Last night’s devotion by Nancy Wolgemuth was on remembering. Her message resonated with me so strongly that I woke up this morning and decided to share my thoughts with you. The hymn focus was on “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen”.
Wolgemuth writes: ”‘God rest ye merry’ was an old English expression that basically meant, ‘may God make you or keep you joyful.’” She continues, “But why? What was the basis for this joy, the merriment?” (p. 83)
Wolgemuth goes on to say that the reason was rememberance. For some people the Christmas season is full of merriment and unbridled joy, and for others the season is not a happy one. It is full of sadness and concern. Remembering gives us the opportunity to “reverse the process” of the negative by focusing on the positive happenings in our lives in our past, in our present, what might be coming in the future. In her daily prayer, Wolgemuth writes, “Lord show me where to look back and remember…bring to mind scenes from my life when You’ve proven Your steadfast love toward me…Remembering fills me with joy.” (p. 83-84)
During Advent, I take the time to look back on the year and reflect on those moments of steadfast love. There are many. To be fair, I readily admit I live a charmed life. I experience so much goodness, I can’t help but see the goodness in others. However, it’s not all wine and roses. Remembering is not sugar-coating the difficult times. How we remember all of our times, good and bad, shapes our view of the present and the future. If we hold on to the steadfastness of those who love us (or have loved us), especially Christ, we remember that there is goodness in the midst of the dark, the lonely, the terrible, and the broken.
I am reminded of Ebenezer Scrooge. If Charles Dickens’ story isn’t this very idea, I don’t know what is. It all comes down to perspective. Scrooge is taken on a remembrance journey. Do you remember how in the past you felt about this? Do you see the present around you now? Your future will be determined by the actions of your remembrance. There is time to change your thinking.
Remembrance is a core tenet of Christianity. Remember your baptism. Take eat and drink…do this in remembrance of me. According to a quick Google search, the word remember is used over 350 times in the Bible. Advent gives us time and space to reorient our perspective so that we are ready for that most holy life gifted to us on Christmas Day. Dear Friends, remember the good and celebrate it. Remember the bad and heal from it. ”God rest ye merry gentlemen [ahem, let’s say humankind], let nothing you dismay…oh tidings of comfort and joy” to you.
Love Y’all, Marla
Wolgemuth, Nancy DeMoss. (2020). “Born a Child and yet a King: The Gospel in the Carols.” Moody Press.
It’s week two of Advent. Yes, I’m still doing my daily devotional, wherever I can squeeze it in. I am working through “Born a Child and Yet a King” by Nancy DeMoss Wolgemuth which explores the Gospel through Christmas Carols. Normally, I am a Richard Rohr, St. Francis, Beth Richardson kind of Advent person. This year, I went with hymns; I think because I am singing again. I love to sing and I know every verse of all of these familiar hymns. I know, I know, the point is to get uncomfortable, but truly, this year, I am reveling in the comfort and familiarity and joy of song.
I joined a church choir ten minutes from my house for the Christmas season. Sunday is the Christmas Cantata. I am singing for Christmas for the first time since I was pregnant with my younger son. I am so happy I could cry. We have a big rehearsal tomorrow with the orchestra ensemble. What a way to start my Saturday.
I’ve been binge watching Hallmark movies, eating Christmasy food, and basically ignoring every rule I have for myself except bedtime. I’m going to to sit in front of my fireplace on the couch and just bask in all the love that is around me. My boys will be home with me without agenda or homework in 7 days. My husband is taking six days off for Christmas. I haven’t always had Christmas seasons that make me this happy, so I am soaking it all up. Every single drop.
I promise to write an inspiring, thoughtful pieceabout what I learned during Advent soon. I will. In the meantime, sending you all the peace and goodwill your hearts can hold as we journey to the manger. “Hey, unto ya, a child is born!” (Gladys Herdmann)
Advent is one of my favorite times of the year. No, I do not have one of those countdown to Christmas calendars although those are probably fun. I enjoy the mindfulness and purposeful slowing down to practice the waiting and anticipation for the coming of Jesus. The older I get, the more I enjoy this season.
When I was a young mom, Advent was so hard. We would all get tangled up in the hoopla. I was trying to do the right thing and stem the tide of global consumerism and instead create a willing and thoughtful spirit in my children. What a disaster that was! I couldn’t even find a willing and thoughtful spirit in myself!
