Thoughts on healthcare

There's a debate raging in this country about national health care and an overhaul the current government has been promising. As time goes on, it seems that more and more people are against a plan that would offer coverage to all American, possibly by adding a government run health plan option for all Americans. And as the debate rages, I have to wonder why my fellow citizens oppose everyone having health care.

For you to understand my perspective, let me explain a little about myself. I am fairly young, in my early 30's. I'm pretty healthy as things go, I have some normal things like allergies and my cholesterol is a little high due to genetic factors. There is nothing particularly alarming or critical about my health, but I cannot get private health insurance, I have to be on a work-sponsored group plan or else I am without. Why you ask? Because of a genetic condition that is rarely even a factor in my care but that in the right circumstances could be fatal. Because of that, no one will insure me unless I'm in a group situation where they aren't allowed to review my medical history. Furthermore, if my coverage should lapse, that very condition would be uncovered as a previously existing condition. I did nothing to deserve this; no lifestyle choices contribute, it is merely something I was born with that I almost never think about. And yet, it drastically affects my life. Furthermore, my husband works for a very small employer that is not bound by law to provide us health coverage at all, and certainly is not obligated in anyway to cover me and our children in addition to him, and is, in fact, reviewing that level of family coverage right now. So in many ways, we live with a reality that we could find me uninsured and uninsurable, without a COBRA option since COBRA also isn't required of his employer.

The last time my husband changed jobs, we were both working, but my employer didn't offer family coverage. His employment was a fixed-term appointment that was ending. To get insurance through my employer would have cost us $1,500 a month. You read that correctly, that is more than our housing payment. So as he looked for, and found a job, he accepted it and moved a few hundred miles in a very short 2-week window. Meanwhile, my children and I stayed a month longer so that I could provide my employer with the appropriate notice that I was leaving. We did this all for health care, and it was miserable.

Over my working life, I have seen tremendous changes in my insurance. It was really just 10 years ago that I entered this world of employer sponsored benefits, and when I started, I paid less than $100 a month for the premium health plan and a $10 co-pay on office visits. Prescriptions ranged from $5 to $25 depending, and I could get them filled anywhere. Most everything else was covered fully. So much has changed. Now we are nickle and dimed by our insurance. Lab tests have co-pays, visits are denied because they didn't have acceptable diagnosis codes, we have to prove we don't have secondary insurance, we pay extra if we don't use mail order for prescriptions, the list goes on.

Now it so happens that a few years ago I got sick while in Europe. I called my health insurance provider and they instructed me to go to the ER, and they would reimburse me for my costs. After consulting with some locals, I decided instead to go to a local doctor and swallow the cost of an office visit, which is something I could afford to do, whereas I had no way to pay potentially a $1,000 or more for an ER visit (which was my low-end estimate based on costs in this country) even if I was going to be reimbursed for it. I went to the doctor, he checked me out and gave me prescription medication. I didn't wait at all, everything happened in one place, and as I left and tried to pay, they laughed. No money exchanged hands for this half hour visit and prescription medication. Let me mention that in this same country, they have wonderful, clean public transit everywhere, and the standard of living is very high. People are very healthy and homelessness and poverty are, compared with our country, quite rare. Their government is not bankrupt, their doctors are not poor, and most of all, people are not bankrupted by illness. I don't understand why people in this country do not want similar coverage.

A few years back, I fell and broke my leg. I visited 2 emergency rooms in the process, stayed 4 days in the hospital, discharged before I was ready to go home under coercion from the hospital staff as I tried to explain through tears I was in tremendous pain and unable to care for myself. I had surgery, 2 ambulance rides and physical therapy. The whole thing cost thousands of dollars. I exceeded deductibles and out of pocket maximums and was stretched to the very limit of my finances to pay for it all. My husband, however, broke is ankle in a northern European country, also requiring a hospital stay, surgery and physical therapy, and the grand total of his care cost him $50 for the taxi he took to the hospital. In that country, the government is well endowed and its people enjoy the very highest quality of life in the world. How can one compare those 2 and say we have the best system? The answer simply is that we do not have the best system.

Conservatives are fighting hard to derail any change to our current system. Seniors identify in great numbers as conservative voters, and oppose health care reform at rates of greater than 3:1. But does no one see the irony in this? These opponents of "socialized medicine" are the very people who receive their health care through the federal Medicare system. Were they to be thrown into the situation the rest of us have, they would never be able to retire and being jobless would bankrupt them because, like me, seniors would never qualify for private insurance. Veterans, another overwhelmingly conservative group of individuals, are also often entitled to health care provided by the government through the VA, and many of them also would not qualify for private insurance because of injuries suffered in battle. Don't get me wrong, I do not begrudge these individuals their health care, I am glad we, as a country, take care of our seniors and our soldiers. What I'd like is for all of us to have such care open to us, so that if my husband loses his health plan, we do not suffer without insurance. Why am I less deserving because I am not old enough and was not eligible for military service? Why is anyone less deserving than another human being?

I know people are afraid of losing control, of losing choice, but if you'd only pay attention, you have been losing choice in the current system for years. Lack of competition unfairly driving private companies out of business is a concern, and yet I tell you the current system has been driving companies out of business. For example, my employer 4 years ago was the major employer in our small town. While I was there, they switched to a mail order prescription plan. No longer could you get maintenance medication through the local pharmacy. At this privately owned local pharmacy, people knew you. The pharmacist would remember conditions and ask you how things were working. They remembered when I switched vitamins and checked to make sure the new one was going okay. This switch at this one employer drove that pharmacy out of business. We now had to go to the next town to the large, national pharmacy chain for one-time prescriptions as well as any other pharmacy type need. That gave one store a monopoly on such business for several miles around. Where then was the choice? You no longer have the choice to see any doctor you like anyway. Sure, it's not a problem when all goes well, but what happens when you get really sick and the best specialist, the one experienced with exactly your situation, isn't on your plan? Or what if, as happened to a friend of mine, your baby is born prematurely and the only NICU in your area isn't covered under your insurance? Even though her insurance agreed to pay, because they didn't have a contract with that hospital, the hospital is still billing for far more than insurance would have to pay with a contract. You have no choice today, and if you exercise choice, you pay dearly for it. In truth, people on medicare, the government health plan, have more choice than you or I do in our private plans. Does your policy have a lifetime maximum? A few years ago none did, now one single bout with cancer is enough to expire that limit on most policies leaving you to die or lose everything you have to pay for the care you need.

Don't get me wrong, I don't think you should have to give up your health plan if you don't want to. I just think everyone should be able to have coverage. I hear more and more about pregnant women who are losing insurance because employers are cutting back in this bad economy, women who want to self-pay for coverage, can even afford to, but can't get it because they are pregnant. And while they could afford private coverage, they cannot afford the tens of thousands of dollars a standard hospital birth costs in this country. Please tell me what is good about such a system. And I'm sure some of you are reading this and thinking about the welfare rolls and people who some deem "too lazy to work", but I assure you, these are not the people going without insurance. Indeed, anyone that poor qualifies for medicaid, no it is the people who work very hard at low paying jobs for employers who do not offer insurance, or at least do not offer affordable insurance who are suffering the most. People who are living just above the poverty line because they do work and work hard.

There are so many myths out there, but the reality is that our current system works for some but not all. For people who never get sick, who make six-figure salaries, or who have made it to the golden age of retirement. For the rest of us, we have a precarious existence, and a single incident would throw any one of us off a cliff. Open your eyes, America, in this case we are clearly not the best.

Rethining Marriage

Warning: this post contains graphic and disturbing content. It could be disturbing to minors, victims of abuse, and conservatives.



As the cultural war wages on in our midst, I have recently begun thinking about the sides of the "marriage debate." You know, that push in our country to legally recognize a life-long partnership between 2 people of the same gender. Each side has its own buzz words and catch phrases aimed at mobilizing a nation of outraged citizens to go vote for the correct side. On one side you have people likening themselves to the civil rights movement of the mid 20th century in which Americans of African descent gained equal rights, even if equal status has lagged by decades and isn't even fully enjoyed now that the African-American domestic servants in the White House serve an African-American family in residence. On the other side, you have the champions of "traditional marriage" holding up their Bibles and praying that God will end his wrath and ravage against our country for this sin of immorality that now plagues us. And the more I began to think about it, the more this phrase "traditional marriage" began to bother me. For some strange reason, it does not invoke the warm-fuzzy comfort of happy familial stability I think its users intend. In fact, as the mother of 2 beautiful girls it concerns and frightens me more than anything. And so, as when anything bothers me, I began to think and dig a little into why "traditional marriage" sparked such a response from me.

