"Are you guys going to try for a third child?" The well meaning guy behind the counter innocently asked. My 'inside voice' said, "Two weeks ago our third child was scraped out of my uterus by my doctor." But instead I shrugged, "I don't know." It was the honest answer and the easiest.
Very sweet people who are close to us want to know what happened, but I haven't wanted to talk about it. I still don't. But I'm hoping that by writing about it here that those questions can be answered and maybe even another step toward healing can happen. The biggest thing I've learned through this experience is how many, many people have gone through this. So I know I don't have the market cornered on losing a pregnancy by any means. This is just my experience of it - which is, unfortunately one of many.
It was a strange thing to have to admit that I had to be out of work for a D & C. Still being in the first trimester meant most people in my life didn't know I was pregnant, and now I had to share that I was and I had lost it, and needed a medical procedure to finally end it. That's a lot of information to have to share and absorb in one moment. But this story didn't start off that way - in the beginning it looked like it would be a really good story to share someday...
At the end of August, I took a test and learned I was pregnant. This was our third child, and would be our last. I was ecstatic and relieved. A year ago, we "tried" and it didn't happen. I was beginning to wonder if our moment had passed - maybe it wouldn't happen for us this time. I had shared with Chris a month earlier my fear that it might not happen for us again. Then there it was: 2 lines on a stick. It was happening.
I even vacillated over whether or not to tell him right away. It was a Monday morning, and I drove David to school so I could think about what to do. I finally decided I had to tell him, but how? I wanted to be creative. I remembered he had asked the day before if he could read my sermon from that morning (I had supplied somewhere and he went to our usual parish with the kids). So I raced home and pulled up my sermon. At the end I typed, "The test was positive. I am pregnant. Amen." [Some might remember that he proposed to me in a similar way.] He came downstairs and I asked if he wanted to look at my sermon before I closed it on my computer. He said sure and sat down to read. At one point, he stopped reading and said, "You know - I've been thinking about Moses..." and as much as I wanted to shout just read it, I bit my tongue and bantered with him. He went back to reading. I moved behind him, and when he got to the last page, he sprang up and goes, "What does this mean? What does this mean?" I just smiled and nodded. He hugged me so tightly and laughed - and cried;. He was so happy, and so was I.
And then I got sick. Really sick. Sicker than I had ever been in two previous pregnancies. It was hard not to just tell people that I was pregnant to explain my green-ness or bad attitude. But I wanted to adhere to the first trimester don't tell rule. We did in the past, and it made sense to do it again.
Except we have a five year old who has been praying over the past year almost constantly for a baby sister. Not telling him was so hard. But we waited until we saw in black and white that little flutter of a heartbeat. All was well! So we told the boys that night. David was ecstatic! We told him it was a secret and we'd just share it with our immediate family for now. Apparently he proceeded to tell his friends and teachers at school though. Asking a 5 year old to keep this secret probably wasn't very fair...
Since the baby was measuring only 7 weeks 4 days at that first appointment (about a week behind schedule), the NP recommended we come back in 3 weeks for another ultrasound. That's when we learned the sad news. At first, she couldn't find the fetus. Then it was there and she zoomed in and moved around, and squinted. There was no heartbeat. She turned on the Doppler which last time sounded 147 beats per minute, this time was silent. I began to cry and so did Chris. This is every parent's worst nightmare. And it felt like a nightmare. But it was real.
Telling David was the hardest. I told him that at the doctors office she found that the baby isn't there anymore, and that sometimes God decides that this isn't the right time for this particular baby and takes it back to heaven. He asked why God would do that, and I told him I don't know, but that we are very sad about it, and its ok to feel sad. He turned and buried his face in the couch and began sobbing - a pure mixture of sorrow and anger. "But I want THIS baby!" he cried. "Why would God take it away from us?" These were the lamentations of a 5 year old - the lamentations we would likewise scream if we weren't so grown up. We cried together and I reminded him that we have each other and our families and all of this love would get us through. He decided he was too upset to go to soccer practice, and it seemed right to honor that feeling.
Two days later, I sat on the bed with David and explained I was going to the doctor that day and they were going to fix something inside me, and that I wouldn't feel good and would have to rest for a few days. "Will this bring the baby back?" he asked. "No baby, it won't," I said, my heart breaking all over again. He had asked me the night before if it was ok for him to start praying for another baby. I didn't know what to tell him. I still don't. I fell back on the, "You can always talk to God about anything you want," advice...
My OB practice is amazing. Even though they knew the result wouldn't change, they let us come early for another ultrasound - just to make sure. The little one still measured exactly 8 weeks, as it did two days earlier (it would've been 10 1/2 weeks by then). So we knew for sure. We walked across the street to Trinity Cathedral where Dean Baker met us to pray with us and anoint us before we went back to check in to the surgery center. The kind nurse took me back and I changed into the hospital gown. I sat on the gurney trying to focus on reading my Glamour magazine. The curtain flew open and three nurses came in bearing blankets and charts - and I burst into tears. I knew this pregnancy would end in surgery - I just didn't imagine it would be like this. And, as often happened when I did CPE, upon seeing my tears, the nurses freaked out. "I'm just really sad," I told them. "I'm ok." They were very sweet and waited for me to compose myself before they continued. Having just anointed someone in the hospital, it was very hard to be suddenly on the other side of the medical procedure.
Chris brought me home from the procedure, but recovery was slow. Slower than I thought or wanted it to be. Having been so sick for over 2 months, I just wanted to feel better, to be back to normal again. It took about a week, but I got there. My extreme nausea is gone, my little baby bump is gone, my energy level is back. But the sadness remains. Yet, there are a few things that I'm grateful for. I'm thankful that we have 2 beautiful, healthy children. I'm thankful that I have an amazing family, colleagues, Board members, and students who rallied to make it ok for me to be off work. I'm thankful I have an amazing husband and that we can lean on each other through this (and that he was my side all the way through).
As I would imagine everyone who goes through this feels, I feel guilty - wondering what I did or didn't do, even though I know this was unpreventable. That pregnancy was brutal - being so sick, and tired, and having every nasty pregnancy symptom all at once. You get through it because you know the payoff will be worth it. There is no payoff here - and that is unspeakably tragic. And the way I thought these next 8 months would play out is now over. Our world changed with that pregnancy test - as it has twice before. But now that world has imploded. And I know so many women have gone through exactly this - there is some solace in that. The NP said 40% of pregnancies end this way. So we are not alone. But the pain is still there and I doubt it will be going anywhere for awhile.