As the boys got older, we started making Advent wreaths together and sometimes reading Advent devotions before school. Back when they ate breakfast and stood still for more than 90 seconds, I would light the candles and we would take turns praying over our Eggo waffles and Nutragrain bars. The boys took turns blowing out the candles. It was their favorite part. My oldest called the smoke from the candles, Jesus smoke.
When the boys became too much to corral and school parties and sleep and presents and parades and tree lightings and so on began to take over our lives, I began celebrating Advent on my own. I would deliver everyone to school and on days that I didn’t go straight to work, I would come home and enjoy a cup of tea and my Advent devotion. It was a very peaceful moment for me in a not so peaceful time.
I also enjoy Advent because I am not a daily Bible reader (gasp, the shame). I find that I need an end goal for my Bible reading. Group studies often help me there. But daily quiet time with the Almighty is harder for me than one would think. Advent offers that time for me. I know over the next 24 days, I will specifically make time to sit with this year’s devotion of choice, read a little bit, ponder, write, and pray. I am so looking forward to the discipline. I don’t know why I cannot carry that over into my daily life, but I have never been successful at doing so outside of a group study. (I also do a self study at Lent, but that’s another post for another day).
Recently I was catching up with Sarah Bessey’s blog and her thoughts on Advent. I liked what she had to say about joy:
The joy born out of suffering and longing is more beautiful for its very complexity…. joy doesn’t erase the longing and the sadness that came before but it does redeem it, it may even stain backwards changing how we look at those days or years. But the joy is made more real, richer and deeper perhaps, because we longed for it with all our hearts for so many days.
SaraH Bessey, Advent is for the ones who know longing, Nov. 29, 2023.
Somewhere along the way it all clicked for me. Advent is the time for me to reflect on all my longings, all my troubles, all the good things, all the hard things and wonder at the joy these things bring me in the end. Parenting is hard. Mom-ing is hard. Daughter-ing is hard. Sister-ing is hard. Marriage is hard. Teaching is hard. There are good moments and lots of not great moments, but in the end it all brings me joy. No wonder one of the candles we light is the candle of joy. And that is what Advent is all about. The coming of Christ. The coming of One who wants to bring us joy. The coming of One who wants to ease and redeem our suffering, not erase it. The coming of One who will lead us towards fuller hearts and fuller lives and be present with us in the making of those lives–the good, the bad, the ugly, and the beautiful.
So with a full heart, tomorrow I will turn towards Advent and Joy. I will stop waiting for the other shoe to drop (as my anxiety driven self frequently does) and just plain live out the joy of the moment. I will wait for the coming of all of our hopes and peace and love for the now and not yet with great joy.
While traveling in the car, my college son was sharing with me about his philosophy class. Recently, the professor asked some questions that sparked a spirited classroom conversation. A fellow student said to my son, “don’t you feel bad that you were born into all your wealth and privilege?” My son, who has never backed away from an argument in his life told me, “I answered with, no, I don’t feel bad. I won the cosmic lottery and I know it, but I didn’t ask to be born.” He shared a bit more of the conversation with me and I, as I always do, shared my thoughts with him. After I drew a breath, my son said, “Good talk mom.” And off we went onto something else.
Ah car time.
I woke up thinking more about our conversation this morning. I remembered another list I wrote to myself back in 2020. It dovetails so nicely with yesterday’s car convo. At the time I wrote my list, I felt like others were using my favorite people as easy punching bags for the world’s problems. I have tweaked it a bit to remove the snarky side commentary that made me feel better for about five seconds, and instead focused more on the how I choose to lead my life.
I don’t think I’m spilling any state secrets and it would be silly to pretend to be something I am not. I am a white woman of comparative wealth and privilege married to a white man of comparative wealth and privilege, raising two white sons in comparative wealth and privilege. I do not need to defend my life, however, I am happy to share my basic principles.
I firmly believe that to whom much is given, much is required. My husband and I teach our boys that whatever gifts and talents you have been given, you must develop them and share them, use them for good, and above all, do not squander them.
