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Howling Sea Lane, Lancient History, Religion

Father Where Art Thou?

the outside lane

By now you’ve probably all seen the AP news report about a Massachusetts third grader, who has been denied access to a local parochial school due to his parents’ sexuality.  Since I was on religion yesterday, I thought I would pick up the thread and share my opinion here. 

Prefacing all of this with the understanding that it is entirely legal for the school to refuse entry to any child, I want to talk about why I have a personal problem with the decision.  First, let’s go back to Matthew. 

Matthew 19:13-15 (King James Version)

 13Then were there brought unto him little children, that he should put his hands on them, and pray: and the disciples rebuked them. 

 14But Jesus said, Suffer little children, and forbid them not, to come unto me: for of such is the kingdom of heaven. 

 15And he laid his hands on them, and departed thence. 

Jesus did not ask his disciples to do a background check on the adults bringing the children to him.  He did not ask if little Ezekiel’s parents were his followers, or if Elizabeth’s mother was still smoking crack, or if Alpheus’ fathers were still gay, or if Delphine was still being raised by her aunt because her mother was in prison and they weren’t sure who her father was.  And if he was aware of each child’s individual situation, he did not look over them with a finger against the side of his mouth, tapping away the ones who weren’t good enough until he found the ones whose parents lived up to his idea of pre-Christian standards.  No.  He touched each and every one of them, loved them individually, and then went on his way.  Such is the King of Heaven. 

More to the point, when Jesus taught he didn’t require your holiness before you were allowed to listen and learn.  He didn’t ask that you pass a test of righteousness, or be without sin.  He didn’t even ask that you be attempting to live according to Levitical law.  He asked nothing of you, and gave everything of himself.  

Jesus did not ask you for money.  He gave you fishes and loaves. 

Jesus did not ask you for your righteousness.  He gave you his own. 

I get so angry and so aggravated at the Church universal, and how exclusive and exclusionary it is.  You can’t come inside unless you fit the standard mold. 

There is a local christian (and I am always being purposefully distinctive about upper- or lower-case letters) radio station that advertises with the slogan, “Safe for the whole family.”  You would be hard pressed to find a piece of their marketing that would not lead you to believe the slogan ought to be, “Safe for the whole straight, white family, which includes at least two children.” 

I worked for an international religious organization for years.  Some things they got very, very wrong, but other things they got right.  One of the things they got right was that everyone was accepted into the church*.  Liars, cheats, drug addicts, fornicators, adulterers, gay, domestic abusers, gang bangers, strippers, abortionists and anything else you could want to shake a finger at, they were there sitting next to me.  The only things that required background checks or agreements regarding lifestyle choices were teaching positions–and that’s as it should be. 

How do people learn if they can’t be taught?  Imagine if the public school system was able to turn away a child because of the color of his skin.  How could that child learn, and grow into a man who could earn a living and participate as a citizen?  We aren’t so far away from that time in our secular history, and we all agree that it is wrong.  So why are we still shutting the church doors on people?  “I’m so sorry,” we say, with a prim little smile on our lips and sorrowful eyebrows, “but we just can’t have you in here.  When you stop drinking, you’ll be welcome.  But until then…  Tsk.  I’m sorry.  We just can’t.  Think of the children.” 

Yes.  Think of the children.  Please, for the love of God, think of the children. 

I attended Catholic school as a non-Catholic, and I am grateful for the education I received.  I am also grateful for having been forced to actually read the Bible in its entirety, and for having Mrs. Cardenas and Sister Sue Ann there to try and decipher it for me.  Though I did not make a decision for Christ until I was in my twenties, those ladies laid a foundation for me.  And isn’t that the whole point of having a religious school?  Even if I had chosen to continue in an agnostic existence, I am a better person for having learned the philosophies taught by Jesus.  

Aren’t religious schools intended to be places to instruct children on what your religion believes are the right and proper ways to live?  In that case, wouldn’t you be welcoming the ones whose backgrounds were contrary to your own with wide arms?  Aren’t those the children who need you the most?  Aren’t those the parents you want to win over with love?  Aren’t you in the business of saving souls through education?  And isn’t your god strong enough to overcome any taint that some poor heathen child might bring into your camp?  Aren’t you called to be a light unto the world? 