We will heal from this, and all will be well again, but for now, we grieve for the flutter we will never meet, the due date that will never come, this little one we will never see except on a blurry ultrasound photo. My sweet little niece suggested I could have one of 'her' babies - her little sister or brother. I told her it doesn't work that way. I mean that's the big question now, right? One of the first things the NP said to us was we'd just have to wait a cycle or two and then we could try again. Try again? It's hard to think about that. There is no way to replace this lost pregnancy. The loss will always be there. But to risk all of this again - I just don't know...
We have drawn so much strength and hope from hearing all the stories that so many people have shared with us about their experiences with miscarriages. And from all the prayers and love and support that everyone has offered us. To say I'm grateful is a huge understatement. Y'all are amazing. I'm guessing there will be moments of sadness (hearing "The Circle of Life" on the radio had me in tears the other day), but as time goes on we've taken refuge in our family routine. And work. And the knowledge that God has not forsaken us and that we have much to be grateful for. And we truly are.
Friday, November 4, 2011
Monday, September 12, 2011
September 11, 2011 Sermon
I don't think I've ever shared a sermon I've written online. But since some of you asked, here is the sermon I preached yesterday at St. Paul's Church in Benicia. Luckily, I didn't know until after the service that the Rev. Dr. Linda Clader, CDSP professor of homelitics, was in the congregation (she introduced herself and was very complimentary, although my heart still jumped into my throat when she said her name!). But in any case, here is what I said.
Ten years ago today our lives were changed forever. The course of history was changed forever. September 11th is now and will probably always be a holy day – a day set apart for special remembrances, observances, and tributes. For those of us who were old enough to retain a memory of that day, the story of September 11th is a sacred story, one that is as central and formative to our lives personally, emotionally, and spirituality as any other momentous life experience has been. And because anniversaries like this are an important time of memory-keeping and story sharing, what I’d like to do is start with giving us a chance to give voice to those sacred stories. I’d like to invite you to turn to someone sitting near you – who doesn’t already know the answer – and share very briefly the answer to these two questions: where were you on September 11th and what were you doing?
Giving voice to this moment is really important because it’s a literal turning point, a place where a dividing line exists in space and time in our lives. On September 11th, I was about two weeks into my first year of seminary at Yale in New Haven, Connecticut. I had set my alarm to get up several hours before my first class so that I could do some reading. This was unusual for me because I was definitely not a morning person. My alarm went off and I turned on my radio. Instead of hearing music or the silly goings on of morning radio programs, it was CNN. It took a second to process and figure out what they were talking about, but once it registered, I turned on the TV to see those images that are the consummate symbols of September 11th – the twin towers in flames. Within seconds of flipping on the TV my then boyfriend (now husband) called. “Do you know what’s happening?” he asked. He was thousands of miles away in Florida, but we stayed on the phone both watching TV, stunned, horrified, helpless. Miles apart, we watched the towers fall together. From the moment I turned on the TV, a nausea set in that I don’t think went away for days if not weeks after that moment.
Yale prides itself on never, ever canceling classes for any reason. A flurry of emails went out stating that classes were still on. As much as I didn’t want to go, I went to my classes. I have no memory of what my professors lectured about that day. I doubt they do either. I found myself wondering what the purpose of making us sit in class at a time like this was, and it taught me that sometimes it’s good to take solace in a routine, but sometimes we need to stop and take care of ourselves and each other. My seminary insisted on the former when we really needed the latter. But, we mostly pressed on through the day, ending with our Episcopal colloquia. There, the Dean shared with us that our Dean of Students, Sandy Stayner and her husband David, had been at Trinity Wall Street with Rowan Williams, and they had all run for their lives. They had made it to Stanton Island and were traumatized but safe. He led us in prayer and let us go, the first act of generosity and mercy we had experienced that day.
This is the context in which I began my studies and formation for ordained ministry and was truly fundamental in shaping everything since in my career serving God and the church. My seminary classmates and I prayed that the unity and hope that was September 12th would be the beginning of a new era. We hoped that the leaders of our country would not seek to repay violence with violence. We prayed that the people that packed our churches, attended candle light vigils and panel discussions – all those searching for the answer to WHY did this happen? – would see this as an opportunity for a new understanding and a new beginning. We prayed that this would lead to peace and eventually a reconciliation unlike any ever known before.
Of course that’s not what happened. We launched into wars. We shopped and spent our way out of our emotional depressions – only to land in a fiscal one today. Divisions between people have grown. Our distrust of foreigners and desire to close our borders has intensified. Our churches are struggling more than ever before to share our message of God’s love and thereby keep our ministries alive. So, what does all this mean? How can we make sense of the last ten years? I think one of the most poignant lessons has been to recognize the difference between the way the world responds to events such as September 11th, and they way Jesus calls us to respond to events such as this. Because more often than not, there is a huge difference between the two.
I mean, it is an utterly human response to turn inward in the face of such horror. To cling to those around us who we know and trust. To seek self-protection, safety, security. Who wasn’t desperate for those things after September 11th? Think about the disciples in the face of the Crucifixion. When the Romans showed up to arrest Jesus – they scattered. They hid. They watched him die from a distance, and denied they knew him. They were scared. They wanted to be safe – to not risk happening to them what had just happened to their friend and leader. But Jesus reappears and tells them they have work to do. They can’t hide! They have to go back out there and PREACH THE GOSPEL! Tell people about the love of God, of God’s desire for us to love each other and help each other. And that they have to do this no matter what trials and tribulations they may face. Because the Gospel is a dangerous message. It’s a message that flies in the face of fear and oppression. It brings hope to those who have no hope. It is the message that the things of this world are not all that there is – that there is a God and a life that is more than any of us have here in this place at this time. And so the world can do its worst. We have nothing to fear! Jesus has promised that we will be with God forever. And that is a message of liberation – a message of love. And it changed the course of the history of the world.
But it is a message that is really hard for many of us to believe and accept. Especially in the face of the evil we all witnessed on September 11th and then over and over again – in the face of that evil our human side takes over and often we want vengeance. We want payback. We want that evil to be gone from our world. And yet, what does Jesus tell us? In the Gospel lesson assigned today, Jesus tells us to forgive and forgive some more. Seventy-seven times, to be exact. And the moral of the parable is: if you have been forgiven, then you also must forgive. And friends, because of Jesus, WE ARE FORGIVEN! So each of us is already in that must-forgive boat.
And yet, this for many of us is easier said than done. When we’ve witnessed something unspeakably tragic, forgiveness is often the last thing one wants to consider. And yet, this is Jesus’ message to us, on this day. FORGIVE. You’ve probably heard the saying that to hate someone is like drinking poison and waiting for the person to die. Point being: you’re only hurting yourself. Holding onto the anger and the fear is the same. In many ways, that’s what has happened with September 11th. It’s hard to get past, it’s hard to let go of those emotions.