Don’t ever be sorry or ashamed of inherited wealth (or opportunity, or privilege). You received it from those who paved a way for you. This world is cynical and bitter and envious, but not everyone who ever made money made it dishonestly or abusively on the backs of others. If you can use an inheritence to further your dreams, or your education, or your life’s purpose then do it. However, you must put in the work yourself. Live life on your own terms with your own means. Be mindful of your finances and learn how to use them for higher purposes. Educate your children. Give to your church. Advance a cause. How can you best support an organization or project you believe in? How do you take care of people that work for you, or with you, or around you? How do you take care of your neighbors—quietly? People like a cheerful giver, but they also prefer not to know that it’s you.
How do you learn to build bridges with people who don’t live like you, act like you, look like you, think like you? Trust and time, one person at a time is the only way. It takes experience. It takes vulnerability. It takes saying I don’t know, or I don’t understand. It is very easy to fall into rich white (American, first world) guilt and react from that place. Don’t. Nobody will believe your sincerity. Learn! Ask! Be uncomfortable!
To my precious sons, it’s ok to be white. It’s ok to be male. It’s ok to be straight. You cannot change any of those factors, so you do you. It’s also important to remember who wrote the rules. If societal rules need to be changed (and they do), how do you change the rules in ways that make life better for everyone? It’s not always about color. There are economic and political power plays that must also be dealt with. Let’s not forget women. I am an equal partner in this house, but outside of it I have fought many a battle even as a privileged, educated, white woman. I would also remind the world, whatever our collective path forward, we will not bring it about by trashing white straight men for being white or straight or male.
My job as the wife and mother is one of persuasion and reminder. I often find myself saying, “in this house….” I have been known to stop the car yelling, “white privilege”, or “entitled behavior” or “elitist prep school bullshit”, or my sons’ favorites “amygdala!” and “prefrontal cortex!” The men in my life give me the side eye when they hear me, but my point is made and received. It serves no purpose to vilify good men, but a little humor and a serious conversation about the experiences of people who are not straight, white men goes a long way.
Never, ever, ever treat someone as less than. And never allow yourself to feel “less than”. This concept goes beyond the Golden Rule. Almost every problem in the entire world can find its root cause in “less than” thinking and feeling. This power play, designed by evil, must be eradicated if we want the Golden Rule to work.
Love, love, and love again. Everyone. Every time. Make no apologies for loving your neighbor and make no apologies for loving yourself.
Keep loving people and get rid of the less than in your life my darlings. Do I always get it right? No. I think it is a grave mistake for my children to think I am infallible. I admit when I am wrong. Do I like being uncomfortable? No. I do not. But I have made awkward an art form. Do I succumb to the power of less than? Sometimes I allow someone else to influence my feelings and responses—and sometimes I am the affector. I am not perfect. I am human and a product of my life experiences. Does that mean I can’t make changes and do better? Of course not! I can, I do, and I keep trying. All I can do is live my life in a responsible way that honors the you in me and the me in you.
Love Y’all, Marla
P.S. Relish car time with your family.Car time is an amazing opportunity to offer and receive love—tough love, easy love, and just be with me love. M
I’ve been sick for over two weeks now. I can’t seem to shake whatever has its claws in me. I will have a day I feel better and well enough to go out and do, but the next day I’m in bed and throwing up if I eat anything or move too fast or do too much. I can’t stop coughing and the amount of mucus in my body is really too nasty to comment on.
I’m really hoping I can shake it off this week while I am home. I really really really hope I don’t give it to my son who just flew home from college for Thanksgiving week, or my inlaws, or my mother who lives in a facility with a multitude of seniors in compromised health situations. I will be crushed if we have to cancel Thanksgiving. I’m hosting and I’m so excited.
In true fashion I made a list of things to be grateful for, to guard against self-pity and direct my energy into making smart decisions and getting well and sharing joy.
1. I know what it feels like to feel well and I have no reason to believe I can’t feel that way again. My body is well enough to fight this nasty bug.
2. My son is home safely from college and appears happy to be here.
3. I can afford to buy a house full of groceries for the two teenaged boys who will be home all day all week this week!
4. The running water is clean.
5. The heat works.
6. The electricity is on.
7. The cars run and have gasoline.
8. We are loved. By each other. By our families and friends. By our Creator.
Yosemite Happy with These Loves!