First of all, as many of you already know that I am a radical left-wing voter, likely communist and all, I have some confessions to make. 1) I am, and have been my whole life, an openly heterosexual female. I am sorry to shock you like this, but I cannot help it. This is the way God made me. I have been happily married for over 6 years now. I wish I could say it causes me pain to admit this, but the truth is, this is who I have always been, this is who I will always be and I see my orientation as a gift from a loving God who has also given me a wonderful life-partner with whom I share my innermost self. I can no more help my orientation than I can help my short stature, which you might now judge to be the wrath of God upon me for my deviant nature. 2) My marriage is actually recognized as legal and valid by state, federal and church authorities, having been sworn in the presence of about 75 witnesses including at least 2 priests and a bishop (who shall remain nameless lest his moral character be called into question by those who oppose such actions). 3) I am a fundamentalist Christian. That's right, you're looking for a biblical literalist? Well here I am. Go ahead, throw the book at me, I'll throw it right back. Was the earth created in 7 days? Yes! If you're going to believe in an all powerful God, why limit his creative powers to the span of millennia? Was the world destroyed by flood saving only the Arc's inhabitants? You betcha, would you like me to show you where Genesis says so? And Jesus, was he everything you've heard: son of God, God incarnate, endowed with healing powers, Messiah and all? Undoubtedly. He moved over the waters of creation and came to live among us as promised by prophecy, dying a savior and reigning in heaven as king. And get this, I know all of this because the living savior has a personal relationship with me - I know, I am now certifiable. Read on, it gets better. 4) I am a "values voter". That's right, now that I have confessed the truth about my faith and identity, I will admit that I have tampered in the legal structure of this country by voting my religion. I know the separation of church and state is dictated in the constitution, but I cannot help it. Jesus said to heal the sick, so I support universal health care including Medicare and Medicaid. Jesus said "if you love me, feed my sheep", so I support social welfare programs including (but not limited to) food stamps, public housing, unemployment benefits and social security. I could go on, but it only gets worse from here. In fact, I may be the most conflicted voter you know, which is why I stick with the words of Jesus almost entirely when making my values voting decisions. I rarely seek the council of wise, seminary-educated men who are most qualified to study the whole of scripture and Christian cultural traditions to draw out the biblical interpretations that should guide me in my application of my values at the polls. To understand that better, see point 3 where I acknowledge my biblical literalism, thereby rejecting interpretation of the Bible.

So now that you know the truth of my fanatical and deviant nature, let's get back to this issue of "traditional marriage" and why it bothers me so much. I have, after all, just confessed to taking part in what would likely be labeled such a marriage by its advocates. But here's the thing: I'm not so sure I accept the picture of marriage being put forth as tradition, and I'm certain I don't want to find myself in a marriage that is truly traditional.

What is "traditional marriage"? How far back do we go to find that definition? Should we start at the Bible? Okay, we'll start there. Lets just look for a moment at Adam and Eve. Were they married? Um, I guess so, she's called his "wife", right? But when? How? Oh, wait, they slept together, so they were married. Wow, poor Eve, she was denied the white dress, the veil and all the lovely bridesmaids. All she got was the wedding night, hope that didn't hurt love, first time and all, because that was your wedding. In fact, it wasn't until 1545 or something that marriage in the Roman Catholic countries was much more than an agreement between 2 people that they were married and the consummation of that agreement - yup, sex; you may know this as common law. Oh, and Paul affirms this sex = marriage standard in 1 Corinthians 6:16. Whoa, bad news for my generation! Most of us are a bunch of polygamists and adulterers because all you have to do to be married by the biblical standard is to have sex. And you thought that one night stand in college had no lasting implications: sorry dude, that is your wife! There's some more great stuff in the Bible too on the subject of marriage. Take King David, for instance: hero, writer of Psalms, king of Israel, father of Solomon, beloved by God, the father of the line that will give birth to the savior. He had 8 wives and he had concubines too. Oh, wait, and his last wife, the mother of Solomon, yeah, she was married to this guy Uriah when she slept with David and got pregnant. No worries, though David had Uriah killed, married his wife, all was good and legitimate, and hey, it would be swell to be a 8th wife, wouldn't it? Uriah had it good, no? No, don't like that? Well, Solomon, revered as the quintessential wise ruler had 700 wives and 300 concubines. How does that fit your traditional tastes? In fact, plural marriage is found throughout the Bible, even Israel himself (you know, father of God's chosen people) had 2 wives, though in his defense, he was tricked into marrying Leah (poor girl), but that clearly wasn't grounds for annulment back then, which would maybe make us take pity on him being forced into multiple marriages, if it weren't for the fact that he slept with his wives' maid servants too. You think your family spends too much on tampons, imagine what these poor guys paid every month! And women had no right to divorce. Solomon's first wife watched him take 699 more, and surely concubines count as infidelity, in any case, she had no right legally to divorce him. So what is so wonderful about this kind of traditional marriage?

Maybe the advocates of "traditional marriage" are taking a purely American view of marriage. So maybe we should look beyond their invocation of biblical authority to the laws of our fine land. Well, for one thing, common law marriage still stands in 9 states and the District of Columbia. But did you know that plural marriage wasn't a federal felony in the United States until 1862? Married women didn't gain the right to own property in their own name in all US states until 1900. Hey, that's great. Imagine you die and to support your wife and kids, you leave them your property like any decent guy would do. Now, your wife gets remarried, as could reasonably be expected, only the new husband turns out to be a looser, sleeps around, hits the kids, so she goes to kick him out. Only she can't. Why? because your wife has no legal claim to that house you built her. Why didn't women rise up in indignation and force change through the polls and proper representation in the government?! Oh, yeah, forgot - they weren't allowed to vote until 1920! And then there are the anti-miscegenation laws Don't know what those are? Think interracial marriage. That was some really archaic stuff, right? Nope, most of these laws only go back to the 17th century, and they still existed in 16 states when the Supreme Court ruled them unconstitutional in 1967 in the Loving V. Virginia case. But believe it or not, South Carolina and Alabama maintained these prohibitions (though legally unenforceable ) in their state constitutions until 1998 and 2000 respectively. And lest you think interracial marriage was an old taboo, we know it existed in Shakespeare's time from his play Othello, it existed in ancient Egypt, where people of all colors lived, Arab traders intermarried in the various cultures they visited, and it's in the Old Testament. Did you know that, with 2 exceptions: Nazi Germany and South Africa during Apartheid, no other countries had such prohibitions in the 20th century? How nontraditional of us!

There's one other legal aspect of American marriage I want to review, but this one deserves its own paragraph. Before we get to that, I want all of you men to take a moment to think about the woman you revere most in the world. Is it your sister? Your mother? Maybe it's your daughter or your wife. If you can't think of anyone in particular, think of the Blessed Virgin, most favored among women by God, the woman who birthed and reared the Savior himself. Have you thought of her yet? Take a minute if you need to. Okay, picture her in your mind. What's her name? Go ahead- say it, out loud if you don't mind. Good, now I want you to imagine her (no matter who she is) at, let's say 25. Can you see her? Let's say it's evening. Her 2 children are in bed - she's got a 3 year old and a 6 month old, sweet kids too. We find her down on the floor, the 3-year old spilled something, and she's getting around to cleaning it up. Watch her move - gosh she looks tired. Well, who wouldn't be, 2 kids to run around and clean-up after. And she's still nursing that baby, almost full time. Plus there are the diapers, the laundry, the dishes and let's not forget making meals. No surprise she looks tired, oh, and look at her tense up as she moves to the side there, her back is hurting her too. Thankfully the day is just about over and she can go to bed and rest. And here comes her husband, he was such a nice guy when they were dating. But, you know, times are hard, He's down on his luck. He lost his job, and now he's got another one, but the pay is lousy and the hours are worse, not to mention that his co-workers are a bunch of jerks. Look at his face, he's had a bad day, you can see it, maybe he had a drink or 3 after work to try to shake it off, but it's still there. But now he walks into the room where his lovely, tired wife is stooped down on the floor, her bottom sways as she cleans and, well, he is a man after all! He goes over, helps her up, gives her a kiss. Oh and another kiss. Hey, he's liking this, this is good. "Not tonight, sweetheart, my back is really hurting, and I'm so tired" she says gently. Maybe she doesn't want another baby just yet and is worried that could happen tonight. Okay, he changes tactics a little, rubs her back, leans in for some more kissing. She again declines his advances. Now his pride is hurting, he's getting mad. Remember those drinks? Irrational thinking sets in, his anger from the day returns. He tries again, this time when she brushes him off, he grabs her wrist to stop her. Look at her face, he's hurting her. Now that he's got her, he starts in again. She's begging him now to please stop. But he doesn't stop, with her wrist in his hand, he pushes her to the bedroom, onto the bed. Now he can sit on her while he undresses himself and her. She is upset, maybe frightened, maybe angry, maybe both. She is not physically ready for what he is about to do. She is not aroused. As he thrusts himself onto her, into her, it hurts. Over and over, it hurts. She's crying, he doesn't stop. Can you see her? Can you see her tears? How long will it hurt physically? A few minutes? A few days? Weeks, months, years? How long will it hurt her emotionally? Are you going to allow this to happen? Are you going to let him do that to her? Wait, you have no choice, what he's doing is legal. It wasn't until 1993 that spousal rape was recognized throughout all 50 states as a crime. And right now, only 104 of 192 UN member states have laws that provide for spousal rape prosecution, and of those 104, only 32 - less than 1/3- have laws that specifically classify spousal rape as a crime, in the rest it's an ambiguity that can be pursued under general abuse or other crimes. But look at her, she's in pain. Isn't what he's doing wrong?