And yet there have been moments of hope – moments of people reaching out to those in Afghanistan, seeking understanding with our Muslim brothers and sisters, projects committed to healing and peace. Indeed, what time and history teach us is God has not forsaken us. Shortly after September 11th, my Old Testament professor, Dr. John Collins, pointed out that when the Temple in Jerusalem was destroyed, it was a similarly horrifying and tragic event. The Temple was the center of their lives, their worship, their politics – everything. And the destruction of the Temple was not just about losing a building – it meant God no longer had a house on earth, and therefore had fled the world. I mean, now we read about the destruction of the Temple in the Bible and it’s just a thing that happened. But Dr. Collins emphasized, this event was nothing short of cataclysmic. And yet – they got through it. What we know now is God did not forsake the world, and the Ancient Israelites didn’t stop believing or worshipping God. And God continued to reach out to humanity.
While the destruction of the Jerusalem Temple and the events of September 11th are not perfect parallels by any means, for people of faith the takeaway message is: out of tremendous sorrow and pain, out of those questions of ‘where is God?’ and ‘why would God allow such tragedy to occur?’, comes a new day. God is still here. And we can move forward and rebuild. As people of faith, we have these sacred stories, long-held assurances of God’s presence throughout history. And the reality is people make bad choices, and do bad things. Even catastrophic things. That is going to happen. But God has never forsaken us and never will, and offers us a way to be different – to not allow our hearts to be overwhelmed with hatred and grief, but rather to rise above, to seek forgiveness, and to start again at the beginning – in God’s boundless love. And because we know that love, we know the Gospel of Jesus Christ and the forgiveness he offers us, we must share that at all times and in all places so that we can be agents of peace and reconciliation. The world will not do it on its own – people are too flawed, too angry, too scared. But with God healing can occur, and we can emerge stronger and better for it.
This has been a tumultuous decade and now perhaps we are in a place that we can pause, take stock of where we have been, what has worked and what has not, and put ourselves to the task living as disciples of the Gospel: with the good news that there is nothing to fear! We are forgiven, we are loved, and we can let that love embrace everything we do and all of our interactions henceforth. This is how we can – as Paul says – overcome evil with good. We owe it to those who lost their lives on September 11th and in the time since then, to strive for nothing less. Jesus teaches us to forgive, to be healers, and to love all people. He set aside his fear and won for us eternal life. I pray that on this solemn 10th anniversary, we his followers can carry on his example because this is a world that needs him – needs us. And together we can do it in his name. Amen.
Ten years ago today our lives were changed forever. The course of history was changed forever. September 11th is now and will probably always be a holy day – a day set apart for special remembrances, observances, and tributes. For those of us who were old enough to retain a memory of that day, the story of September 11th is a sacred story, one that is as central and formative to our lives personally, emotionally, and spirituality as any other momentous life experience has been. And because anniversaries like this are an important time of memory-keeping and story sharing, what I’d like to do is start with giving us a chance to give voice to those sacred stories. I’d like to invite you to turn to someone sitting near you – who doesn’t already know the answer – and share very briefly the answer to these two questions: where were you on September 11th and what were you doing?
Giving voice to this moment is really important because it’s a literal turning point, a place where a dividing line exists in space and time in our lives. On September 11th, I was about two weeks into my first year of seminary at Yale in New Haven, Connecticut. I had set my alarm to get up several hours before my first class so that I could do some reading. This was unusual for me because I was definitely not a morning person. My alarm went off and I turned on my radio. Instead of hearing music or the silly goings on of morning radio programs, it was CNN. It took a second to process and figure out what they were talking about, but once it registered, I turned on the TV to see those images that are the consummate symbols of September 11th – the twin towers in flames. Within seconds of flipping on the TV my then boyfriend (now husband) called. “Do you know what’s happening?” he asked. He was thousands of miles away in Florida, but we stayed on the phone both watching TV, stunned, horrified, helpless. Miles apart, we watched the towers fall together. From the moment I turned on the TV, a nausea set in that I don’t think went away for days if not weeks after that moment.
Yale prides itself on never, ever canceling classes for any reason. A flurry of emails went out stating that classes were still on. As much as I didn’t want to go, I went to my classes. I have no memory of what my professors lectured about that day. I doubt they do either. I found myself wondering what the purpose of making us sit in class at a time like this was, and it taught me that sometimes it’s good to take solace in a routine, but sometimes we need to stop and take care of ourselves and each other. My seminary insisted on the former when we really needed the latter. But, we mostly pressed on through the day, ending with our Episcopal colloquia. There, the Dean shared with us that our Dean of Students, Sandy Stayner and her husband David, had been at Trinity Wall Street with Rowan Williams, and they had all run for their lives. They had made it to Stanton Island and were traumatized but safe. He led us in prayer and let us go, the first act of generosity and mercy we had experienced that day.
This is the context in which I began my studies and formation for ordained ministry and was truly fundamental in shaping everything since in my career serving God and the church. My seminary classmates and I prayed that the unity and hope that was September 12th would be the beginning of a new era. We hoped that the leaders of our country would not seek to repay violence with violence. We prayed that the people that packed our churches, attended candle light vigils and panel discussions – all those searching for the answer to WHY did this happen? – would see this as an opportunity for a new understanding and a new beginning. We prayed that this would lead to peace and eventually a reconciliation unlike any ever known before.
Of course that’s not what happened. We launched into wars. We shopped and spent our way out of our emotional depressions – only to land in a fiscal one today. Divisions between people have grown. Our distrust of foreigners and desire to close our borders has intensified. Our churches are struggling more than ever before to share our message of God’s love and thereby keep our ministries alive. So, what does all this mean? How can we make sense of the last ten years? I think one of the most poignant lessons has been to recognize the difference between the way the world responds to events such as September 11th, and they way Jesus calls us to respond to events such as this. Because more often than not, there is a huge difference between the two.
I mean, it is an utterly human response to turn inward in the face of such horror. To cling to those around us who we know and trust. To seek self-protection, safety, security. Who wasn’t desperate for those things after September 11th? Think about the disciples in the face of the Crucifixion. When the Romans showed up to arrest Jesus – they scattered. They hid. They watched him die from a distance, and denied they knew him. They were scared. They wanted to be safe – to not risk happening to them what had just happened to their friend and leader. But Jesus reappears and tells them they have work to do. They can’t hide! They have to go back out there and PREACH THE GOSPEL! Tell people about the love of God, of God’s desire for us to love each other and help each other. And that they have to do this no matter what trials and tribulations they may face. Because the Gospel is a dangerous message. It’s a message that flies in the face of fear and oppression. It brings hope to those who have no hope. It is the message that the things of this world are not all that there is – that there is a God and a life that is more than any of us have here in this place at this time. And so the world can do its worst. We have nothing to fear! Jesus has promised that we will be with God forever. And that is a message of liberation – a message of love. And it changed the course of the history of the world.