I discovered Henri Nowen about fifteen years ago. I follow the Henri Nowen Society on Instagram for inspiration and reminders to be a good human. He was a challenging figure and not afraid to call us out, while simultaneously reminding us of the never-ending love and mercy we have been gifted by God to accept and also extend to others.
I leave you with his truth telling for your weekend wondering…
I’m grateful for you friends. Love Y’all So Big. Marla
Tuesday was election day for part of the country. My county had no seats up for election locally, for state, nor for national office, so no election bruhaha around here. We have 362 days until the 2024 general election.
I do tend to “wax philisophical” about elections. Certainly there are serious and pragmatic reasons to be concrete about voting choices, but I tend wonder about what could be as if I were still in my college political theory class.
What if: Congress looked more like our actual national population makeup?
There are currently 128 women in the House of Representatives (@29%) and 25 Senators (26%) per the Pew Research Center. Women are 51% of the current population (datareportal.com).
According to the latest statistics from usafacts.org, a record 62 members of Congress are Black. The House of Representatives is actually representative of the country’s percentage of African-Americans, roughly 12%! The Senate, only 3%.
According to the latest CRS report from congress.gov, Hispanic/Latino Americans the representation is 9.6% in Congress (45 House reps, 6 Senators). The current Hispanic population of the US is 19%.
Asian Americans make up 7% (per Pew Research Center) of the population. The diversity of this group is by far the most complicated in my opinion. Asian American Native Hawaiian Pacific Islander is a mouthful and I would be curious to know how these folks feel about being lumped together for demographic purposes? There are 19 representatives in the house and 2 in the senate.
Native Americans make up 2.6% of the population and have 1% representation in Congress (5 members).
While these statistics don’t inspire me to throw a party, I believe we are making progress towards a more perfect union. All total, 25% of the Congressional membership does not identify as White. These numbers are higher than any other time in history. With 41% of the American population identifying as non-White, the numbers are not balanced, but the gap is closing. Currently, 59% of the American population that is White-non Hispanic has 75% of the representation in Congress. So, yes, we still have quite a bit of progress to make.
There are a multitude of population groups and complicated ethnic identities in the United States. The number of Native American and Native Alaskan tribes alone boggle the mind. And why do we pool all of Asia together? Do you realize how many countries are actually part of Asia? There are also regional distinctions in America—rural, urban, suburban, New England, the South, the Rustbelt, the Flyover States, the West Coast, to name some but not all. And then we have political party affiliations. These affiliations are related, but separate from our contiuum of liberal and conservative and everthing in between and on the wings. I could go on, but you see my point.
While there are many noble and good reasons why people have identity preferences and often vote in blocs, I feel like we sometimes forget the two most important things about US citizenship. One, we are all Americans. Pick your descriptor plus hyphen; we are all American. Two, we need to elect the person who we feel in our hearts will best represent US (U.S. = us, see how I did that?).
For many of us, our political efficacy has taken a beating in recent years. For others of us, we believe we never had any political efficacy in the first place. We cannot continue to allow this to happen. Everyone’s voice matters. Period. Sometimes our choice doesn’t win. Sometimes we lose–and we lose big! But how many times do we keep trying? As many times as it takes to be heard.
We cannot lose hope in the uniquely American belief that democracy wins. We have to exercise our citizenship and pay attention. We must listen (not yell, or scream, or interrupt or denigrate) and then choose and then compromise.
So now the what if question becomes: Do I want to vote for someone who will make the best decisions for the country? Or, Do I want to vote for someone who will make the best decision for me?
These questions are not the same. I don’t have the answers dear America. I promise I don’t. I have 362 days to figure it out for myself. However, I am secure in the knowledge that if I don’t make the choice I thought I did, I have a chance to begin the reversal 750 days later at the midterm.
So come on over America. We can sit around the proverbial fire and listen and share and think and agree to do something, anything, as long as it is comes from mutual respect. We don’t have to hold hands and fall in love. We can disagree and walk away and take a few laps–as long as we come back. The uncommonly beautiful thing about America is we have a chance to continually adjust the pendulum. Let’s go America. It’s 362 days and counting. Let’s engage for real.
********************************
P.S. I did not address the candidate choices for public office, or campaign finance reform, or term limits. These are separate and yet equally important issues to write about in the next chapter. Wink, wink.