What's that? Yes, you sir back there reading this, what did you say? St. Paul you say? Oh, you're asking about the submission passages in the epistles of St. Paul, well I am SO glad you brought those up. This is a very important point indeed. We do need to return to the Bible now that we've established that American marriage is anything but traditional. And those submission passages, that's what allows her husband to do this, isn't it? Okay, let's take a look at those. I believe it's 1 Corinthians 7:3-5 that is most often cited here, okay it says "³The husband should fulfill his marital duty to his wife, and likewise the wife to her husband. ⁴The wife's body does not belong to her alone but also to her husband. In the same way, the husband's body does not belong to him alone but also to his wife. ⁵Do not deprive each other except by mutual consent and for a time, so that you may devote yourselves to prayer. Then come together again so that Satan will not tempt you because of your lack of self-control." Okay - um, don't know if you saw this, but Paul says that the husband's body belongs to the wife too. Yes, don't deny each other, but she couldn't possibly do to him what he is right now doing to her. If he said "no", if he wasn't in the mood, she couldn't force herself upon him like this. So, what exactly is our duty to our spouse? Okay, so Colossians 3 :18 says "Wives, submit to your husbands, as is fitting in the Lord." But wait, 19 says: "Husbands, love your wives and do not be harsh with them." - I don't know, I think he's being a little harsh, don't you?. Moving on then, The Ephesians marriage submission passage generally begins at chapter 5, verse 22, but let's just back up a little and read the verse before it because the breaking-up was done by humans, and I want full context here: "Submit to one another out of reverence for Christ. ²²Wives, submit to your husbands as to the Lord. ²³For the husband is the head of the wife as Christ is the head of the church, his body, of which he is the Savior. ²⁴Now as the church submits to Christ, so also wives should submit to their husbands in everything. " Did you catch that, he said "submit to one another", very interesting, but of course he doesn't single out husbands, does he? Oh wait, let's read the next part " ²⁵Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her ²⁶to make her holy, cleansing her by the washing with water through the word, ²⁷and to present her to himself as a radiant church, without stain or wrinkle or any other blemish, but holy and blameless. ²⁸In this same way, husbands ought to love their wives as their own bodies. He who loves his wife loves himself. ²⁹After all, no one ever hated his own body, but he feeds and cares for it, just as Christ does the church— ³⁰for we are members of his body. ³¹"For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and the two will become one flesh." ³²This is a profound mystery—but I am talking about Christ and the church. ³³However, each one of you also must love his wife as he loves himself, and the wife must respect her husband." Did you see that? 2 verses describing how wives are to submit, and 9 explaining how husbands are to love their wives. And what model does he use? Christ to the church. Can we look at that for a moment? How did Christ love the church? Did he force himself on us? Nope, free will, remember that part - he left us free to accept or reject him. Did he make us take on his pain and he was flogged and put on the cross? No, look what Isaiah 53:5 says about his death:

⁵ But he was pierced for our transgressions,
he was crushed for our iniquities;
the punishment that brought us peace was upon him,
and by his wounds we are healed.

Not only did he not pass the pain along to us, but he was doing it for us. And this is what Jesus himself said about love in John 15:13 ^"Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends." Okay, so if I get this straight, I am supposed to submit to my husband, and he is supposed to love me, and the example we have for this love is the way Jesus loved us to take on our sins, even to the point of death, so that we would not suffer. So is her husband loving her like that? Is he loving her like his own body? I don't think so! Who loves their body and willingly inflicts pain on it? We classify people like that under a variety of diagnoses and call them sick. So there you go, sir. Don't you dare throw St. Paul at me as a justification for your twisted views of marital duty! For centuries men have done so, but Paul's version of marital roles has no place for abuse and rape! Besides, we already decided that the Biblical standard of marriage flies in the face of the "one man, one woman" argument for traditional marriage with all that crazy polygamy stuff. The only people required to have one wife are bishops (or deacons if you're Catholic, but my husband assures me the word used there is actually "Episcopos", and I defer to him because he's the head of our family).

Maybe we have to turn to the rest of the world to find "traditional marriage". 50 countries legally recognize polygamy, with 9 more (including Great Britain) which have provisions for recognizing - geez there goes that "one man, one woman" thing again, right out the window! Islam was one of the first institutions to recognize marriage as a contract and allow women to own property and even get divorced (with the consent of her husband of course). That's great, right? Well, only if you like the fact that men can beat their wives, rape them and marry additional wives. And in many countries where Islam dominates, traditional families forbid women from being in the company of non-related men, which pretty much means they can't leave the house. In much of Africa and Asia, marriages traditionally were arranged by parents. It is estimated that 49 countries currently have significant child bride issues, where girls under the age of 16 (some as young as 7) are forcibly married off. Once married to an adult male, these children will no longer attend school and will begin life as a sexually active wife, and mother of babies. There's another great traditional practice called Bride Kidnapping, that occured all over the world, from Africa to Europe and Mexico. And actually, it still exists in numerous cultures. Here's how this traditional marriage practice works: Man kidnaps bride to be, man rapes her, now that woman has lost all value as a virgin, Man seeks formalized marriage from woman's parents. And since sex may be all that's required for marriage, he doesn't necessarily need their permission in the end. How's that for a traditional marriage? Wouldn't it be wonderful to marry a guy who raped you! Actually, some variation of bride kidnapping may even be the origin of our modern day honeymoon tradition. Oh it gets better, especially for our friends who argue that traditional marriage is between a man and a woman. Several traditional cultures have formalized contractual unions between 2 members of the same sex that follow the exact rituals of heterosexual marriage in those cultures. These include 30 tribes in Africa, groups in pre-modern China and Indigenous people in North America. In all cases, bride prices are paid by one party and contracts are made consistent with traditional marriage practices. Some of these couples even had children either through sexual relations with a member of their spouses' family or through adoption. Extended family roles follow the traditional patterns with one spouse assuming the husband role in all things and one spouse assuming the wife role.

So let me return to my friends who are fighting so hard for traditional marriage. Can you please tell me what that means? What country and what period of history are you claiming? What religious background. In all cases, what we have come to consider a "normal" marriage in the US is a very modern concept. In all cases, the notion that marriage is between one man and one woman is historically untrue. There is nothing traditional about it. And as I've looked at what traditional marriages include: multiple wives, legally sanctioned rape, kidnapping, abuse, a lack of rights for women, lack of choice for men and women, but especially women; can you blame me for recoiling when I hear the words "traditional marriage?" As far as I can tell, no woman should willingly wish this upon herself or her daughters! The definition of marriage has been an ever changing thing since the beginning of recorded history, why are we now insisting on fixing it in a moment of time? With each and every progression in the western world, the institution of marriage has gotten better, become more fair, more equal. For the sake of my daughters, I will not vote for traditional marriage; it is a barbaric institution.