But it is a message that is really hard for many of us to believe and accept. Especially in the face of the evil we all witnessed on September 11th and then over and over again – in the face of that evil our human side takes over and often we want vengeance. We want payback. We want that evil to be gone from our world. And yet, what does Jesus tell us? In the Gospel lesson assigned today, Jesus tells us to forgive and forgive some more. Seventy-seven times, to be exact. And the moral of the parable is: if you have been forgiven, then you also must forgive. And friends, because of Jesus, WE ARE FORGIVEN! So each of us is already in that must-forgive boat.
And yet, this for many of us is easier said than done. When we’ve witnessed something unspeakably tragic, forgiveness is often the last thing one wants to consider. And yet, this is Jesus’ message to us, on this day. FORGIVE. You’ve probably heard the saying that to hate someone is like drinking poison and waiting for the person to die. Point being: you’re only hurting yourself. Holding onto the anger and the fear is the same. In many ways, that’s what has happened with September 11th. It’s hard to get past, it’s hard to let go of those emotions.
And yet there have been moments of hope – moments of people reaching out to those in Afghanistan, seeking understanding with our Muslim brothers and sisters, projects committed to healing and peace. Indeed, what time and history teach us is God has not forsaken us. Shortly after September 11th, my Old Testament professor, Dr. John Collins, pointed out that when the Temple in Jerusalem was destroyed, it was a similarly horrifying and tragic event. The Temple was the center of their lives, their worship, their politics – everything. And the destruction of the Temple was not just about losing a building – it meant God no longer had a house on earth, and therefore had fled the world. I mean, now we read about the destruction of the Temple in the Bible and it’s just a thing that happened. But Dr. Collins emphasized, this event was nothing short of cataclysmic. And yet – they got through it. What we know now is God did not forsake the world, and the Ancient Israelites didn’t stop believing or worshipping God. And God continued to reach out to humanity.
While the destruction of the Jerusalem Temple and the events of September 11th are not perfect parallels by any means, for people of faith the takeaway message is: out of tremendous sorrow and pain, out of those questions of ‘where is God?’ and ‘why would God allow such tragedy to occur?’, comes a new day. God is still here. And we can move forward and rebuild. As people of faith, we have these sacred stories, long-held assurances of God’s presence throughout history. And the reality is people make bad choices, and do bad things. Even catastrophic things. That is going to happen. But God has never forsaken us and never will, and offers us a way to be different – to not allow our hearts to be overwhelmed with hatred and grief, but rather to rise above, to seek forgiveness, and to start again at the beginning – in God’s boundless love. And because we know that love, we know the Gospel of Jesus Christ and the forgiveness he offers us, we must share that at all times and in all places so that we can be agents of peace and reconciliation. The world will not do it on its own – people are too flawed, too angry, too scared. But with God healing can occur, and we can emerge stronger and better for it.
This has been a tumultuous decade and now perhaps we are in a place that we can pause, take stock of where we have been, what has worked and what has not, and put ourselves to the task living as disciples of the Gospel: with the good news that there is nothing to fear! We are forgiven, we are loved, and we can let that love embrace everything we do and all of our interactions henceforth. This is how we can – as Paul says – overcome evil with good. We owe it to those who lost their lives on September 11th and in the time since then, to strive for nothing less. Jesus teaches us to forgive, to be healers, and to love all people. He set aside his fear and won for us eternal life. I pray that on this solemn 10th anniversary, we his followers can carry on his example because this is a world that needs him – needs us. And together we can do it in his name. Amen.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
My World Is Different Today
When I woke up this morning, my world was completely different than it was when I woke up yesterday morning. And it isn't because of the sudden losses in the celebrity world (Ed McMahon, Farrah Fawcet, Michael Jackson - shocking and sad, for sure). Last night, someone of even greater importance to the world went to be with God in heaven: my grandmother, Neva. We called her Nana.
She was an ordinary person. A wife, a mother, a grandmother, a great-grandmother. A faithful parishioner of her church, a servant of Jesus who truly lived her faith. She was the kindest, most generous, most loving person I've ever known. I don't know of anyone who met her, no matter how briefly, who didn't instantly like her; who didn't feel more special for having known her. She just had a way of making every person she came in contact with know that they were special and loved.
And that was the amazing thing about Nana. We have a huge family - she had 5 children, 17 grand kids, and 12 great-grand kids. But I'm positive that every single one of us felt we had a unique, special relationship with Nana that no one else shared. And yet, we knew she was just as close to and loved everyone else equally. I don't know how she did it, but it's just who she was.
And when you were with Nana, you didn't have to be anyone except who you are. She appreciated every member of our family for their uniqueness and was always interested in whatever we were interested in. You always had a sense that every moment with Nana was precious, sacred, holy time. She was a great gift-giver, but I would trade every single gift she has ever given me to have more time in her presence. I'm willing to bet I'm not the only one who would say that.
Back in December, she was diagnosed, out of the blue, with stage IV lung cancer (she was not a smoker). Everyone was devastated and scared. I didn't want to imagine the worst. It didn't seem possible that someone who was so good, so dear to so many, and such a wonderful person would have to face a terminal illness as ravaging as this. Besides, people live a long time with cancer sometimes; sometimes diagnoses are wrong; doctors aren't right 100% of the time.
The doctors did indicate that it was inoperable, and there were relatively few options. She chose to do some chemo, in the hopes that it would buy her a little more time - months to a year maybe. Again, I didn't want to believe that there still couldn't be a good outcome here - a year, maybe more. Anything was possible, right?
Christmas was a little rough this past year. She was very emotional, obviously. Three of my cousins had babies on the way, due in March, April, and June respectively. I was also expecting our second child in July but didn't want to make it completely public knowledge just yet - we had a whole thing planned to surprise my parents later in the day. But I wanted to tell Nana, so I waited until fewer people were around and I got my son David to stand beside me. "Tell Nana what's in my tummy."
David softly said, "Mommy's baby."
"What honey?" Nana asked as she leaned closer.
"Mommy's baby." I think all she caught was the word "baby." Nana immediately started to cry, which made me cry. "I'm going to have four great grandchildren!" she said. I told her my parents didn't know yet, so to wait until after we left to say anything. She said she would.
The chemo worked, a little. But her quality of life declined and after a few months, she decided to stop it. It was right about this time that we had the 20 week ultrasound done. We decided to let this baby be a surprise, but the doctor printed out a picture with the sex written on it, put it in an envelope and sealed it. My aunt told me Nana's goal was to live long enough to see my baby. I didn't want her to feel like she had to fight to make it until that day if she was in pain, so my husband agreed to let Nana open the envelope and learn what we are having.