One of the things the ministry I worked for got wrong was money.  Money money money.  Toward the end of my time there, it was all about getting money.  We were in a meeting one morning, discussing just that.  We were instructed to pray that God would cause something to happen that would deliver over to our ministry the finances of wicked men and women based on this scripture: 

Proverbs 13:22 (King James Version)

 22A good man leaveth an inheritance to his children’s children: and the wealth of the sinner is laid up for the just. 

I’ll save my full Old Testament/New Testament rant for another time, and just say this:  Either you believe Jesus fulfilled the OT or you don’t.  You shouldn’t be mixing and matching Levitical law and the commandments of the Christ to build your doctrines.  That said, I asked in the meeting, “Shouldn’t we be praying that God [being no respecter of persons, who would do for anyone what he did for Paul] rescue the wicked, and turn their eyes from darkness to light, so that they turn to Christ?  And that way, doesn’t the wealth of the wicked become the wealth of the just?” 

If looks could kill.  They didn’t like my idea.  

Because even when you are righteous it is easier to pray for someone’s destruction than someone’s salvation.  And even when you are righteous it is easier to judge someone else’s lifestyle and avoid them than to share a cup.  (I am thinking of my grandmother spraying down furniture with Lysol in front of him when an openly gay friend of my cousin would visit her house.  Embarrassing!)  And even when you are righteous it is easier to say no to one child than have to explain to however many other children that even though your religion does not condone the lifestyle that this child’s parents lead, your god still loves that family and sees them as part of his family.  And, in fact, loves that family so much that he sent his son to die for them, just like he did for you. 

Do you see?  I get so angry!  God loves gays and God loves druggies.  God loves prodigal sons.  And do you know what?  God loves the ones who never love him back.  

I am a mother first and foremost and I want you to know that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation will ever be able to separate my son from the love I have for him.  Nothing he does could make me stop loving him.  Nothing could make me give up on him.  He doesn’t have to be anything other than mine, and I birthed him, so that will never change.  He could deny me all he wanted.  He could change his name.  He could run to Timbuktu.  I am still his mother, and I would still love him.  And I would never, ever give up on him. 

God feels that way about you, about me, about Hitler, about Tom Cruise, about Rick James, about Betty Ford, about Marc Jacobs, about Ellen Degeneres, about that guy who lives next door to you, about your 7th grade science teacher, about that homeless man, about every single child in his creation.  That love doesn’t go away.  That love doesn’t die.  That love is perfect. 

The religious school is upset because the little boy in question only has mothers, and has no father.  I’ve got news for them.  That child has a Father, and it would serve them well to talk to Him about admission requirements.

*After Amy, who worked and sat in the congregation with me at this institution, read the post she reminded me:  I agree completely, except that I would say “that church” wasn’t accepting of everyone. You commit any crime known to man and be accepted but I dare you to be a divorcee in that church. Even though every gosh darn person in leadership was divorced [and they had created a whole new doctrine to allow divorce of ministers], you’ll be
treated like an outcast.

Howling Sea Lane, Religion

FISHing for Business of Fishers of Men

the outside lane

Context is everything, isn’t it?  You take one detail out of context and the whole story changes.  Out of context a stolen handkerchief becomes all the evidence Othello needs to believe Iago’s whispered machinations.  A half-heard conversation is the plot device in half of all romantic comedies.  Religion certainly suffers from contextual conflagration.  I am initimately familiar with that one.

We end up with cards and door-talkers on our front porch all the time, advertising this or that service.  Lawn, handyman repair, babysitting, you name it.  I don’t pay much attention to any of them, but the surest way to get me to throw a business card or flyer away is for me to spot an Ichthys (Jesus fish), cross, or dove on it.

I’m a Christian.  I am just wary of people who use symbols of faith to advertise their business.  I know that the various emblems are supposed to signify trustworthiness, or solidarity, or make me feel comfortable doing business, but I can’t help feeling that if you are willing to take something holy and full of meaning, something that should inspire reverence and awe, and slap it on a piece of colored copy paper as a means of recommending your ability to snake my drains, you aren’t taking it as seriously as you should.  So, my brain connects the dots to the conclusion that you don’t take the message of Christ seriously, and therefore don’t take me seriously, and won’t mind trying to charge me $500 for a new toilet when all I need is a $3 orange plug thingy.  No thank you!