Reflections on Motherhood

Tomorrow marks the 5th mothers' day I will have celebrated as a mom (if you include the one when the baby was not yet here). Tonight I have been reflecting on the treasured memories I hope to always have of my little ones.

Most days I am not the mother I want to be, nor are my children all that I want them to be, but in each day there are gifts of love, tenderness, respect, appreciation, devotion, awakening and so much more. I know that I carry around reminiscences of those moments while I tend to forget the bad ones rather quickly. I hope the same is true for my girls. I hope they grow up thinking of the mommy who tucks them in at night with their favorite songs and lots of hugs and kisses, and not the lady who nags half the day and yells when she gets totally overwhelmed by their noise and chaos. I hope I am remembered for the cuddles that come after nap time rather than for the scoldings that come before.

As for my girls, this is how I see them:

I remember very little about the first days of my oldest daughter's life. Maybe it was the 53.5 hours of labor before (which began around midnight) that has erased my memory. Or maybe it was the sheer delight of this tiny treasure that was given to me that made every moment seem perfect, and very few stand out. I do remember the first moment I saw her perfect little face. I had prepared my husband (and myself) for the reality that new born babies are red, wrinkly, misshapen, and just plain ugly! I did not expect to find her pretty for at least 3 months. I was okay with that. So imagine my surprise when this tiny, ivory-skinned pearl was handed to me with the most delicate features, dark blue eyes, a sweet button nose and fuzzy brown hair. This was not a new born, this was a baby! "She's beautiful" I gasped, and she was! And then I felt badly for my husband, because she looked just like me and not at all like him!

I was determined to be a perfect mother. Room sharing sounded good, but not bed sharing! In those first weeks, I would sit up perfectly and arrange the nursing pillow whenever she was hungry and cried in the night. And then I would lay her back in the portable crib that was pushed up against the bed. Ah, how stupid I was. Oh how cunning she was! She broke me of the side-car crib within 2 weeks and slept peacefully in the crook of my arm for many months to come. This was the choice she gave me: "put me in the crib and I will sleep for 2 hours, then I will be hungry. Lay me back in the crib, and I will sleep another 2 hours, and so the night will go for us in 2 hour increments. But, if you will tuck me in with you, nestled in your arms, I will sleep for 4 hours and only wake once in the night. The choice is yours, mommy. Test it out as often as you like, for I know what I want." And so the crib was abandoned. And eventually, I learned to nurse her lying down so that I didn't have to sit upright in bed in the middle of the night.

She is a brilliant child. Her mind is always at work, and the depth of her understanding has astounded us for a very long time. Once, when she was not quite 2, we were in church together. I went grudgingly each Sunday to sit for an hour and 15 minutes for a very unworshipful service which was required of me because I am a minister's wife. I had an infant and a toddler, neither of which was particularly quiet, in a church where all good children go to the nursery. My children, however, would not go to the nursery. I had learned very quickly that I was not comfortable with the arrangements there, and so there I was trying to keep them quiet, aware I was breaking the acceptable rules and pretty much miserable all the while because my favorite part of the service was singing the hymns. And you just try singing hymns with a baby in the sling and a busy toddler climbing all over the pews. One day, my toddler picked up the Bible at the end of the service. Trying to nurture a faith in her (even if the faith in me was walking through the valley of the shadow of death), I said "that's the Bible." and asked her "Do you know what it says?" Immediately, she threw up her arms and said "Alleluia!" I was stunned. I had never realized you could summarize the Bible with one word, and yet my not-quite-2-year-old daughter had done just that.

Pew climbing apparently was just the beginning. This small 4 and a half year old loves to climb still. And her favorite thing? The climbing wall at the gym. No, it's not some pygmy sized rock wall set up with extra large grips for kids to start out with, it's the real, grown-up sized wall. She has never left it willingly, or because she couldn't make the next reach, it is always us, pulling her off because it is time to go!

My second baby was my unexpected gift. Having a 6 month old baby, I wasn't feeling a strong desire to bring new life into the world, however, apparently it was a possibility that I should have considered a little more carefully. Thankfully, I didn't. On Father's day I went into the bathroom bright and early in the morning and walked out with a positive pregnancy test to congratulate my still-in-seminary husband on being doubly blessed on this, his second father's day.

I do remember very distinctly the first day of my 2nd daughter's life. I remember trying to remember it because I could not recall the earliest days of her sister. I was alone this time with her for most of our hospital stay, because now there was another person who needed parenting too. And as we lay there in bed together (why even bother with that silly bassinet; I had already been broken of such notions), I remember holding her on my chest, so small and warm, and thinking how exceedingly cuddly she was. Was her sister this cuddly? Ever? It was hard to know because her sister was now a toddler too busy discovering the world to be cuddled for long. But as I look back, I tend to think that no, cuddliness is a quality that belongs particularly to my 2nd baby. She remained ever so much more cuddly than her sister even as she entered and exited her toddler years. And to this day, she sits much more contentedly in my arms than her big sister ever did. That is one of the sweetest things about her: this unexpected gift that brought so many hugs into my life.

My 2nd daughter is quite a character, and very self assured. She was 2 before she ever smiled for a camera, and until age 3, camera smiles were on her terms and quite rare. But her pouts are more adorable than anything you could imagine. We called her "Baby" from the day she was born, and to this day I call her that more than anything else. She objected for a while, but it happens so often, I suppose she gave up the protest. She is so smart it scares me. She was just barely 3 this spring when she began spelling and reading short words. Not that we were trying to teach her, she just learned along with the older children at her preschool.

She has this charming habit, it began with her very first sentence: "Mommy, I love you." And she says it very often, at least once a day. But don't get me wrong, she is no easy child. She will not eat if she doesn't like it. You cannot make her put on something she doesn't want to wear. She will not do anything upon command, and never has, and most of all, you can't pretend she is someone other than herself, because she will instantly correct you. Oh, and by the way, she told me today as she was getting ready for bed that she is "very cute"; she's right.

This task of mothering is ever so much harder than I imagined it would be. Every day I am haunted by doubts that I am doing the right thing. How will they grow up to be more than I have ever been? How will they find their way in a world that seems more daunting each day? And will they ever learn to say "please" and "thank you" at all the right times and not to pick their noses in public? Moreover, how do I teach them manners, self-control and respect without breaking their amazing spirits and strong self-assurance? I want them to grow into the women I never could be: beautiful, strong, loving and self-confident. But how do I give them things I have never had?

If I had known how hard this task would be, I doubt I would have ever ventured into mothering. But from the moment those babies were set in my arms, I knew I would never be complete without them. I knew that everything around me would cease to have meaning should one of them be lost. And so it is. I must do what I cannot do because if I don't, I cannot be. It is the bittersweet truth of life as a mother.

My life has changed so radically in these past 5 years. Everything is harder, takes longer, more planning. And yet, if I could go back...that makes no sense, I could never go back to a life without the preciousness that 2 girls bring each and every day. I only hope I am giving them something in return for their gift to me.

Giving up for Lent

Yesterday a friend of mine from college (who is now a Lutheran pastor) posted the following on as her Facebook L... thinks if you give something up for lent, you should indulge in it for the 50 days of Easter. So choose carefully!" And it struck me as odd almost as soon as I read it. Why on earth would I want to indulge in the sin I am giving up for lent? Isn't lent about purging sin and denying self? But upon further reflection, I realized she is responding to the cultural norm of lent, not necessarily the deeper spiritual discipline we are called to observe.

Some how the church culture in our country (among those who observe lent) has turned it into something like an abbreviated New Year's resolution. And isn't it perfectly timed for that? Round about mid February you wake up one day and realize you didn't even make it this far with your resolution to stop smoking, drink less, restrict desert, work out, or just lose weight in general. Hey, no problem, Lent is almost here and instead of devoting a whole year to this goal, you can go a mere 40 days and consider it a success! Better still, Sundays don't count, so you can get drunk, smoke 3 packs and gain 5lbs, and as long as that activity is confined to Sundays, you're good!! You laugh at my sarcasm? My first exposure to lent was as a non-Christian in a Catholic school setting. One of my classmates was so self-sacrificing she was giving up her chocolate allergy for Lent. Of course that's the goal of a child, but she was only modeling what she saw grown-ups doing: coming up with a very easy "sacrifice".