I will never forget that day. Nana didn't look too bad - tired, and a little more frail than a few months earlier, but otherwise she looked pretty well. We handed her the envelope and said we wanted her to know, but we still didn't want to know whether the baby is a boy or girl. So, she ripped open the envelope and pulled out the ultrasound picture, and got the biggest smile on her face. "I promise, I won't tell anyone," she said. And I knew she wouldn't.
By Easter, her health was starting to decline. She had lost weight and seemed sick. But she was still Nana. Still interested in what we were doing in our lives, wanting to know about the pregnancy, etc. Smiling, watching the kids play on the floor in front of her. Again, it seemed like anything was possible - maybe she could beat the odds, live for a year or more.
I have to admit, I didn't see her again for over a month. During that time, hospice was brought in and a hospital bed installed in her living room. Still, people can live on hospice for a long time. And part of me was relieved because going on hospice meant her pain could be managed. No matter what, I just didn't want her to be in pain. She is the last person in the world that should have to feel any pain. Ever.
I went to see her on Sunday. I was stunned by her condition. All her hair was gone, she could barely speak. Her eyes were blank, but there were moments of recognition. I took her hand and told her the baby is doing well, that it looks like I'll make it full term - the things the doctors were worried about don't seem to be happening. She was happy. She started making a motion around her mouth, trying to tell me something. I had to turn away, because I couldn't understand her and my tears were starting to flow. "Maybe she wants to feel the baby," my aunt said. So, she put her hand on my tummy. Unfortunately, the baby was sleeping, so she didn't get to feel any movement. I sat back down, not knowing what to say. Then, we had a moment alone. She motioned for me to lean closer. I haven't told anyone about the baby," she said. "I know Nana. I knew you wouldn't."
"I haven't told." She repeated.
"I know Nana. Thank you." I didn't know what else to say and I needed to get home. "I pray for you every day, Nana." All of a sudden, she had a lucid moment. "I haven't told anyone this," she began. " I pray every day to die. I want to die. Will pray for that for me?" My heart sank. The priest in me understood and knew what to say. But the granddaughter in me wanted to freak out and beg her to keep fighting - not to leave us.
I looked into her eyes. "Yes Nana. I promise I will."
"You'll pray that for me?" she asked again.
"Yes Nana. I'll pray for you." I told her I loved her and I kissed her. She seemed to be at peace. I raced out as fast as possible, and I was barely out the door when heaving sobs took over. I had made a promise I didn't want to keep, but knew I had to - somehow.
I got in my car, not sure if I could drive or not. Somehow I managed to get down the street and onto the freeway, still sobbing. My cell phone started ringing. It was my sister, so I turned it off. I was driving and its illegal to answer the phone, plus I wasn't in the mood to talk. The phone rang again, and it was my sister again, so I answered it. My aunt wanted to know if I could come back to give Nana communion. "I don't have a kit or anything with me." That's ok, my aunt had the stuff from church. "I'll go back." So, I took the next exit, turned around and went back.
I tried to pull myself together as I went back inside. Now my parents were there too. I wasn't there as a priest. Nana is a devout Catholic, so I had no intention of doing anything priestly so as not to offend her or my Aunts. I used the Catholic liturgy, and gave her the host. She had a hard time swallowing it. I remembered back to when I did CPE and had a little book of Catholic prayers for ministry to the sick. Some of the prayers were really beautiful. I think I kept it - I was wishing I had brought it with me.
By now, Nana was not very cognizant. She seemed to be in pain, although she said she wasn't. She had moments where she seemed to not be able to get comfortable, and she would moan and stare at the ceiling. Then my Aunt asked if she wanted me to read to her from the Bible. She said yes. What did she want to hear? "Whatever Jocelynn wants," she said slowly. We located a Bible and I started flipping through, praying for the right passage to come out. I believed what I was looking for was in 1 Corinthians. Then, there it was: the part where Paul talks about the resurrected body and how the body we will have in heaven is different from our earthly ones. She listened and moaned throughout. I don't know how much she heard or if it was even the right thing to read. But knowing what she had shared with me earlier, I thought maybe this passage would give her some comfort.
Again, I needed to get home, and I wanted other people to have their time with her. I kissed her again, and we made eye contact. I promised her I would pray for her. She nodded knowingly. And I left.
I don't know why she felt this was a secret - her prayer to die. But I felt I had to keep it and honor it. And so each day, I prayed that God would bring God's faithful servant home. It has to be one of the hardest prayers I've ever prayed because I don't want her to leave us. Selfishly, our world is a worse place without her. But she was suffering, and that was not fair either. And, she was ready to go be with the God she had loved and served so faithfully.
Just three days later, last night, that prayer was answered. I went numb when the call came: "Nana's gone," my sister said softly. I didn't know what to feel. My prayer - her prayer - was answered. She got her wish, and we are brokenhearted. I know she's in a better place and she's not hurting anymore. But I wish she had never had to hurt in the first place. I wish she did not have to be so miserable that she was praying to die. And yet, this was how her 87 years on this earth ended.
Apparently, her kids had spent the past few days putting the 'arrangements' in place. My dad told Nana yesterday afternoon that everything had been taken care of. Maybe that gave her the last bit of peace she needed to let go.
My world is different today than it was yesterday. Nana has left us, and although her spirit is always here, the hole that is left by the absence of her presence is immense. I miss her so much it hurts. It feels like nothing will be the same. I pray that our family - her beloved family - can pull together and support each other through this. I believe we will, even as each person deals with it differently. I thank God for Nana being in our lives. I would still trade everything for more time with her, but I know that's not possible. I am thankful that she is now happy, healthy, and whole once again.
I love you, Nana. We all do and we miss you so much. Thank you for being the most amazing grandmother in the whole world.
She was an ordinary person. A wife, a mother, a grandmother, a great-grandmother. A faithful parishioner of her church, a servant of Jesus who truly lived her faith. She was the kindest, most generous, most loving person I've ever known. I don't know of anyone who met her, no matter how briefly, who didn't instantly like her; who didn't feel more special for having known her. She just had a way of making every person she came in contact with know that they were special and loved.
And that was the amazing thing about Nana. We have a huge family - she had 5 children, 17 grand kids, and 12 great-grand kids. But I'm positive that every single one of us felt we had a unique, special relationship with Nana that no one else shared. And yet, we knew she was just as close to and loved everyone else equally. I don't know how she did it, but it's just who she was.
