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The Least We Can Do

11/2/2016

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Where I grew up, there was a popular bumper sticker that encouraged us to “Choose Civility.” Always it made me laugh: Really? Is civility the best we can do?

I don’t know what I expected the last time I wrote to you and hit publish with a lump in my throat. I figured I would hit a nerve; I knew I would ruffle feathers. And no, that’s not why I did it. But yes, I knew I had to do it anyway. But I didn’t expect to be stopped in Target by a friend whose sharing of my post caused confrontations in her actual life. I wasn’t prepared for the messages from people who worried their comments online had offended me, or those defending me against other people’s comments, or those worried that the disagreement that compelled me to write the piece had cost me a real-life friendship.

I’ll save you the suspense on that one: It hasn’t. But since then, I’ve been scratching my head, wondering, what can we learn here?

For one thing, I fear we have all but forgotten how to disagree with grace. This is me, raising my hand. Me too. Because here’s something I know to be true about politics: About many things that matter, we all see the same problems; we just disagree about the possible causes and solutions. It can be hard when people don’t think like you do. I know it is for me. It is especially frustrating when I really like the person in question, which leads me to Elizabeth.

She is brilliant and kind, sensitive and genuine. She’s the kind of girl about whom my dad quotes While You Were Sleeping and says, “You don’t know whether to hug her or arm wrestle her.” In my experience, you don’t have to wonder what she’s thinking. Maybe she isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. And maybe that’s why she reminds me of me. But the older I get, the deeper my appreciation for real people who tell it to me straight. But honesty isn’t the same as being a jerk. And the difference is what I fear we’ve lost (and what Elizabeth hasn't).

PictureElizabeth and me, in real life
Elizabeth is also a thinker, and she lands on a different spot on the political spectrum than I do. One day she said something that rubbed me the wrong way; I felt she had been flippant about something I took very seriously, or maybe it was just the context surrounding what she said. I don’t make it a point of debating on Facebook. I don’t make it a point of debating at all. But I had seen so many women I liked espousing what felt like a thoughtless opinion, loudly, apparently without regard for the damage it caused, and I was surprised to see this friend seemingly doing the same. Maybe it hurt my feelings.

I should have confronted her privately, given her a chance to explain without an audience. But I guess because of the public nature of Facebook, I broke my own rule and disagreed with her publicly. Almost immediately, friends of hers had my back, the way people do in fights that aren’t theirs, in which she who speaks last wins. I didn’t need or even want their help, but I’m ashamed to admit it made me feel validated and that I didn't even consider how it made Elizabeth feel. She responded almost immediately, not defensively, but in defense. We went around a few times, leaving it as I figured we would: we agreed to disagree.

The next day, Elizabeth reached out privately: “I feel like maybe there’s something I need to repair,” she said. “Those other women always disagree with me, but this was the first time you did.” I assured her that nothing needed to be fixed. She asked me to lunch, but I couldn’t make it because I’d be at yoga. She decided to come too, even though she was late and risked the judgment of our snarky instructor. I don’t think she wanted to do yoga; I think she wanted look me in the eye. She understood something I was trying to avoid: conflict has trouble surviving presence. I think that’s why people are always braver (and less considerate) when commenting online than in person.

So, after class we talked awkwardly for a few minutes, and finally I said, “We’re good, okay? There’s nothing broken here.” She smiled. And though maybe things still felt tender, we knew it was true.

Our disagreement compelled me to compile my thoughts in a piece I shared with her, reopening our dialogue. She asked me careful questions about what I hoped would come from sharing something so personal. We talked more; I learned more about her heart.

And then I shared the piece it’s taken me two weeks to get over. The last one I’d ever want to be known for; the one thousands of people read. The next morning, Elizabeth shared it too. And it wasn’t because something I had said caused her to rethink everything; her opinion hadn’t changed. But maybe because of our discussion, she reconsidered the potential impact of her words, the timing in which she had chosen to share them, or the tone. And here's what makes her response truly remarkable to me: the impact to people she cared about mattered more to her than proclaiming her opinion in that moment. She wanted us to agree. So did I. And though we came closer to understanding each other, we continue to disagree. But I admired the way she pressed in, gently, asking questions and paying attention to the answers. It is teaching me something.

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Unsurprisingly, I attracted a few loud dissenters. Strangers showed up on my Facebook page, appearing to miss the point entirely. They saw my post as a pro-Hillary piece, an anti-Donald piece, another woman crying victim—everything I expressly said that it wasn’t. I wanted to write them off, rudely, the way they had done to me. But I knew I’d lose my message if I did that. Or my witness, at least. So, I carefully crafted direct but benign responses, even though that’s not what I wanted to do. Friends came to my defense, and I found myself calling them off. Because I wrote that piece for two reasons: to speak up for those who couldn’t, and because maybe someone might read it and reconsider the effect of their words on the women around them. I can’t get people to reconsider if they already agree with me or won’t stick around long enough to read or clarify.