I suppose my first Lent as a Christian I may have likewise given up chocolate, or maybe I went so far as deserts in general. It's entirely possible since I don't remember the discipline of choice. And it is what those around me were doing. But obviously I gained very little from this sacrifice, otherwise I would remember it. I do remember that one Sunday at my Godmother's house I was offered some thing that was against the discipline and was quickly informed that Sundays didn't count because they're mini-Easters and therefore days of feast not penitence (I did have some sound instruction). But within a year or two, I discovered a spiritually more fulfilling way to sacrifice for Lent.

The 40 days of Lent are a tradition in the church that go back centuries. The Book of Common Prayer tells us that in the early church they were a time for new Christians to prepare themselves for baptism, and for members who had fallen away due to sin to repent and return to the community. Furthermore, we observe 40 days because that is how long Jesus prayed and fasted in the wilderness all the while resisting Satan. This call to discipline is very weighty indeed.

Do you suppose the call to eat chocolate was so strong for our Lord that his willpower in resisting it has been recorded in holy scriptures for us to celebrate to this day? I don't think so! He was resisting Satan, utter power, the opportunity to deny his calling to be Christ and to reign in power, not in death. Likewise, I believe lent is the opportunity for us to examine our lives and pull out something that keeps us from living into Christ, the full and wonderful creations He made us to be. Self-denial is not about giving up something we like for the sake of being a little miserable for 40 days (except Sundays), it is about denying something that has become so deeply ingrained in our self that it separates us from the love of God.

I discovered this meaning round about the ripe old age of 20. Lent was looming and I couldn't decide what to give up. I guess I must have listened to myself talking one day because it suddenly dawned on me that I should give up talking about men. It gave me great joy to discuss the opposite sex and their various interactions with me, or so I thought at the time because I did it all the time, so much that even I apparently became annoyed by it. I don't remember how it started, I do remember wondering if I could possibly do it. I just didn't know how to make conversation about anything else. It was the perfect Lenten sacrifice. By the end of 40 days I had made a new discovery that I was interesting. I could converse about my own ideas and experiences and didn't need to draw on some guy to make it whole, to make me whole. That remarkable 40 days was transformational for me; I have never forgotten it. 40 days without men allowed me to become more of the woman God made me to be and to find wholeness in Him rather than something of this world. I just shudder to think what would have been undone had I then spent the next 50 days reverting to the old behavior. Of course I discuss men from time to time, as is normal for a married woman, but I do it only when normal and appropriate, rather than obsessively at all times.

Oh I am not saying that abstaining from chocolate cannot be this kind of discipline. I saw a story about a woman who was so addicted to chocolate she had it hidden all over the house so it was always a short reach away. Certainly that level of dependence on chocolate is exactly the kind of thing we are being called to pluck from our lives. When food, drink, addiction takes on the role of idol as more important than God in our lives, then, yes, denying it for 40 days is exactly what we are being called upon to do. But I'm saying you shouldn't give up something you wish to resume when 40 days are over. Give up something for 40 days, calling upon God for strength, with the hope that by plucking from yourself this vice, you will be a new creation at Easter and never wish to indulge in your old vice again.

I suppose diet and exercise could also fall into this discipline if the purpose behind the discipline is to strengthen the body that is temple for the Holy Spirit so to be equipped for the work God is calling us to do. If you only thought of that reason after reading the last sentence, it doesn't count.

I have a good friend who incorporates a denial of internet sites such as message boards and Facebook into her Lenten discipline most years (since I've met her). It strikes me that this is the kind of denial that one might engage in and yet return to when Lent has passed. For 40 days she gives up something that takes her time and attention away from God and from her calling (to be mother, carer of many, trainer of future generations) and refocuses on what is central in life. No doubt this discipline impacts her internet usage far beyond the days of Lent as her routines and rituals change. I believe in years past she has held onto stricter internet usage beyond the 40 days, having found it to be a rewarding change. But to then spend 50 days "indulging" in internet usage would undo those new routines and find her again distracted from life.

I think there is a cultural flaw in the way we interpret the call to "self-denial". Something of our puritan history hear this and thinks "don't do fun things". But really, I believe the call is to deny those pieces of our self that are riddled with a habit of sin. We all have them. Sin here is not the way we break the rules, but rather that thing that keeps us from being fully with God. Like the idol of men for me, or time at the computer for my friend, and even chocolate for the addicted woman. For most of us, even a chocolate a day doesn't put a barrier between us and God, but a habit of complaining might, or the need to rush around entirely too busy. Perhaps clearing the calendar or adding family time is what we need. Perhaps it's a spending habit that keeps us from tithing for kingdom work, or maybe it is that smoking habit that needs to stop now and never start again. But the penitence of lent should be viewed as a start of something more permanent, not something we return to as a celebration in Easter.

Most of all, we need to give up this idea that we cannot celebrate in Lent. Lent is all about celebration! In repenting and returning to God, we celebrate His supremacy in our lives. We celebrate freedom, and the power God gives us to overcome the sins that would destroy us. Repentance is the first step in claiming the forgiveness we have because of God's own sacrifice. It is in itself a celebration. And if we do it right, we find that, come Easter, we are more completely alive and aware of that gift. So give up this lent and find that you have gained much more. Don't return to your self of old in Easter but continue that celebration in new life. Sorry, L... I will not be choosing as you have charged.

The New International Symbol of Peace

As one of my preparations this year for Christmas, I decided I wanted to make some ornaments with my daughters who are 4 and nearly 3. It needed to be something simple for their sake and for mine. My husband is a pacifist: peace is probably the most important condition for him. So I thought a dove would be a lovely thing to do.

A tree hung with many white doves would be symbolic of so much. It is not just peace they bring. A dove brought the branch to Noah signifying the flood was over. The Holy Spirit descended like a dove on Jesus at his baptism. It is a sign of God's work in our world, and perfect for decorating a tree that we use to help celebrate the birth of the living God.

At first I thought we would buy some pre-made wooden doves and paint them white, sparkle with glitter and have our ornaments. However, I couldn't find any wooden doves at the craft store, so I had to scrap that plan. Next I began looking for a dove ornament I could trace onto card stock or craft foam. No luck there either.

Then my thought turned to those Christmas cards. I noticed every store was selling them for 50% off. Surely there was a box with a lovely, prominently placed dove that we could cut out and hang as our ornament. So on my big Christmas shopping trip, I began to look. I looked, and looked, and looked and looked. I visited 4 stores, and must have looked at over 100 different cards and found not a single card with a dove. What I did find was a very unusual trend in peace symbols for this year, it was almost offensive really.

Sure there were any number of distasteful cards (if you ask me). What does a woman on a motor scooter with a santa hat have to do with the birth of the Christ child? Or the many cards depicting thin, stylish women in some sort of festive situation: with heals on, a feathery scarf, martini in hand, overloaded with packages. None of those convey the message of peace and hope the savior brings to the world. Materialism was everywhere, it seems that's the true meaning of Christmas these days. But there were other disturbing cards like cats, dogs, rabbits, chipmonks etc. in santa hats that say nothing about the meaning of Christmas. Of course my favorite card to hate is the one that wishes me a Merry Christmas, Happy Chanukka and Happy Kwanza all in one. That one is pretty much offensive to anyone who celebrates one of those holidays and is only given (I hope) by idealistic teens and 20somethigns who think they're honoring everyone by saying "have a great holiday of the variety you celebrate, even if I don't take the time to find out or acknowledge exactly what holiday that is". I'm pretty sure there aren't many Christians or Jews out there who go around thinking "wow, isn't Mary so considerate for including my holiday in this list."

But it wasn't these meaningless cards that bothered me. What really caught my attention was a trend in cards, cards that said "Peace" on the front. The first time I saw it I simply thought "how odd", but as I continued looking, and even in different stores I began to wonder: when did the Snowman become the new symbol for peace?! Yes, that's right, the snowman. I must have seen a dozen different cards that said "peace" while prominently featuring a snow man!