And when you were with Nana, you didn't have to be anyone except who you are. She appreciated every member of our family for their uniqueness and was always interested in whatever we were interested in. You always had a sense that every moment with Nana was precious, sacred, holy time. She was a great gift-giver, but I would trade every single gift she has ever given me to have more time in her presence. I'm willing to bet I'm not the only one who would say that.
Back in December, she was diagnosed, out of the blue, with stage IV lung cancer (she was not a smoker). Everyone was devastated and scared. I didn't want to imagine the worst. It didn't seem possible that someone who was so good, so dear to so many, and such a wonderful person would have to face a terminal illness as ravaging as this. Besides, people live a long time with cancer sometimes; sometimes diagnoses are wrong; doctors aren't right 100% of the time.
The doctors did indicate that it was inoperable, and there were relatively few options. She chose to do some chemo, in the hopes that it would buy her a little more time - months to a year maybe. Again, I didn't want to believe that there still couldn't be a good outcome here - a year, maybe more. Anything was possible, right?
Christmas was a little rough this past year. She was very emotional, obviously. Three of my cousins had babies on the way, due in March, April, and June respectively. I was also expecting our second child in July but didn't want to make it completely public knowledge just yet - we had a whole thing planned to surprise my parents later in the day. But I wanted to tell Nana, so I waited until fewer people were around and I got my son David to stand beside me. "Tell Nana what's in my tummy."
David softly said, "Mommy's baby."
"What honey?" Nana asked as she leaned closer.
"Mommy's baby." I think all she caught was the word "baby." Nana immediately started to cry, which made me cry. "I'm going to have four great grandchildren!" she said. I told her my parents didn't know yet, so to wait until after we left to say anything. She said she would.
The chemo worked, a little. But her quality of life declined and after a few months, she decided to stop it. It was right about this time that we had the 20 week ultrasound done. We decided to let this baby be a surprise, but the doctor printed out a picture with the sex written on it, put it in an envelope and sealed it. My aunt told me Nana's goal was to live long enough to see my baby. I didn't want her to feel like she had to fight to make it until that day if she was in pain, so my husband agreed to let Nana open the envelope and learn what we are having.
I will never forget that day. Nana didn't look too bad - tired, and a little more frail than a few months earlier, but otherwise she looked pretty well. We handed her the envelope and said we wanted her to know, but we still didn't want to know whether the baby is a boy or girl. So, she ripped open the envelope and pulled out the ultrasound picture, and got the biggest smile on her face. "I promise, I won't tell anyone," she said. And I knew she wouldn't.
By Easter, her health was starting to decline. She had lost weight and seemed sick. But she was still Nana. Still interested in what we were doing in our lives, wanting to know about the pregnancy, etc. Smiling, watching the kids play on the floor in front of her. Again, it seemed like anything was possible - maybe she could beat the odds, live for a year or more.
I have to admit, I didn't see her again for over a month. During that time, hospice was brought in and a hospital bed installed in her living room. Still, people can live on hospice for a long time. And part of me was relieved because going on hospice meant her pain could be managed. No matter what, I just didn't want her to be in pain. She is the last person in the world that should have to feel any pain. Ever.
I went to see her on Sunday. I was stunned by her condition. All her hair was gone, she could barely speak. Her eyes were blank, but there were moments of recognition. I took her hand and told her the baby is doing well, that it looks like I'll make it full term - the things the doctors were worried about don't seem to be happening. She was happy. She started making a motion around her mouth, trying to tell me something. I had to turn away, because I couldn't understand her and my tears were starting to flow. "Maybe she wants to feel the baby," my aunt said. So, she put her hand on my tummy. Unfortunately, the baby was sleeping, so she didn't get to feel any movement. I sat back down, not knowing what to say. Then, we had a moment alone. She motioned for me to lean closer. I haven't told anyone about the baby," she said. "I know Nana. I knew you wouldn't."
"I haven't told." She repeated.
"I know Nana. Thank you." I didn't know what else to say and I needed to get home. "I pray for you every day, Nana." All of a sudden, she had a lucid moment. "I haven't told anyone this," she began. " I pray every day to die. I want to die. Will pray for that for me?" My heart sank. The priest in me understood and knew what to say. But the granddaughter in me wanted to freak out and beg her to keep fighting - not to leave us.
I looked into her eyes. "Yes Nana. I promise I will."
"You'll pray that for me?" she asked again.
"Yes Nana. I'll pray for you." I told her I loved her and I kissed her. She seemed to be at peace. I raced out as fast as possible, and I was barely out the door when heaving sobs took over. I had made a promise I didn't want to keep, but knew I had to - somehow.
I got in my car, not sure if I could drive or not. Somehow I managed to get down the street and onto the freeway, still sobbing. My cell phone started ringing. It was my sister, so I turned it off. I was driving and its illegal to answer the phone, plus I wasn't in the mood to talk. The phone rang again, and it was my sister again, so I answered it. My aunt wanted to know if I could come back to give Nana communion. "I don't have a kit or anything with me." That's ok, my aunt had the stuff from church. "I'll go back." So, I took the next exit, turned around and went back.
I tried to pull myself together as I went back inside. Now my parents were there too. I wasn't there as a priest. Nana is a devout Catholic, so I had no intention of doing anything priestly so as not to offend her or my Aunts. I used the Catholic liturgy, and gave her the host. She had a hard time swallowing it. I remembered back to when I did CPE and had a little book of Catholic prayers for ministry to the sick. Some of the prayers were really beautiful. I think I kept it - I was wishing I had brought it with me.
By now, Nana was not very cognizant. She seemed to be in pain, although she said she wasn't. She had moments where she seemed to not be able to get comfortable, and she would moan and stare at the ceiling. Then my Aunt asked if she wanted me to read to her from the Bible. She said yes. What did she want to hear? "Whatever Jocelynn wants," she said slowly. We located a Bible and I started flipping through, praying for the right passage to come out. I believed what I was looking for was in 1 Corinthians. Then, there it was: the part where Paul talks about the resurrected body and how the body we will have in heaven is different from our earthly ones. She listened and moaned throughout. I don't know how much she heard or if it was even the right thing to read. But knowing what she had shared with me earlier, I thought maybe this passage would give her some comfort.
Again, I needed to get home, and I wanted other people to have their time with her. I kissed her again, and we made eye contact. I promised her I would pray for her. She nodded knowingly. And I left.
I don't know why she felt this was a secret - her prayer to die. But I felt I had to keep it and honor it. And so each day, I prayed that God would bring God's faithful servant home. It has to be one of the hardest prayers I've ever prayed because I don't want her to leave us. Selfishly, our world is a worse place without her. But she was suffering, and that was not fair either. And, she was ready to go be with the God she had loved and served so faithfully.
