come to start trouble but that people would love one another. And the white man heard that and it gnawed at him for 48 years. And in 2009 he apologized to the man he physically attacked. The freedom riders got on the bus to face a hell on earth called hate. What courage it took to board that bus. Through nonviolent behavior they thought they could change the world and they did.
I hope that more of us will have the courage to lessen the distance from one heart to another. The distance is there but we each have a moral responsibility to lessen the gap by reaching out towards one another. Amen!
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