The more I thought about it, the more odd it became. If anything, the snowman is a symbol of oppression. Come on, people, can't you see it? I mean first of all it's a "man", next, he's white. Do you see snowmen of color, ever? But beyond that, there's so much more. For one thing, one has to have a few luxuries to make one, including: a yard, warm clothing, free time, accessories that you don't mind leaving outside, the list goes on. No one slaving away to put some crumbs of food on the table is going to be making a snowman anytime soon. But then, look at snowmen, they should be wealthy figures considering their makers are, right? No, they're not. they're workers, often holding brooms. They have very little, if any, clothing. These are clearly poor figures. And you can see what their wealthy makers think of the working class: fat with skinny arms and noses often made of carrots, or eyes of coal. It's not an attractive carricature. And many snowmen smoke: as if somehow that's a class or economic habit. Truly, let's face it, the snowman is one of the least kind depictions of winter, and perhaps worst of all: it's disposable. We expect them to die rather quickly.

So why a symbol of peace? Truly it baffles me. There is nothing in a snowman that proclaims "peace on earth" or that encourages divisions to cease. However, several cardmakers have decided it does some how. It's truly perplexing.

In the end, I gave up finding the perfect model for my peace doves and drew one myself to make cutouts with. Our tree looks lovely. But next year please don't expect to find me breaking out the new international symbol of peace: the snow man.

Home is....where?

It's that time of year. The leaves on the trees are all red, yellow, orange and brown. There are more leaves on the ground than on the trees. The air has turned cold, the days are shorter. It is autumn, and signs that winter will be here shortly are all around. I noticed something today for the first time. Inevitably at this time of year my thoughts turn toward home. It's so natural. It is the harvest season and all our traditions point us to going home and celebrating our abundance and giving thanks. It is the ultimate family season and everything around us points home.

That begins me thinking: where is "home" exactly? There are a great many ideas about home. It's where the heart is, right? Or is it where the heart was? Is it where our memories lie? Or is it where our families gather? Where is my home?

I think for many people, home is a specific building where one grew up and lived until one set off on adult life adventures. I know this is true for my father. That home he moved to as a child is still occupied by my 90-year-old Grandmother. The small town once inhabited by workers in the local mine has changed little over the decades, and when he would go back, my father still was called by his high school nick-name. Clearly this is his home, and it's no surprise to me that in the autumn of his life, he has returned home to live. He is comfortable there, he is known there. His home is truly there.

But I don't have a home like that. My childhood home was sold a while ago and is now occupied by strangers. I have no family there anymore and I wonder if I would still be known in the small town I grew up in. Even if I was known, where would I go to visit? Who would welcome me? Where is my home?

My husband's parents moved frequently and left his primary "home" around the time he graduated from college. Is he, like me, without a home? No, not quite. While his parents moved, they went together to a new home and have made it so much their own it has a home like element. It is the place family can gather and celebrate holidays and enjoy the company of one another. It is one of many places my husband and his family are at home. For them, it is the gathering of family and the celebrations together that make a home.

I don't have a home like that either. My parents divorced about the time I went away to college. There is no happy gathering place. My father's hometown is completely foreign to me. His family ways are not the ways I am accustomed to. We never spent a holiday with them. I don't know the people, I don't recognize the traditions. Likewise, my mother's family rarely gathered for anything but weddings or funerals. My mother was the daughter of a forest ranger and lived all over the Midwest. And while that culture is somewhat more familiar to me, it does not provide a frame of reference. I think, in fact, that my mother spent her adult life trying to escape home and the traditions and history of her family. My family does not gather. My family does not have holidays together.

As Thanksgiving approaches, the ultimate family holiday, I find myself longing for a home. Of course we have a lovely house with darling children laughing and playing. But what I want is that greater home that tells of my history and traditions. I find myself wondering where that could be. Is it on an Island I left 8 years ago, inhabited by strangers? Is it shattered in so many pieces like the marriage my parents could not repair? Do I have a home?

I find myself feeling homeless, but then thinking that is unfair to people who truly are homeless, but it is not unlike the feeling of being an orphan I had after my parents' divorce. I want so badly to have that home to connect to, and realize it doesn't exist. It makes me wonder if there isn't something terribly wrong with our culture. Maybe people aren't meant to uproot and move around all over the place without extended families. Maybe we need to stay where we are from or at least with our people.

Maybe we humans are really tribal beings deep inside. I've always marveled at cultures that had long oral histories, people who carried their stories with them where ever they went, passed down for centuries. I always longed for that sense of who I was, from whence I came. Without a place called home, I had no people I was connected to. Family members were relative strangers, their stories had no meanings because I did not know the places or people they spoke of, besides the stories were rarely told since we rarely gathered.

Whatever is at the root of my feeling without a home, I know that this time of year particularly brings it on. I didn't feel this way in the perpetual summer of the subtropical climate we just left behind. There's something about the smell of smoke coming from chimneys and the cold weather that makes me think of baking that also turns my mind and my heart to that place and family that simply do not exist. It happens every fall, I am just now realizing. It's this kind of homesick sadness that comes over me and never quite resolves until the holidays have past and spring is upon us. Where do I come from? What is my history? What are my traditions? Who are my people? Where is home?

Dorothy said "there's no place like home" I'm sure she was right, I just hope that one day I will discover mine.

Important moments in motherhood

From the moment of conception of your first child, people begin telling you about the days that will be the most important of your life from that moment forward. There is the day of birth itself. Many people would put that day up there. Indeed it is no small task to produce a 7lb human being from unmentionable body parts. I have done it twice, and would say that it is a significant accomplishment. However, I'm not sure if that was the most important day in my life, or even the most important day in my life relative to a new life.

I think mothering is about a series of events, each one important and significant in it's own right. Growing a baby into a fully functional human being is an ongoing process of important moments that build upon important moments. As a mother it's my job to live the most important day of my life over and over again as I take on the awesome responsibility of shaping the future as represented in my offspring.

Some days it is hard to look at the charming little tear streaked faces that have spent all day not listening to the wisdom of their loving mother only to find themselves with endless bumps and bruises from all the accidents they could have avoided if they had heeded warnings. The frustration of all the tasks that could have been accomplished if only they'd heard your instructions rests heavily on their shoulders. And as their mother you wonder how on earth you make a difference on days like this.

But every once in a while there comes a moment when you think "this is what it's about". Recently I had a moment like that in the most unlikely circumstances. After a long day at work, I took my girls out for the ultimate parenting sin: fast food. Their dad was states away and I was exhausted. It was kids night at a local fast food chain and we were going if it killed us all (and at moments I feared it might). It was balloon artist night. I made sure to grab seats near where said artist was lavishing attention on cute college age girls, having learned from last time that if you sit near the kids you might not get a visit before it's bedtime and this leads to screaming children who think you are the very meanest person on the face of the earth.

Fortunately the artist of the night must have been lectured on the point of kids night and after we sat down, he excused himself from the company of those young ladies and turned his attention to mine. He was young, and not so bad at his balloon art trade. He wowed my oldest with his butterfly sculpting skills, and then as he was shaping a yellow flower for my youngest, he made small talk. "What do you want to be when you grow up?" He asked my oldest "Cinderella at Disney" was her instant (and usual) reply.

Then he turned to my baby. Now this is always an iffy prospect. She might respond, or not. She might cry, bury her head in my arm, put her paci in her mouth, who knows! But I was interested in hearing what she had to say. I watched as he asked her "And what do you want to do when you grow up?" Her eyes lit up and she said without hesitation and with joy and certainty "A mommy!" And my heart was filled with a joy more powerful than I describe.

Day in and day out my one hope is that my children feel loved and supported. Through the struggles of parenting I strive to let the last words they hear from my mouth at the end of the day be words of love. That they know I love them is one of the most important things for me. And in this one moment she let me know that she not only knows that, but she wants to do my work too. I know it wasn't her intention, but in that moment she told me that I am doing okay.

For now I'm going to treasure that day as the most important day of my life. One of the 2 little people who are most qualified to judge my mothering skills gave me an A that day. She probably will never remember or think about that moment again. 10 years from now she might have different career aspirations. But in that moment she made days, weeks, months worth of challenges melt away and left only hope and love. And I will forever remember that my baby wanted first of all to be a mommy.

A child's mourning

Recently I arrived home, worn and tired after 11 hours straight at the office. This is my new life: the 10 hour work day, which inevitably means 11 hours away from home; 11 hours away from my girls; merely 45 minutes on each end of the day to treasure them. Most days my arrival is great with gleeful shouts of "mommy, mommy, mommy's home!"

But today was different, today, instead, my 3 year old burst in to tears. "The Teletubbies store is gone" she wailed. And on and on she sobbed. I was bewildered. What was she so upset about? I tried to comfort her, we could certainly buy some Teletubbies videos if that was the matter. But really, it wasn't.

