A drug and alcohol PSA

When you talk to your kids about drugs and alcohol, feel free to tell them that you know a lady that will always carry the heart of her brother, a boy that didn't see past 20 because he never thought those things happened until they did. They didn't talk about that sort of thing in their family until it was well past late. Of course, maybe it would have happened even if they had, but no one will ever know. And sadly, no one in his family will ever really talk about it all because his family shattered into hundreds of unrecognizable pieces and drifted away. 

A ripple upon a ripple that built into a wave and washed it all away. And now, she tells that boy every single birthday and anniversary to remember to save her a seat. 

Happy 30th. 

I have a dream

Today it's Martin Luther King Jr day. In the US, we've chosen to set aside to honor the life and efforts of noted civil rights activist of the same name. In light of recent events in our country, this year gives me occasion for greater reflection. This morning, a friend challenged to me to write my own Dream Speech. That's a little more lofty that I can manage right now, but my wheels are spinning.

I am dreaming of better things. Last week, when I sat at a picnic table with a half dozen other white women of similar socio-economic background, one woman began to talk about Hollywood, cinematic awards, and a recent movie that was released reviewing the impact of Selma on voting rights. She made it clear she wouldn't be seeing such a movie because it wasn't relevant to her. She questioned who would be seeing it. She repeatedly used the phrase, "you know." As in, "You know how blacks don't go to the movies.." and "you know how if there is a black character in a movie, or someone in the audience is black, then someone gets shot?" at first I was dumbfounded. Speechless. I'm not speechless often, so this was really something. A couple of people were nodding in agreement. One person was moving away.

Then, I said, "I think we have very different vantage points and there's probably nothing I can say that you'll want to hear." She kept on with the same themes. Finally, I said, "no, I really don't know."
and shut down the conversation, I left feeling as though I had not done enough to shine light in darkness. I left feeling as though the only thing I actually knew was that she had no interest in hearing about someone else. She made that abundantly clear.

I'm dreaming that will never happen again. I'm dreaming it will become more fashionable to understand than to be understood, because that's what makes space for both to happen.

I'm dreaming there will be no stories of poorly behaved white people avoiding consequences and punishments that POC receive in comparable situations. Further, I dream we all have hope that grace, hard work and opportunity aren't color dependent. .

I dream that my well dressed, well educated, African American friend will not be pulled over at gunpoint by an officer while her teenage daughter sits beside her because he thinks her window tint is too dark. It wasn't by the way. Too bad she didn't know she wasn't supposed to be in that neighborhood...

I'm dreaming that my friend's white daughter will be given the same courtesy and space in retail stores after her 12 year old black brother joins her...

I'm dreaming that my other friend's biracial sons will grow up with the opportunity to celebrate their history and a future, with opportunities not dependent on color.  I want them to believe that hard work really can make a difference. It's not an automatic where I grew up. Consider just for a moment, the impact hope, and the lack thereof plays in our life.

I'm dreaming that if needed, we can air grievances, and then like big kids, we'll figure out how to move forward. Our country has a long list of foreign and domestic obstacles to face. Neither disavowing hardship and distance, nor using vast resources to prolong those grievances allows adequate resources to combat real enemies. If we choose to waste energy to maintain an oppressive status quo, we will not have the resources necessary to fight external evil. We will be our own undoing. That's going to require some give all around. I propose we start the giving with the group that is most vested in maintaining the system. I've got a long list of events that indicates we haven't fully given inclusion a chance.

I'm dreaming that we as a nation, as men and women, as people, as Children of God and offspring of a Creator, will give space to Divine work and choose unity, forgiveness, and reconciliation. I pray that we unify to bring light, love and hope to dark places in ourselves, our neighbors, and the world. Jesus Christ practiced radical inclusion. That led to some mighty big things, both good and bad. I dream we will all put aside fear and walk in faith. What if our God really does have a big house and a really big table? What if?

I told you I was a dreamer.

Losing weight and gaining a life

I used to be about a hundred pounds heavier. Now I'm not. I've been the not over 15 years now, and most of the people that knew me all along have forgotten how big big was, and the new friends cant imagine such a thing. Sometimes, when they find out, I see them sizing me up, wondering where it was, how I looked. I looked like me, except a little more scared, a little more restless, a little more hidden. It was my shell, or better yet, my cocoon. Because somewhere in learning that I like to move, eat nutritious foods, express how I feel, and try new things, I realized I was unfolding and sometimes, even flying. For the record, I'm officially out of the box, and I don't plan to go back.

So how did it happen? I get that a lot, and I don't usually know how to answer. The short answer is that I made a lot of changes, and kept them up. The long answer is just that. Long. Remember, I've spent last 15 or 16 years learning to live. In consideration of the very dear people that have asked me to share a bit more on that, here goes.

 Back in eighth grade, the adults around me got worried. Evidently, I was going through a chunky phase, and my mom, being helpful, took the car, mapped out a mile, and told me to run or ride my bike. She also bought me a thermos to bring diet shakes to school. Neither of those was as helpful as she was hoping. However, she was on to something. I did need to exercise, and I did need to think about nutrition.

Fast forward ten years, a couple of diets, and a big weight gain, something changed for real. This guy, Bill Phillips, used to run ads for supplements and fitness contests in fitness magazines. My husband used to buy these magazines, and being an avid reader, I used to read them. After several months of reading these magazines, I was inspired to make a few changes. I stopped eating foot long subs. I took the stairs a little more often. Somewhere in there, I joined a gym, and signed up for a few sessions with a personal trainer. You get the idea. I was about to undo, and relearn how to take care of myself. When I started to make these changes, it was scary, and I had no idea where to start. It went against every life pattern I'd learned growing up. There was no getting back to basics, because I was laying a foundation for the first time.

Then, I got a wild hair that I was going to do one of these competitions. Please understand how crazy this was. When I looked at the pictures, the winners were definitely fit. I was not; I was miles from fit. Never mind, I was hooked. I bought and read the book Body For Life by Bill Phillips. I thought about possible menu choices. I figured out preferred and back up times for exercise. Then came the very scary day I put on a two piece bathing suit, held my dated newspaper, and let someone take my picture. I had begun.

Life calls, and I must answer. Until next time...
I remain, as do you, a pilgrim on a journey. Let's walk together for a bit; it's better that way.

Storyteller

I tell a lot of stories: short ones, long ones, funny ones, sad ones. I tell stories where I get it, and stories where I don't. To be honest, I don't always know what's going to pop out of my mouth next. It's a little bit dangerous, and it leaves a lot of time to wonder what people think of me. Telling tales about oneself ought to come with an immunity feature, where one stops caring what people think, but it's not like that. Instead, I share thoughts and worry did it build a bridge? Did it help communicate or nudge? Did I sound like  an idiot?

To get a good story, one has to live a full life. Maybe not a nice life, I've met a lot of people with great stories, and they walked paths I try to avoid. A full life isn't necessarily one that always says yes, but it's one that knows the goal(s) and keeps moving forward. It's one that learns from others, takes joy in being alive, and chooses to show up whether there is rain or sun.

The only thing I like better than to have a good story, is to hear a good story. Community matters. Bridges matter. That's the whole point of a story anyway. We live and tell the stories to build the bridges. In that way, we make the going a bit easier for all.

What's your story?