Think about that.  Do you think Moses would have had an image of the Ark of the Covenant stamped on his business card?  Why, or why not?

The why-not is easy.  The Ark of the Covenant belonged in the Holy of Holies, and all it was was a container for the Ten Commandments.  How much holier the image of the cross, the fulfillment of every other commandment and the symbol of our salvation?  It’s not just a throwaway.  It means something other than that people should shop at your knick knack store.  I say this as someone who used to have an Ichthys on her car.  Reformed whatevers are always the worst, aren’t they?

But I digress.  I was talking about context and had in mind Matthew 6:19, which reads from the NIV: “19“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. 20But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. 21For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.

Usually, when we hear this scripture, it is in reference to monetary wealth or ownership of things, but when you look at the verse in context of its chapter, we are actually talking about prayer and charity, and whether we prefer God’s reward for our acts of righteousness, or the praise of men. 

I think this is why the use of holy symbols for personal gain bothers me.  A cross on your business card is shorthand for set of very detailed and defined characteristics.  What you are asking me to do, when you have that dove of peace stamped on your card, is make a connection between your business model and Jesus Christ.  You are asking me to make a mental connection between the service you are offering, and the service Jesus offered.  And as much as I need my air conditioning, it is a stretch to assume that your ability to fix my leaking coolant is akin to Jesus’ ability to save my eternal soul.  The context of the symbol means everything.

More, you are enticing me to give you my business based on a public show of your religion.  This means you are asking me to give you my business based on your having trumpeted your righteousness in the streets–exactly what Jesus warns against in Matthew 6. 

I should know your business is christian in its practices by reputation and living example, not by a logo that any thug can draw.

Howling Sea Lane

Cancer

the outside lane

You have met several women through the Women Worth Knowing profiles.  Of those women, five have had some form of cancer that required surgery, and three of them required further intensive treatment.  I think it is safe to say that every woman you have met has been affected by the disease in some way.

I lost a grandmother, sister-in-law and Karen’s mom to lung and breast cancer respectively .  My mother and an aunt beat colo-rectal and breast cancer respectively.  Friends have had varying success against skin, uterine, brain, and breast cancers.

It is an insidious disease and the word alone is terrifying.  The treatments aren’t much better.  No one gets excited over hearing they get to have chemotherapy or radiation.  It’s not like you’re getting a vicodin vacation.

Irene walked the Susan G. Komen 3-Day a couple of years ago.  She came back with stories of survivors and of those left behind.  I’ve done a couple of walks and am always looking around at the crowds wondering, “If this many people have had this disease, why aren’t we further along with a cure?”

I have no idea what to do to help medicine progress.  I am in no way, shape or form a scientist or doctor.  I hated biology, and anatomy grossed me out.  All I know to do is donate to vetted groups.

I do wonder, if we encouraged more girls into science and technology, would we have a better chance of effecting a cure?  Not that cancer doesn’t affect men, too.  After all, my husband lost his sister, my nephew lost his mother, and my father and uncles-in-law have had their personal battles with the disease and how it has affected their own daughters.  According to this report, men are 40% more likely to die from cancer because they don’t like going to the doctor.

What I know for sure is this:  Early detection and vigilant follow-up are the life savers.  Ladies, get your yearlies and get your mammograms, and when it’s time, get your colonoscopy.  An age-recommended colonoscopy is what saved my mother’s life. 

Gentlemen, get thee to a proctologist hence!  Believe me, the girls know it’s uncomfortable and no fun.  We’ve been getting groped, and had strange fingers and cold instruments jammed up in us since puberty.  But if turning your head and coughing means you get to live to see your grandson’s Little League games, isn’t it worth it?

Do all the self exams, and have a physical every year.  If we can’t accomplish a quick cure, at least we can do our best to prevent and early-detect it.

Lancient History

Teenaged Girls

the outside lane

Wednesday, October 26, 1988 was a big day for me.  It was the first concert I had ever attended without a parent.  It was the night the boy who I had dated since 1985 and I broke up.  It was the night I met the boy I would moon after for the following four years.  And, it was the night when I met Trinette. 

That was my senior year, which was godawful in so many ways, I’m surprised I made it out with most of my sanity.  Trinette was one of the reasons I did.