"The Teletubbies store" was a local video store. It was not some Blockbuster, or Hollywood video, but a small, local store. It was just a few blocks from our house. It was old style, they looked up your account by your phone number, and they only needed 7 digits. It was a reminder of an era past, where the local merchant was normal, and large chains were a novelty yet.

Growing up, I had a friend whose parents owned such a video store in our home town. It was the only video store, and they looked up your account by your phone number, and they only needed 4 digits. It was the place to go on a Saturday night. I remember how excited I was to go with my dad and establish our account when we got our first VCR. It was before we got cable television and it felt like the world was at our fingertips.

"The Teletubbies store" felt a lot like that store did. Even though we live in a city, it had a small town feel to it. On Saturdays you could borrow 2 family videos for a week at no charge. That' s how my girls came to call it "The Teletubbies store". We would often take a walk over to the video store on a Saturday and borrow videos. Their favorites quickly became the Teletubbies. They would ask to watch those videos all week. And it was a kind of a ritual for us. Not an every week ritual, but a regular ritual of visiting the store and delighting in the fact that some things in life still were free.

I had noticed the large signs in the windows for a few weeks selling DVDs cheap. "No big deal" I thought, they're just rotating stock, making room for new videos. The thought crossed my mind that they might close, but "nah, they're a staple in the neighborhood." But apparently I was wrong. Our beloved video store fell victim to rising rents, the trendiness of our location, and perhaps worst of all: Blockbuster.

And I must admit I am guilty myself. I subscribe to the mail delivery DVD service that conveniently drops DVDs in my mailbox, and doesn't charge me a late fee when I forget to return it for a few weeks. Maybe if I had just gone to "The Teletubbies store" a bit more often, they would still be there. In the days that have past, every now and again she'll emit a sniffle and a tear as we pass the shell of a video store. It's gone. She loved it for what it was. It was a joyful memory for her. I hate to see her mourn. I realize she is agonizing over something that is truly wrong in our culture. The small is replaced by the large. It happens in retail, in restaurants, in grocery stores, in clothing stores, in food portions, in automobiles, in houses. Everything small in our world is being bulldozed to make way for something bigger. And this small child already knows it is tragic.

A true story

Your daddy set off for a mission trip to Honduras to work in an orphanage where they took in street boys and gave them an education. I went to church the next day and asked a friend’s son to come mow the lawn that afternoon. Just as he finished the mowing, it started to rain, hard. It rained for about an hour, and then the sun came out to a beautiful, warm June evening. I was on the phone talking to my mother when I thought I should go out and check that they had locked the garage door when they put the mower away.

As I moved down the steps, my foot slipped on the bottom step, there was a “crack”, I looked down and saw my leg was not right. I screamed “I’ve got to go, I broke my leg” into the phone and hung up. I turned it on again but couldn’t get a dial tone. Off again, and then on, still no dial tone. I yelled for help. Surely no one could hear me, we lived so far from any house. I tried to move up the steps and crawl into the house, but my leg was so bad, I knew the bone was broken clear through.

I tried the phone again, this time I got a dial tone. Quickly I dialed the police and explained that I had broken my leg, I was pregnant and all alone. They said they would send an ambulance. When I hung up, I called for help again. I was worried I would go into shock and faint, that something would happen and my baby wouldn’t be okay. I picked up the phone and started dialing the first numbers I could think of. First I tried our friends the Cunninghams, there was no answer, so I left a message. I later found out that they were home but had a rule about not answering the phone during dinner. I also found out that they changed that rule that night. Next I called my friend Betsy . Her family was also having dinner with some other friends, Nick and Laura . Betsy said she’d be right over. “Right over” was relative, I figured, since it was a 10 minute drive from her house to mine.

I called for help again, afraid to be alone while I waited. This time a voice called back “are you okay?” “No” I called, “I broke my leg”. Very soon I saw a woman come up out of the woodsy driveway with 2 dogs. “I was walking the dogs, and I heard you yell.” She said. “I was afraid, but I thought you might be in danger.” I don’t think I’ve ever been so glad to see a stranger in my life. She put the dogs on the porch. She sat down next to me, she helped me get into a position I could sit in and she held my hand and talked to me. She assured me it would be okay. She sat with me and comforted me for a while before I thought to ask “what’s your name?” “Shawnda” she replied. She was sweet, and quiet and she treated me like a friend or a sister, not a stranger she’d just met. She worked at the bakery in town, but I’d never noticed her before.

It felt like forever, but it was just moments when a pick-up truck pulled up and out rushed Betsy and Laura. Now things were cooking, but there was no ambulance. We called the police again and found out that no one was on duty at our local volunteer station and there was a wreck on the interstate, so the ambulance was coming from half an hour away after the call had been relayed twice. Thankfully my friends were there, and Shawnda stayed too.

It felt like forever again. I was sitting in pain, just trying to hang on, when I heard the sounds of the siren. “Thank God!” I thought, but my relief quickly turned into tears as I heard the siren pass by on county highway that our road forked off of. They had missed the turn. I called the police station again “They missed the turn!” I cried to the dispatcher. Meanwhile, Laura and Betsy got back in the truck, one went to the end of the street, and the other to the end of the driveway to flag down the ambulance as it came back. In all it was more than 45 minutes after I placed the first call that the ambulance arrived with paramedics to splint my leg and take me to the emergency room.

The local Emergency Room was just 5 minutes away, even for a slow driver, but it was just a stopping point. They couldn’t set my leg, I’d have to be transferred. The doctor barely looked at it, there was no need for him to do an X-ray since it was clearly broken. He gave me some morphine. He checked the baby’s heart beat, it was about all he could do. It was okay, but fast, 155 beats per minute. Not too fast, technically, but faster than her normal 130-140. The doctor would have sent me to Chattanooga, except there was that wreck on the interstate between us and there. Nashville would be the choice, which was fine since that’s where I was having my prenatal care, but it was an hour and a half ride in the ambulance with a broken leg, and now it was getting late, I was tired, and in pain. Sleep wasn’t possible. And how was my baby?

“How’s my baby?” I begged to the ER doc in Nashville. Someone came in with a lap top, and rubbed a probe across my belly. “She’s fine” they told me as an ultrasound image came up on the lap top screen. “Thank God!” I thought. “Your sister’s here, we gave her your things.” The nurse told me. I didn’t even have time to wonder what they meant when Laura walked in, it was late, maybe after 11, and she had driven the hour and a half to stay with me. It made sense, of our friends there that night, she was the only one without children, but what a long drive to make for me.

“When was your last tetanus shot” a young doctor asked “I don’t know.” Came my reply. “You have a compound fracture” he said, “you need one.” “Wait, what about the mercury, does it have mercury?” “very little” he said. “No” I said firmly. “You don’t understand” he assured me, “we can’t tell if you broke the skin in your fall, this may not be a sterile wound. You need a tetanus shot.” “Can’t you tell?” “Not until after we set it” he said. “Well, take my titers then, see if I’m still immune.” “We may not have results in time.” He left the room. Minutes later he came back. “I spoke to the pharmacist, the shot only has trace amounts of mercury.” “You people won’t let me eat a can of tuna fish, but you want to shoot mercury straight into my body?! No!” I said with fierce determination. It turns out I was right, after they set my leg they discovered I had only an abrasion, the skin had not broken.

The pain was getting really intense. I’d had a shot of morphine at the local ER, but they were refusing to give it to me now. “We have to wait, there’s no Obstetrics staff to okay it.” Came the answer as I cried in pain. “Please” I begged… “Please”. A technician came to take me for X-rays. “Could you be pregnant?” she asked “Yes, yes I am pregnant.” I told her. “Hold on, I have to go check if I can film you.” She left me in the hall. She came back with a lead apron she draped over me and wheeled me into the X-Ray room. “Hold your leg straighter.” She ordered. “I can’t” I said. “Straighter”, she called back with an edge in her voice. “I’m trying” I cried, putting as much effort as I could into moving a leg I had no control over. She marched over to me and moved my leg, I screamed. She shot the X-ray, came back over and moved my leg again, I screamed louder. I had never felt so much pain in my life. Falling hadn’t hurt this bad “stop your yelling, or I can’t get these films” she yelled at me. I couldn’t stop screaming. Tears we pouring down my cheeks as she brought me back, I was so stunned I couldn’t even tell them what she had done to me. And no more pain medicine that night. In all I was 15 hours with only 1 shot of morphine to make me comfortable.