Just three days later, last night, that prayer was answered. I went numb when the call came: "Nana's gone," my sister said softly. I didn't know what to feel. My prayer - her prayer - was answered. She got her wish, and we are brokenhearted. I know she's in a better place and she's not hurting anymore. But I wish she had never had to hurt in the first place. I wish she did not have to be so miserable that she was praying to die. And yet, this was how her 87 years on this earth ended.
Apparently, her kids had spent the past few days putting the 'arrangements' in place. My dad told Nana yesterday afternoon that everything had been taken care of. Maybe that gave her the last bit of peace she needed to let go.
My world is different today than it was yesterday. Nana has left us, and although her spirit is always here, the hole that is left by the absence of her presence is immense. I miss her so much it hurts. It feels like nothing will be the same. I pray that our family - her beloved family - can pull together and support each other through this. I believe we will, even as each person deals with it differently. I thank God for Nana being in our lives. I would still trade everything for more time with her, but I know that's not possible. I am thankful that she is now happy, healthy, and whole once again.
I love you, Nana. We all do and we miss you so much. Thank you for being the most amazing grandmother in the whole world.
Friday, February 27, 2009
The Beginning of Lent
We are at the start of Lent. 40 days of Lent. Usually I kind of dread Lent. It seems so dreary and harsh. It has always been something that I see the value of but don't necessarily enjoy - like eating vegetables. But this year is different. Maybe it's different for a lot of people in this economy. What once felt secure now feels insecure. What seemed solid now seems invisible. Jobs are drying up, people are holding onto their money, causing more jobs to be lost. I keep hearing people say this is good for us, that "we" deserve what is happening because of all the excess that the past 5+ years have brought us. I don't agree. Have we been too materialistic? Absolutely. But our system is dependent upon that! Our economy is based on people buying and selling goods - that's how money gets passed around. Free market, right? Has it been excessive? Yes. That needs to be reigned in. But to say people deserve to be losing their homes, that they deserve to be losing their jobs because of the amount of excess is not fair. No one deserves what is happening now.
Even at the Belfry, we have been brought to our knees by all of this. I can't believe that we're in a situation where an employee had to be laid off. It seems like a very dark time indeed. And when I say we've been brought to our knees, I mean we need to get on our knees and pray for guidance and support from God. These developments are shocking and unsettling. But we have to go back to prayer and try to discern what God would have us learn in the midst of all of this.
So this year, I'm going to resolve to make the most of Lent - to try and embrace everything it is about. Hopefully much will reveal itself through this time and experience, and resurrection will be at the other end.
Even at the Belfry, we have been brought to our knees by all of this. I can't believe that we're in a situation where an employee had to be laid off. It seems like a very dark time indeed. And when I say we've been brought to our knees, I mean we need to get on our knees and pray for guidance and support from God. These developments are shocking and unsettling. But we have to go back to prayer and try to discern what God would have us learn in the midst of all of this.
So this year, I'm going to resolve to make the most of Lent - to try and embrace everything it is about. Hopefully much will reveal itself through this time and experience, and resurrection will be at the other end.
Monday, December 1, 2008
Building Character
I read an article yesterday about a survey of approximately 30,000 high school students. This found that 30% had STOLEN something in the past year and 64% had cheated on a test in the past year. And those are the ones willing to admit it! And, most shockingly, over 90% said they were satisfied with their personal character. Seriously? You cheat, and/or steal, and you are satisfied with who you are??? Man, are we in trouble!
And really, I hate to be cynical, but this is not all that shocking to me. I mean, it's not surprising the percentage that admits to stealing and cheating. In fact, I'm sure it's probably higher. What is sad is that they are unrepentant, apparently. This is facinating given the evangelical/conservative Christian bent to our society that emphasizes sin so strongly. I mean, these are obviously immoral acts, but the people committing them don't seem to be worried about their souls. Do they not understand the connection between the two?
Don't get me wrong. Of course there is forgiveness! But what always worried me as a youth minister was how quickly teens - especially when discussing topics such as sex, alcohol, and drugs - were quick to point out that all they had to do was say they were sorry to God and they would be forgiven. I tried to point out the difference between doing something you know is wrong, and doing something wrong without intending to do it. I'm not saying God won't forgive someone who cheats on his wife, knowing he is committing adultery, who asks for forgiveness. I'm not God, and that call is ultimately not mine. But it seems to me that there is a big problem when one goes into something thinking "I know its wrong but God will forgive me."
Isn't that kind of the philosophy that has gotten us into the economic crisis? The higher-ups knew it would crash, that all of this false prosperity couldn't be maintained. But they did nothing about it because it was lining their and their friend's pockets. I may not be able to judge whether its forgivable, but I can definitely judge that its not ethical!
And I suspect that this sense that these teens can do bad things but still be ok people comes from the innovative parenting style that is rampant today, where parents teach their children that they are perfect no matter what, and if someone doesn't think they are perfect (teacher, coach, police officer), then there is something wrong with that person. Their little darling can never possibly be wrong or make a mistake. What will happen when this generation grows up? We're already seeing it with the 'failure to launch' children who live at home indefinitely, and with the parents who call college professors, employers, etc., wanting to know why their kid didn't get an A on the paper or a raise after their performance evaluation. It truly is an incredible phenomena we're witnessing, and I fear, not a good trajectory!
I know first hand how exhausting it is to deal with. First, with the college students and their intervening parents. Some of them just push and push and push until you'll give them anything to shush. And the teens, who don't know how to take responsibility for anything, who believe someone will always rescue them if they fall - teaching them consequences, discipline, it's exhausting! But their moral character is on the line. And thus, as hard as it is, we can't stop trying to help the parents see that they aren't helping, and help the kids to learn that their actions have consequences, and being a good, noble person takes work and perseverance. And that the easy route, though tempting, is not the answer. It's certainly not how Jesus has asked us to live...
I have no doubts that I will make many missteps in the raising of my child/ren, but I pray I will learn from what I have witnessed and try harder to strike a balance between being a supportive parent and helping my child/ren become moral individuals. To me, there is no better gift a parent can given to a child than the gift and example of good, decent character. But that's just me. :)
And really, I hate to be cynical, but this is not all that shocking to me. I mean, it's not surprising the percentage that admits to stealing and cheating. In fact, I'm sure it's probably higher. What is sad is that they are unrepentant, apparently. This is facinating given the evangelical/conservative Christian bent to our society that emphasizes sin so strongly. I mean, these are obviously immoral acts, but the people committing them don't seem to be worried about their souls. Do they not understand the connection between the two?