She was a freshman at the local university, and already an expert on Soviet and Eastern European history and culture.  I had a dabbling interest in the USSR at the time, and she provided a catalyst that would propel me into Soviet Studies during my own time at the university.  We also shared very similar tastes in music, and would sit in her apartment listening to Berlin and Erasure ad nauseum.

We were inseparable almost from the moment we met.  I spent all the free time with her that I could, and we would write each other pages of notes during the day to exchange at our next meeting.  I had forgotten about the notes until just now.  Teenaged girls are exhausting, aren’t they?  Especially the drama kids.  I’m tired just thinking of how much emotional energy it took to be me.  I’ll take wrinkles, saggy tatas and 40, over 17 any day of the week.

We were friend-soulmates and I adored her.  Only we understood the depth of each other’s feelings.  Only we knew how it felt to be such special, unique snowflakes.  Every word we spoke was heavy with the honied angst that leaks from teenaged pores.  We were serious artists, and serious lovers of history, and serious about fashion and style, and Trinette was very serious about hating brown eyeshadow and Christian Dior.  “Brown looks like you’ve rubbed dirt on your eyes,” she told me. 

She was my lifeline out of high school, the light at the end of the tunnel that said things were going to be okay.  Her presence in my life meant that one day I could get out of the world I was living in, that I would survive my parents and algebra, and maybe I could even grow out my hair to be as pretty as hers.

Trinette had beautiful hair.  Just saying.

Our friendship flamed out spectacularly in the summer between my senior year of high school, and freshman year of college.  One day we were still thick as thieves, and the next?  Poof.  Gone.  There were plenty of reasons for it, all silly, all sad, and all very 18-years-old.  I think I was mostly to blame.  I usually think I am mostly to blame, but in this case, I really do believe I was.

I went through formal Rush that August, having to face Trinette and her sorority sisters in a ballroom full of hurt for me.  Hilariously (now, 20 years later, not so much then), my high school guidance counselor, the ditzy Mrs. Moneybags, had forgotten to add back into my GPA two courses she had removed to change to Advanced Placement status, leaving me with the 1.8 she mailed in as transcript for my Rush application.  I was cut from the Rush process after the first day of parties, and had no idea why.  All I knew was that I had faced Trinette in that ballroom, she hadn’t spoken a word to me, and the next morning my Rho Chi was phoning to tell me that she had never had anything like this happen, but that I was no longer welcome to any parties.  Not even Phi Mu wanted me.

Mass rejection.  Mass humiliation. 

I pestered people about it, and someone finally came back with the story that Trinette may have said I had committed a Rush infraction.  Of course she hadn’t, but it was enough to embitter me for a couple of semesters.  It would be a couple of years, after I pledged Delta Zeta, before I found out exactly what had happened.  Thanks a lot, Mrs. Moneybags!

Trinette and I ran into each other in the Bursar’s office in my senior year.  She was working on her graduate degree, and had just come back from Romania.  I happened to be wearing a pair of amethyst earrings she had left in my car prior to our flameout.  When she hadn’t returned my phone calls, I had kept the trinkets left in the little plastic soap container she’d used for her overnight jewelry box.  Those earrings were the only thing of value, having been a gift from her grandmother. 

I realized it as soon as she looked at me, and started taking them out to hand them over.  I will never forget the look on her face.  She bade me keep them, but I insisted, pressing them on her.

It had been five years since we had last spoken, and I asked for her phone number.  I wanted to apologize to her for having been 18 and dramatic.  She let me do that, but then no more.

I regret a few things in my life.  Losing Trinette’s friendship is one.  She was an interesting, driven girl, and my Google-stalking tells me that she has overachieved what she set out to do.  I found her on Facebook and have been hesitating pulling the trigger on requesting friendship there.  I guess it couldn’t hurt anything but my pride.

Women Worth Knowing

Women Worth Knowing: Meet Jill

the outside lane

Charlcye invited me to lunch one day to meet and welcome one of our coworkers from the Field.  Her name was Jill, and she was flying into Headquarters for the first time.  Part of our job was to make sure our partners in the Field knew how valued they were, and that we were there to make life easier for them.  Some people made that job more challenging than others, and then there were the team members like Jill, who made it a pleasure.

That also happens to be the best word to describe her.  Jill is an absolute pleasure.  She is a smiling, delightful, candidly happy woman, who more than lights up a room.  She lightens a room.  That is, she lifts the weight of the world from it with the effervescence of her spirit.  She is champagne in human form.