Andy and I had a lovely vacation in Cabo. I didn’t know we were invited to Sean Payton’s destination wedding this week! Andy loves to surprise me.
I was relaxing poolside beside a very nice couple, Avery and Cassandra Johnson, commiserating about online school. Andy kept kicking me and I started to get annoyed. Am I talking too much? That’s usually why he kicks me.
Soon another man and his gorgeous wife stopped by to say hi to the Johnsons. I thought, wow, how cool to run into somebody you know on vacation. It was Eric Musselman and Danyelle Sargent. I had know idea who she was when I complimented her swimsuit. She was really nice about it.
Then I overheard another couple who I now know are the Irelands talking about NC. Of course I just walked right over and introduced myself and we chatted about North Carolina lake cabins. Andy, foaming at the mouth over my complete lack of situational awareness, finally said, “are you ready? We have to go.”
Looking at my watch, I said, “why?”
He just shook his head. “Marla you have no idea who all these people are.” He surreptitiously opens Twitter and Instagram on his phone to show me.
“Oh.” I said. “So, big deal?”
He just rolled his eyes. “The wedding Marla, the wedding.”
“Whose wedding?” I asked. “That Sean Payton guy? Is he a coach too?” (If you know me at all, you know I said that because I am just that damn ridiculous.)
I picked up my Kindle and went back to reading. Andy went to the bar.
Then Kenny Chesney showed up and I almost died. No Instagram needed. I didn’t get to talk to him though. He’s taller than I thought. And his girlfriend is stunning. As we walked by him at the bar, Andy sneakily snapped a pic on his phone for me.
The fireworks show for the Paytons’ wedding was fun to watch from our porch later that evening. Turns out we weren’t invited to the wedding after all. I guess I talk too much.
I started a gratitude journal my junior year in college. This practice was really an act of self-preservation more than actual gratitude. At the time my parents were divorcing. Recently returned from a semester abroad, I was living in a sophomore dorm at the other end of campus in a single room by myself. I was lonely, tired, frustrated, so very sorrowful, and so very very angry. It was not the best situation.
Upon my return to campus, I read this book I found at our house over the holidays called “God on a Harley” by Joan Brady. I lost the book and have never found it again. Maybe, like the angel in the story, it appeared when I needed it and has moved on to help someone else? I recently found there is a 25th anniversary edition in print on Amazon. It doesn’t matter. The book inspired me to start a gratitude journal, so I did.
I bought a sweet little paper journal with a magnolia on the front. Inside, every day, I wrote down three things for which I was thankful. Believe it or not, in all of my first world unhappiness, there were times I couldn’t think of three things. A list maker by temperament, my gratitude journal looked like a series of lists.
Today I’m thankful for:
I don’t have to walk up the hill to do laundry
I got the last plain bagel at my eating house for breakfast
My boyfriend said he loved me
Today I’m thankful for:
My paper isn’t due til Friday
I have a dress for Saturday
Dial-up worked and I didn’t have to walk to the library to check email
And then there were the hard days:
I decided not to
I ate a whole bag of hershey kisses and didn’t throw up
I am breathing
I don’t have this journal anymore. I think I may even have burned it at some point. Regardless, that semester I began what has become a life long journey of gratitude. I have had many gratitude journals over the years. Sometimes I make lists in notebooks. Sometimes I make Facebook status updates. Sometimes I just sit with myself and have a conversation about my life. Sometimes I spend a portion of my prayer time making lists of thanks (P.S. This will change the attitude of your prayer in that very moment.).
The great thing about gratitude is that it meets you where you are. Much like forgiveness, gratitude is more for you than for the other person. Start with plain bagels and extra underwear . With time and practice you’ll move to clean air, heat for my home, and money for medicine. You may even move into a state of gratitude. A state of gratitude is fluid, but when you can stay in it, the world becomes the best place to be. Gratitude stops a downward spiral before it stops and it shows up to help you slog your way out of the pit back into the light when the spiral proved harder than you thought.
Even today in our messy existence and just plain meanness, gratitude can alter our perspective and help us reorient towards a more purposeful response to the ugliness of the world. Yes it is easier to be grateful when things are going well, but it is just as important to be grateful when things are awful too.
I’m thankful I didn’t respond badly.