Don't get me wrong. Of course there is forgiveness! But what always worried me as a youth minister was how quickly teens - especially when discussing topics such as sex, alcohol, and drugs - were quick to point out that all they had to do was say they were sorry to God and they would be forgiven. I tried to point out the difference between doing something you know is wrong, and doing something wrong without intending to do it. I'm not saying God won't forgive someone who cheats on his wife, knowing he is committing adultery, who asks for forgiveness. I'm not God, and that call is ultimately not mine. But it seems to me that there is a big problem when one goes into something thinking "I know its wrong but God will forgive me."
Isn't that kind of the philosophy that has gotten us into the economic crisis? The higher-ups knew it would crash, that all of this false prosperity couldn't be maintained. But they did nothing about it because it was lining their and their friend's pockets. I may not be able to judge whether its forgivable, but I can definitely judge that its not ethical!
And I suspect that this sense that these teens can do bad things but still be ok people comes from the innovative parenting style that is rampant today, where parents teach their children that they are perfect no matter what, and if someone doesn't think they are perfect (teacher, coach, police officer), then there is something wrong with that person. Their little darling can never possibly be wrong or make a mistake. What will happen when this generation grows up? We're already seeing it with the 'failure to launch' children who live at home indefinitely, and with the parents who call college professors, employers, etc., wanting to know why their kid didn't get an A on the paper or a raise after their performance evaluation. It truly is an incredible phenomena we're witnessing, and I fear, not a good trajectory!
I know first hand how exhausting it is to deal with. First, with the college students and their intervening parents. Some of them just push and push and push until you'll give them anything to shush. And the teens, who don't know how to take responsibility for anything, who believe someone will always rescue them if they fall - teaching them consequences, discipline, it's exhausting! But their moral character is on the line. And thus, as hard as it is, we can't stop trying to help the parents see that they aren't helping, and help the kids to learn that their actions have consequences, and being a good, noble person takes work and perseverance. And that the easy route, though tempting, is not the answer. It's certainly not how Jesus has asked us to live...
I have no doubts that I will make many missteps in the raising of my child/ren, but I pray I will learn from what I have witnessed and try harder to strike a balance between being a supportive parent and helping my child/ren become moral individuals. To me, there is no better gift a parent can given to a child than the gift and example of good, decent character. But that's just me. :)
Monday, November 3, 2008
Nauseous
Jean-Paul Sartre wrote a book called "Nausea" - it's one of my favorites actually. In it, he demonstrates how our utter freedom makes us ill and paralyzes us because we must choose and we have the freedom to do so. That is, at every moment of everyday, we choose who we are, thus creating an existence, and no one can force us to do otherwise. The nausea sets in when we realize how free we are and as a result how responsible we are. I think Sartre is dead on!
But right now, I'm drowning in nausea, for the opposite reason. I have contended with my own freedom, made my choices, and am ready to make them known. But the ultimate outcome that will have affects for years to come - that I have no control over. That is making me totally nauseous. And worse is my fear than Nov. 5th won't be the end of it. Remembering the 2000 election, and how drawn out it was, and painstaking on a daily basis makes me hesitant to hang my hopes on Wednesday being any different from today. Sartre is also famous for saying "Hell is other people," and he's right about that too. They impinge on my freedom, curtail my choices, and yet it has to be this way.
Half of people's prayers will be answered with a big fat "no." That's reality. That's how divided we are. Half will back one guy over the other, half will back prop. 8 over the other. But which half will prevail? And, being so divided, can we move forward together? A lot of hearts are going to be broken. I just pray - selfishly - that mine is not one of them...
But right now, I'm drowning in nausea, for the opposite reason. I have contended with my own freedom, made my choices, and am ready to make them known. But the ultimate outcome that will have affects for years to come - that I have no control over. That is making me totally nauseous. And worse is my fear than Nov. 5th won't be the end of it. Remembering the 2000 election, and how drawn out it was, and painstaking on a daily basis makes me hesitant to hang my hopes on Wednesday being any different from today. Sartre is also famous for saying "Hell is other people," and he's right about that too. They impinge on my freedom, curtail my choices, and yet it has to be this way.
Half of people's prayers will be answered with a big fat "no." That's reality. That's how divided we are. Half will back one guy over the other, half will back prop. 8 over the other. But which half will prevail? And, being so divided, can we move forward together? A lot of hearts are going to be broken. I just pray - selfishly - that mine is not one of them...
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
1 Week...
Thank God the election is only a week away. I hear a lot of people saying things that sound like serious 'election fatigue.' I think we're all ready for this to be decided. It feels like it has gone on forever. Right now, I just have 2 observations:
1) It is interesting to me how often those on the "yes on prop. 8" side are claiming they are not bigots and are not hateful. Perhaps it is a good sign that it bothers - at least some of them - to be called/accused of that. For example, I've never heard a skinhead deny being a bigot. But I also don't hear much about why supporting prop. 8 doesn't constitute institutionalizing hatred and prejudice from them. I get that they don't like gay-ness. I get that they want only men and women to be families. I want people to give more generously to charities - that doesn't mean I can pass legislation to make it happen. I believe just as strongly as they believe in this that the Bible requires us to give generously, and that all people should do it. And that the world would be a better place if we did. And I can't understand why people would disagree. But I can't force them to agree with me. They think gay sex is wrong, but they can't stop people from doing it. There is a point where my influence over others stops; and there is a point that where 'where there's smoke there's fire.' If they don't like being called hateful, and are being called that, maybe its time to reevaluate...
2) I just pray that on Nov. 5 we have decisions made - no need for recounts. A landslide would be nice, but even a large enough margin would suffice - just so that its a done deal and we can actually move forward.
Looking forward to November 5, and hoping for peace and calm in the meantime.
1) It is interesting to me how often those on the "yes on prop. 8" side are claiming they are not bigots and are not hateful. Perhaps it is a good sign that it bothers - at least some of them - to be called/accused of that. For example, I've never heard a skinhead deny being a bigot. But I also don't hear much about why supporting prop. 8 doesn't constitute institutionalizing hatred and prejudice from them. I get that they don't like gay-ness. I get that they want only men and women to be families. I want people to give more generously to charities - that doesn't mean I can pass legislation to make it happen. I believe just as strongly as they believe in this that the Bible requires us to give generously, and that all people should do it. And that the world would be a better place if we did. And I can't understand why people would disagree. But I can't force them to agree with me. They think gay sex is wrong, but they can't stop people from doing it. There is a point where my influence over others stops; and there is a point that where 'where there's smoke there's fire.' If they don't like being called hateful, and are being called that, maybe its time to reevaluate...
2) I just pray that on Nov. 5 we have decisions made - no need for recounts. A landslide would be nice, but even a large enough margin would suffice - just so that its a done deal and we can actually move forward.
Looking forward to November 5, and hoping for peace and calm in the meantime.
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