Admittedly, I engaged in debate with other women that were never going to consider my point. I saw them talking about me like I would never see it. They are educated mothers, apparent good people, but they were skewering me—a stranger— on a friend’s Facebook page. My fingers hovered over the keys while I considered whether to respond, and here’s why I decided to do it: I needed them to acknowledge what they were doing. I needed them to remember I wasn’t some abstract idea; I was a thinking, feeling, actual person, not an anonymous avatar who stirred the pot for fun. Unfortunately, being reminded of my humanity did nothing for these women. I disengaged, thanked God I don’t have to encounter them in real life, and moved on .

When it all started to die down, I arrived, weary, at my MOPS meeting, to a hug and sympathetic ear from Elizabeth, my real friend, who cares about my actual feelings despite not agreeing with all of my thoughts.

And here’s what I learned:

The Unfollow button is our friend, but we must be careful not to surround ourselves with people with whom we always agree. Disagreement, with people who love us, can be a healthy part of understanding each other, our beliefs and even ourselves. That said, debating with people who are completely unwilling to listen or consider another viewpoint is a waste of time. Let us not waste our breath on those arguments or be those people.

If you’re a jerk online, you’re probably a jerk in real life. Behind every Facebook page or blog post is an actual person who took more time to craft their piece than you’re taking to dismantle it in the comments. All opinions don’t need to be shared. The Golden Rule applies here, as always.

We can debate on Facebook if we must, but it’s always a poor substitute for meaningful, open dialogue within the confines of real friendships in living rooms and on front porches, over a meal or a drink or anywhere we can look each other in the eye.

We must resist the urge to distill whole people down to one statement or belief. This is so hard, isn’t it? It would be so much easier to classify people as worth our time or not, and bumper stickers, lawn signs and Facebook rants all seem to be helpful tools to get us there. But, as a Christian, I’m called to live in this tension. It’s not just part of the job; it is the job. I’m called to share the love of God with the people around me. All of the people. Not only the ones I like or agree with. I didn’t enjoy being reduced to my most controversial and raw blog post. It’s safe to say most people wouldn't.

​When I walked away from the keyboard that day, I made my family dinner and tucked my kids into bed and kissed my husband. Right now, I’ll walk away to wake up my daughters, make breakfast and lunch and walk to the bus stop and then go on having conversations and making mistakes in my actual life, just like you will. Because the whole of my person and value could never be summed up in a post. No one’s can. We would do well to remember that. Choosing civility is truly the least we can do.

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The Problem with The One Thing

1/28/2013

5 Comments

 
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My dad used to describe himself as a jack of all trades, master of none, and I could rightly say it about me. I have been exposed to a little bit of this and that. I have surface-level knowledge on a variety of things and hold opinions on a range of issues I have varying degrees of knowledge on. But, despite the tone I may sometimes convey here and in person, I know a lot about very little.

When I left my full-time job, it occurred to me it had become more than that.  It was a career.  I had cultivated expertise—people sought my advice on things because I was the resident “expert.”  This flattered me a little, I suppose, but I hadn’t guessed how much I’d miss it.

Now I am an expert at exactly nothing. Still, there are a handful of issues near to my heart, on the tip of my tongue. I think many of us could probably narrow our passions down to identify The One Thing: The thing you do so well that, when you see it done poorly, it makes your blood boil.  The thing you focus on at the expense of others. The thing you feel confident enough about to judge others on.

If I’m honest, my One Thing is probably food.  Over the course of the last three or four years, I have made a series of changes—tiny steps—toward a real-food diet for our family.  Some people probably think I receive royalties every time someone downloads the documentary, “Food, Inc.”  

I try hard not to let the quest for real food interfere with really living—there are absolutely exceptions and compromises.  But I have read and watched and researched and learned things I can’t unknow, and so I devote considerable time and a larger chunk of our weekly budget than I am comfortable with seeking, buying and cooking real food from scratch.  This commitment frequently runs counter to convenience and modern life, which annoys me.  It occurs to me that sometimes we are the weird family. But I’ve become okay with it, because I truly believe it’s the better way to be.

Sounds virtuous, right? If I left it at that, it would be. But I don’t.

On a weekly basis I find myself caring for other people’s children, feeding them snacks and lunches packed from home.  And I have been appalled-- loudly, and to anyone who would listen-- about what some people are feeding their precious babies.  I may express frustration about loved ones who just can’t or won’t or don’t feel compelled to make changes I know would radically improve their lives. I judge strangers and friends, aloud and internally, organic green smoothie in hand, from my comfortable perch of being right and good.