I’m thankful that I am only responsible for my reactions.
I’m thankful no one ever treated me so badly that I forgot how to be human.
I’m grateful for the opportunity to help someone.
I’m grateful I can walk away from this moment.
I’m grateful that my faith is strong enough to see me through this particular awfulness.
I’m thankful for the chance to see the person in front of me, not their problem.
When I think of my lifelong faith journey, I think of how gratitude helps me find my way through forgiveness and sorrow and pain into joy and peace and love. Gratitude is not a static moment. It is a state of being. Gratitude can be messy, but it is an essential piece of living a full life. Be grateful friends. Sit with it. Find your path. Find your gratitude and you will find the strength to move forward every time. I promise.
I started this piece a long time ago. I think my son was 11. He was in fifth grade. I have expanded upon it many times in the last eight years or so. Once when we had the tragic attack on the naval reserve center here in Chattanooga in 2015. Again when Covid was causing so much angst in the world. Again during Ukraine. And now with the Israeli-Hamas conflict. This is a long post , so grab your favorite beverage, start a fire in the fireplace, go to your porch, or easy chair, or quiet spot and settle in.
I wish I was better at words when it comes to pain and suffering and fear. I’m not. My heart aches for all the places reeling from acts of violence and despair and hatred.
Not only is it terribly naive of me, it is ridiculously unfair of me to expect violence in far off places, but be appalled when bad things happen stateside, or in my beloved city. The far off places are someone’s home, or hold importance in someone’s life–just like mine.
My husband and I took our son to the Holocaust museum in Washington DC when he was in the fifth grade. In our conversations during and after the visit our son asked me only three questions. What does anti-Semitism mean? Why would anybody believe a crazy guy? And why didn’t more people fight back? I found myself trying to explain the unexplainable. I found myself saying I don’t know more and more frequently in the conversation. Out of the mouth of my child came a very basic expectation of justice: grown-ups are supposed to do the right thing even when it’s hard.
Out of the mouth of my child came a very basic expectation of justice: grown-ups are supposed to do the right thing even when it’s hard.
I have been thinking about a better answer to my son’s questions in light of the increasing acts of terrorism around the world and cultural clashes here at home. T here has never been a more important time for me to face my fear of what others might think of me and just speak. If I’m going to tell my children to stand up to the bad guys, defend the weak, see past the differences, and be kind, then I must heed my own words.
We cannot be silent when human beings stop being human–whether in Paris or the Middle East or Somalia or China or Chattanooga. We cannot allow our confusion and our mistrust and our fear to make us silent or suppress the impulses of our better nature to reach out and help. Hate ideology uses “us versus them” not only against chosen enemies, but against its own people every time. The list of examples I could give you would be long and remarkably unvaried. Hate one another. Turn on one another. Bear false witness on one another. Do it or I take out your family. You kill them or I kill you. We (the collective we) fail to pay attention to the warning signs.
We give power to those who would exploit old hurts, use ignorance and mistrust, and exaggerate differences between people. We (the collective we) cannot keep falling into this trap. The “mine” in “protecting me and mine” must include the least and the lost. Our world is only as safe and good as it is for the least protected and most exploited.
I don’t know what would happen if I had to dance with the devil and choose between evils. I don’t blame anyone for trying to protect their family. Survival isn’t always pretty. Bullies are bullies, power corrupts, ignorance breeds mistrust, anger and fear feed off one another, and hate can only be overcome with love. The point is to stop the runaway train before it starts. How do we break a cycle of hate?
We must fight hatred. But it’s a two-pronged fight. We must choose love and love. We must cut the cord with people and places who would kill the whole world, but we cannot paint every refugee from those hate-filled places as the enemy. We must choose to love. But how do we do that? I keep asking myself this question. In the face of something so large, what tiny little drop in the bucket can I do?
In order to see humanity you have to see the human in each face. We must use our free speech, our discourse, our right to assemble and protest, so that we can shine light on injustice and call for mercy. We must remember the dark places of our past so that we don’t forget and allow ourselves to retreat, or be pushed, or willingly return to the darkness. We must continue to bring the light of peace, and help, and hope to the world. And we do it one battle at a time, one act of bravery at a time, open one home at a time, offer one meal at a time, one seat on the bus at a time, one act of kindness to a stranger at a time, one person at a time.