Dear Mrs. Clinton:

May I call you Hillary? It's all over your signs, so I am guessing that you don't mind being addressed by your first name. I notice most of your supporters do, in fact, refer to you as "Hillary" in conversation. It's a pretty good name, too, if I may say so, though I prefer it spelled with 1 "L" myself.

Perhaps I should get to my point. I'm writing to encourage you to go ahead and concede the race to your opponent, Mr. Obama. I know it might be difficult for you to read this coming from someone who should, theoretically, support you. I did support your husband, to the bitter end, I might add. I admired Bill's abilities as a statesman. Regardless of any personal indiscretions he may have committed, he did a remarkable job of advancing our country in the eyes of the international community. And I see that as increasingly the critical role for a president. Sure, there are other roles, but moral compass has long been tossed aside, arguably, it never really was part of the job. I've read in your book that you forgave Bill, and I have too.

Back to your candidacy though. Perhaps I should be one of your supporters, mother of 2 girls, feminist in my own right. I remember thrilling at the idea that a woman could be vice president back in the days of the Mondale/Ferraro ticket. That was before I reached voting age, so I couldn't do my part to help her. But I have to say that I have never quite embraced your campaign. I can't tell you exactly why. I suppose, had you clinched the nomination back in February or so, I could have come around to support you eventually. But now I find myself in the awkward position of feeling that you'd be more likely to find a Florida gator enjoying the cold snow of a Michigan winter than you'd find me casting my vote for you come November.

There's something rather ugly and petty about the way you've pressed forward with your campaign. I despise how you claim votes in 2 states that were sanctioned for holding primaries too early. Believe it or not, I live in one of those states, and I did not vote for you, but I went to the polls knowing full well my vote would not count. I believe many of us did. So knowing our votes would not count, I don't really care for my vote to count, and I certainly don't think it fair to count the votes of those who voted without the benefit of hearing what you and your opponents had to say to our state. I think it's ridiculous that you would claim a majority in Michigan when yours was the only name on the ballot, that's just rude! It would seem to me that all along Michigan was a pawn in your plans, you left your name on just so you could use it. Nothing seems further from democratic to me. Besides, you agreed along with the others that the delegates from Michigan and Florida would not be seated, you only changed your tune as you began to lose ground to Mr. Obama. Really, Mrs. Clinton, stop using Michigan voters as if they were yours to beat into submissive supporters as you please!

Frankly it looks downright desperate for you to be grasping at super delegates who have already pledged to Mr. Obama. Sure, some of them left your camp, but I think it's because they saw the sinking ship you were on and decided it was time to get off. At one point we might have called you "determined" but "desperation" is a much better term for the qualities you are now displaying. They've spoken their minds. If you clinch the nomination by bribing, er, I mean persuading, super delegates to flock to your side, is that really a nomination? It is not in my book. A win by any means is not a win befitting our next president.

How many voters, Mrs. Clinton, are like me? How many watch with horror as you grasp at slippery straw after straw, trying desperately to claw yourself into a race that is no longer yours? How many sit on the side thinking "wow, I could never vote for someone that desperate" as the days grow on? How many become so turned off by your insider politicking? How many are you winning over to Mr. McCain with your antics?

You must consider Mr. McCain in your formula, for it seems you have not. Each day you attempt to chip away at Mr. Obama is one less day you've spent gaining on Mr. McCain. Are you not aware that many of your potential supporters would also turn out for him? Were he to be in a race against a true conservative candidate, surely any number of "swing voters" or "moderate democrats" would be drawn to Mr. McCain. It's these kind of folks, those who wanted change, who likely propelled him to win his party's nomination. Do you not realize that you have already lost the battle against him by prolonging your fight with Mr. Obama?

Mr. Obama realizes it, surely he does. Have you noticed that lately he only praises you publicly and addresses his criticisms to Mr. McCain? Mr. Obama, it would seem, knows a thing or two about graciousness. He seems to have figured out how to look good in public. Perhaps you could take a lesson or two from him and publicly praise him for winning the nomination you have coveted so intensely it seems you won't allow someone to take it from you unless from you cold, dead hands. I hate to say it, but they might as well be just that. Your campaign has been cold and dead for far too long now, and you seem to be the only one who doesn't know that.

I'm sorry Mrs. Clinton, Hillary, but it's time to throw in the towel. Please, Hillary, for all that is decent and good about women in politics. For the hope of the future, for our daughters and our daughters' daughters, give up! We have much to be proud of this time around. We have a woman as Speaker of the House, and a nominating race come down to a man of color and a woman. We have come so far. Let it go. Otherwise, I'm afraid election day will find me staying home. I have voted in every election since I turned 18, even as a part of a generation who appeared clueless and apathetic when it came to politics. I voted in every election, yet if I must choose between you and Mr. McCain, I will not cast my vote. Wouldn't that truly be a race lost?

A Modesty Proposal

Okay, I wrote this a long time ago and most of you have already read it. But hey, I love it and I think it should be on my Blog!

A Modesty Proposal
January 2006

I want to applaud Representatives Susan Lynn and Glen Casada for their commitment to breastfeeding. Babies, after all, should be able to eat when they’re hungry since they are still growing. I am particularly impressed by Rep. Lynn’s comments about discretion (Tennesean article 1/12/06). We need to uphold traditional values, and babies should be discreet when they eat. Who wants to see a baby eat, don’t we all know it’s disgusting? Even newborn babies should learn to conform to standards of decency. And if they won’t cover up, then they just shouldn’t eat. If a mother has a baby who refuses to wear a covering (as mine does) she really shouldn’t go out of the house around meal times. I understand that in some cultures, especially in parts of Pakistan and Afghanistan, there is a practice of confining women to the house. Really, this is the only practical solution for a breastfeeding mother since breastfed babies need to eat every 2 hours or so.

We probably need some legislation to allow bottle-fed babies to eat on state property as well. They probably also get hungry from time to time, but let us not forget to compel these babies to cover up too. It’s practically pornographic the way they suck happily on those nipples for the whole world to see. At least the breastfed baby has the courtesy to face away from the rest of us while he eats.

Upon further thought, it seems to me we should have some legislation allowing the rest of us to eat in public as well. I sometimes get hungry when I’m in public, and I would also like the right to eat on state property when and where I’m hungry. But, please, don’t get me wrong. Just as I think those babies should cover up, I think the rest of us should too.

It’s just unthinkable that anyone would do something as indecent as eat in public. I mean the act of passing a hotdog through your lips is practically sexual. Really this should be a private thing, not something on display for all to see. What kind of person would do such a thing out in the open? Certainly when we appeal for the right to eat in public we should make it clear that we should do so discreetly, and cover ourselves fully.

Or perhaps we should have a special eating room that is small and private so no one can see what we’re doing. A small, dark closet with a hard bench or chair would do fine, much like the “nursing rooms” provided for mothers and babies. No one really needs much space to eat, after all. Actually, I think it would be fine to just eat in a bathroom. I’ve been directed many times to take my baby there when she’s hungry. And really, it is quite pleasant to sit in the bathroom and eat; my daughter never complained. When you think about it, this idea fits perfectly into our modern world. We are all about efficiency. What could be more efficient than eating in the bathroom? You have to visit the bathroom to discard of the digested food you’ve eaten, so why not save a trip and just do both there? We can eliminate restaurants altogether in favor of restrooms. We could have one happy dining and defecating experience without even having to move. Yes, I think the restroom is a great answer to our dining in public dilemma.

While we’re busy legislating, can we PLEASE do something about these girls who walk around wearing lingerie-like tops that reveal more breast than a nursing baby? Or those men who walk around without shirts at all showing off nipple galore? Shouldn’t bikinis be illegal? How can we tolerate such exposure of the human body in public? Even the breastfeeding baby is more decent than these folks since the baby’s head completely covers a mother’s breast. Perhaps we should take a lesson from the Taliban; they required head to toe covering of women, maybe we should have such a law and extend it not just to women, but to men as well. Please, let’s build some more decency standards into our laws so we can all eat more comfortably, privately and so no one is unnecessarily offended by our being human.

Please note that since the writing of this, Tennessee did in fact pass a law allowing women to breastfeed in public on state property any infant 12 months or younger. So if your 13 month old is hungry, best find a bathroom :/