And it’s wrong.

I know fellow mothers whose One Thing might be extended breastfeeding, back sleeping, staying home with the kids, attachment parenting, eradicating circumcision, car seat safety,  methods of discipline, learning styles, schooling (or unschooling), natural home birth, and a host of other issues.  And, if we let ourselves go there, I could probably get into it with just about every one of my friends.

I fought every day and through many nights to nurse my second child for one year. My kids never slept on their backs or in my bed, I worked full-time for the first four years I was a mother; I wore them in a carrier, but would not consider myself an attachment parenting devotee. I’m on the fence about circumcision; as long as kids are in car seats I can’t manage to get passionate about the type or dither about its fastening. We do not spank our children, and if you weathered a meltdown at our house, you might click your tongue about how we dealt with it. We are reluctantly sending our oldest to public kindergarten next year, and while I aspire toward a natural birth if blessed with another opportunity, I can never imagine doing it at home.

And you know what? All of that is okay.  And it’s okay for you to disagree with me.  And it’s okay for you to lovingly feed your child whatever it is you’re feeding him, and it’s NOT okay for me to judge your character because of it.

A quick glance at my Facebook newsfeed tells me this phenomenon is not limited to motherhood or lifestyle choices. Maybe your One Thing is the Second Amendment, maybe it’s abortion, maybe it’s human trafficking. Maybe it’s theology or social justice or personal finances.  Maybe it’s federal spending or welfare.

You know what? With all due respect, your one thing is just that—yours.  It’s probably very worthy, and there is likely a reason it gets more of your attention than the other issues you may also be passionate about. But that doesn’t mean it falls in the same priority order in others’ lives, and that doesn’t mean they are wrong, and it doesn’t mean you’re better or smarter for choosing that One Thing.

I’d like to think the reason I judge others about food is because it’s just that important.  But I don’t think that’s it. I think I judge them because maybe that’s the one thing I feel like I’m doing well.  We all harbor insecurities—since I’ve become a mother mine have multiplied. There are so many areas I could be giving more attention, so many opportunities to improve. So if there’s one area I can feel good about, I’m going to embrace it, even if it means putting others down to make myself feel better.

But instead of doing that, what if I recognized the One Thing in others and, agree or disagree, listened and tried to learn from it?  Maybe if more of us tried to do that, there would be fewer angry Facebook rants, fewer verbal standoffs.  Maybe we’d realize most of us are just doing the best we can, and that there is less space between us than we think.

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No Light

12/14/2012

2 Comments

 
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When I heard about the massacre, I was running errands with my precious, if impatient cargo. My sister called, my brother and husband texted with the news. I couldn’t listen, couldn’t process, couldn’t hear. I led my children through the store, the promise of their choice of cookie dangling just in front of our fire truck cart. And when that didn’t work, I dangled my face in front of said cart, tersely whispering reminders/threats about the cookies.

We wound our way through the bakery, where they both selected politically correct “Gingerbread People,” we paid, they continued arguing, and we left. They received their Gingerbread People they did not earn, along with a lecture about grace. But I did not lose my patience. I did not long to be elsewhere. Today I was painfully aware of the blessing of my children, whatever their mood, no matter their behavior, regardless of how mundane our day may be.

Once home, they snuggled on the couch while I put things away and prepared lunch.  Tummies full, they settled into their beds for rest. Or at least to pretend to (I can still hear feet stomping around upstairs).

After tighter hugs and more ‘I love yous’ than usual, I could finally read the news, watch the reaction, process the horror. And since then, I have done nothing else.  I braced myself against my kitchen counter and heaved sorrow too deep to be on behalf of strangers.  Because this pain envelopes us all. This shame belongs to all of us. The disbelief, the unspeakable grief, the unimaginable pain and anger weigh on each of us.

I can’t look at my precious children without fear, without gratitude, and without intense anger that any person, one of God’s children, could do such a thing.  And, if I’m honest, I can’t think of any of it without outrage that God would allow it.  I can’t understand it; I can’t justify it, and I can’t pretend to have faith strong enough to explain it away.  I can run to my Jesus, and pray in moans—without words—but it is without making any attempt to understand how or why this could happen.

I know in the coming days we will be brought together in mourning, then as quickly driven apart by politics.

Shame on us.

Let us remember these beloved children, their brokenhearted parents, and their classmates, viciously robbed of their innocence.  Let us not shy away from difficult, complicated conversations, but may we handle them with grace. Let us rise above our right to opinions and being right. Let us resolve that we will do everything in our power not to let untreated mental illness or outdated gun laws or ideological divides or hatred win. Let us agree that love wins, and work diligently to figure out the details.