We do it by continuing to do the small things because small things add up to big things. Grassroots movements know this. If you are a follower of Glennon Doyle, for example, you know that she and her sister created the Together Rising Community as a platform for raising money to go immediately to the place that needs it most. They accept any donation amount from anyone. It first began as a call to action for moms and women who cared deeply about people in crisis. Money in equals money out. In 2022, 93% of what was raised went directly to help through trusted and vetted partner organizations.
Other ways we can fight hatred and mistrust is to consider the source of our information. Sensational television and internet drama is just that. Look for real reports from real people on the ground in real time. If you have a particular political slant, purposely choose an opposing source, just to get a different perspective. I consider myself a fence riding middle of the road kind of gal, so after I watch a right slanted show and listen to a left slanted radio program, I choose the Christians Science Monitor (CSM) for written news because it is balanced and thoughtful and respectfully presented. To quote directly from the website, “Our aim is to embrace the human family. We prize honesty and largeness of heart. We seek practical solutions, not just page views.” That’s news I can use.
Last night, I read two articles from the CSM that continue to support my belief in the goodness of others. One was an article about Arab Israelis living alongside their neighbors peacefully within Israel’s borders. Another article was about the misinformation war of this current conflict. As the world lurches forward towards a seemingly inevitable war, both journalists pieces are important to remind us, caution us, and compel us to choose a different path.
Peace through strength is all well and good–and unfortunately usually the only way it works on this earth. But! We can, daily, one by one, make choices that defy the business of war and fear and extremism by reaching out to help our neighbors. Bullets and missiles and hunger and disease and trauma do not ask if are you Jewish or Arab or Black or White or Muslim or Hindu or Catholic or Protestant or this tribe or that tribe or this gang or that gang. Why should we? Those identities are certainly important, but in crisis I want to help you be safe. Period. In my classroom I want you to know that you are worthy of being there and that our class is for everyone. Period. If you are hungry I want to feed you. Period. This is all I know to do—these ordinary things that often feel extraordinary to the recipient.
So as I live here in my safe house in my safe neighborhood in my safe state in my safe country where I have enough to eat and health insurance and freedom of movement—please know, I see you. I hurt for you. I want to help you. I will hold space for your fear and confusion and pain in my prayers and thoughts and quiet moments. I will do good where I can, one person at a time, with the hope that when it is my turn, you will help me. The golden rule still works. Love and love and love some more.
It’s been a day. A wonderful day, but a day. I have so many thoughts running around in my head I cannot possibly put them into coherent words today, so I will leave you with a few random thoughts.
I love you. I’ve been reading some of my favorite bloggers this afternoon. Each one of them in their own way reminded me to pause and say “I Love You”. I say it for myself. I say it for my children. I say it for my husband. For my family. For my friends. For my students. For my community. For people far and wide. For humanity. Here is a great big hug to you from me in hopes that if you need just a little squeeze today to remind yourself that you are important and capable and worthy and loveable, this message reaches you!
Rabbi Danya Ruttenberg’s message on her blog today took me to a previous article she wrote about Mr. Roger’s radical theology. She writes, “Not everybody has to be yelling in the street with a sign to make change.” She also writes, “There are profound ways to impact our world that, at first blush, don’t seem so radical at all.” Yes. We need Mr. Rogers. We need to bring him back into our living rooms and our hearts. He loved us all so well and we need his wisdom and guidance and love right now. We have hard things to talk about with each other, with our children, with our nation, with our global universe. We cannot speak truth unless we speak through love. His work of loving his neighbor was always a sacred task. (see link to website below)
Sarah Bessey reminded me today on her blog that doing ordinary work counts as something extraordinary. Sometimes ordinary work is all you can do when you don’t know what to do. Ordinary work on an ordinary day is sacred. Ordinary work is how we bear witness to one another and love one another and call for action for one another. It is sacrificial. It is love in action. (see link to website below)
So, I will do my ordinary work today and be grateful that I have ordinary work to do for ordinary people on an ordinary day because this is an extraordinary blessing to share. I will impact my world one person at a time in a small, simple ways. I will be love and light and hope, one “I love you” at a time. And for today, that will be enough.
Marla's Alphabet Soup 