Jill is a good leader because you want to follow her.  Who wouldn’t want to follow her?  She is realistically optimistic, trustworthy, and knows her business.  If you’re asking her about numbers, you can take her answer to the bank.  If you’re asking her about people, you know she’s thought it through.  She gets results because she drives for them, but also because she makes you feel so darned good about being in the car with her.

When she responded with the answers to her profile questions, she added a little note.  I share it because it is an example of every communication I have ever had with her, professional or personal.  She builds up her contacts with sincerity and sweetness, and that makes her utterly irresistible.  Jill said, “I do remember flying into Dallas for a wedding in 2002, and I wanted to see the big [corporate headquarters.]  So Charlcye and you, and someone else met me, took me to lunch, and I got the star treatment tour. I remember thinking wow… These beautiful women are so cool and so nice ….weird!!! No cattiness and I was in love at first sight!! Aside from you and Charlcye always always always picking up your phone and emailing right back whatever I needed, you two really helped me grow and want to do well!”  See what I mean?  How could we not want to do anything in the world for her?

Meet Jill.

Name:  Jill

Age range: 30s but say forever 29.99 plus tax

Preferred job title: leader and trainer

Industry: retail retail retail

Who am I? I am a high-spirited sometimes misunderstood person that is always thirsty for change. I thrive on high stress and new adventures and am an organized mess.  I believe there is a reason for everything and all will turn out just fine… If not better. My eyes continue to strain to see things clearly for what they really are and I can find good in everything. Maybe in denial??

I believe in karma and God and I have lived a truly blessed life that I admit I did not even appreciate until I went on a medical mission to Rwanda Africa. Beautiful people!!

My family: I have an awesome husband, Kevin, of 14 years on 7-27 at 7pm, who stands by me in every crazy idea I come up with. My parents just this weekend retired and are moving to Indiana where they grew up and met.  Heartache! I am so Daddy’s little girl! They are fabulous parents who taught me my strong work ethic, respect for myself and others, and [they] never judge me!

I have a great stepson who is almost 18 and just received a full ride academic scholarship to Kentucky! Very proud!
I have 2 kitties that I took in as strays and we just got a puppy Hank who is in k-9 academy for 2 more weeks! Wish me luck…

First hour of the day: Procrastination and snooze button a few times! I dislike mornings! Mom said I was born at noon and truly that is when I would like to start my day 😉  The last hour is making my next to do list that never ends but I get great satisfaction from crossed out lines and check marks.  Maybe take my makeup off… Maybe not…

What makes me feel successful: Going home at the end of the day knowing I helped others and gave my best to my team and my customers.  Seeing others around me grow spiritually and professionally. I live to make people smile and feel appreciated.

What brings me joy: Red licorice, diet Pepsi, new pjs, not getting up early, pink cherry blossom trees.  African children with their ginormous smiles.  Opening up a door for someone who needs it, randomly paying for the car behind me in a drive thru anonymously.  Music music music! I heart music! I must have music playing at all times possible. Sometimes the song in my head doesn’t quite match up 🙂

What women do I admire:
Famous: I admire Oprah for speaking her mind and not waffling, for accepting what shape she may be at that moment and for changing the way I look at things.
I also admire my mom for working so hard and doing without so many gets so we could have nice things!

What do you like best about your closest friend: That she can pick up wherever we left off no matter length of time and not make me feel guilty.  For telling me the truth: yes you do have food in your teeth or a bat in the cove boogie 😉

What do you like best about yourself: I like that I can keep falling and keep getting back up again. I like that I am meeting new people who bring good into my life. I do like having green eyes.

What advice would you give to boys about girls? Always edify your mom and partner in front of anyone.
Always wear clean underwear when traveling, and it will stop hurting when the pain goes away.  Girls are like sourpatch gummies. Sweet on the inside if you give them time to melt 🙂

How do I overcome adversity: I [do it by having] confidence and by loving all kinds of people, striped, polka-dotted. Plaid doesn’t matter to me and I can get along with almost everyone…the ones I can’t .. I still try and pray for peace in their lives and I believe there is a reason deeper than I can see or know as to why they act the way they do .

How would you like to be remembered? With a big smile making a difference in my world close to me and far from me and that I never quit and gave up trying and learning.  As a great daughter, wife, stepmom, sister and friend.