Because it just has to. Because this just can’t go on.

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Grace & Choice

11/7/2012

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This year I moved from a bright blue state to a deep red state.  I think I’m some other shade entirely.  I have always voted, and at times felt my vote didn’t really matter.  In Tennessee, there were really only two choices. There were Green Party and Independent candidates on the ballot, and though you could write in candidates, they would not count. I’m grateful for our process, but I maintain it’s a strange one.

I voted today, though it’s not like it mattered.  My county and state are overwhelmingly partisan, and I am not. But I voted. I voted on matters of principal.  I voted because oppressed people all over the world cannot.  I voted for those who lived, fought and died to win and protect our right to these freedoms.  I voted so I could teach my children and show them how to live responsibly by example.

It's nothing new. I felt it at work before and now just about everywhere I go.  People speak their opinions as fact, loudly, with every expectation that everyone within earshot either agrees with them or is an idiot. I have found this especially true of my fellow faithful who quote scripture as if it was spoken for such a time as this—to defend an American’s presidential choice. So much of the dialogue is devoid of disagreement or completely lacking of any kind of decorum, grace, or respect. I don’t like arguing for the sake of arguing, especially when I’ve just met all these people. But it’s strange to feel so disconnected from so much of the country.

I’ve said it before: I’ve never understood how a Christian could be overly elated or dismayed by the outcome of any election.  Our God is in control, our Jesus is the only one who saves. I hope, win or lose, that we can keep that in mind, calm ourselves down, and treat our friends and family with respect. 

I am thankful for the diversity of my family, my friends, and even my Facebook newsfeed.  I am thankful for the way those differences challenge my thinking, strengthen my beliefs, and force me to live in the grace I depend on. I am thankful for our rights and freedoms in this country, and I remain hopeful for the days to come.

"I know my weakness, know my voice, and I'll believe in grace and choice..." -- Mumford & Sons

3 Comments

86 the Chicken

8/1/2012

4 Comments

 
I am a Christian. And, though I try to keep politics out of my relationships and this little publication, I tend to lean left of center.  This puts me in disagreement with people I love.  But it’s okay because we love each other, and that’s much bigger.
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This Chick-fil-A thing has disgusted me, to the point that I felt I wanted to say something about it.  Unfortunately, at first, I picked the wrong public square for my soapbox, blindsiding a real friend of mine on Facebook when I shouldn’t have (sorry, Stephanie).  I wasn’t feeling up to sorting through it all with enough care to put it into words that I know people with whom I (lovingly) disagree would read.  That was cowardly, which is one of the many things I’m trying not to be. 

So here I am, telling you that despite their being my first employer, despite my children's love for their milkshakes and playplaces and my love for their consistent, thoughtful service, and despite the fact that we are not boycotting,  I will unequivocally NOT be eating at Chick-fil-A on Support Chick-fil-A Day.  Which is kind of a shame, because it’s Emerie’s half birthday (winter babies need something to look forward to), and that would have been a nice treat.  But we won’t be there.

Here’s why.

First, this is a circus. I read the quotes and heard the sound bytes and regardless of whether you agree with Dan Cathy, I think we can all agree a whole lot got taken out of context by the 24-hour press.  This led to public outcry and celebrities and officials calling for Chick-fil-A to change its “discriminatory policy.”  What policy is that? The CEO’s personal beliefs?  I certainly don’t check on this type of matter for each of the companies I patronize with the intent of only patronizing those with whom I agree. I don’t plan on starting to do so now.  If you do, that’s admirable, I guess.  Anyone is, of course, free to patronize whomever they choose, or not, and everyone is free to believe what they choose and state it accordingly.  Dan Cathy has that right, as does everyone who disagrees with him, as do all the boycotters and Chick-fil-A supporters. 

Unless Dan Cathy is running for office, I don’t see the relevance of his stance on much of anything. I did take exception to his statement about supporting the biblical definition of a family unit, since I'm not even really sure what that is.  We teach our children that families come in all kinds of colors, shapes and sizes; they know that a family is a group of people that loves and takes care of each other, whether by birth or by choice. Everyone’s family doesn’t look like ours.  Because it doesn’t matter how you think it should be, that’s actually true.

I thought the whole thing was unfortunate and expected it to go away.  Then I started seeing all the puffed-up Facebook posts and blogs about supporting Chick-fil-A.  I was already dismayed by the situation; this set me over the edge.

I have a lot of non-Christian friends and loved ones, and do you know what they think of us?  They are accustomed to hearing about Christians for what they are against, not for their love.  

I will not eat at Chick-fil-A tomorrow because Jesus told us to love our neighbors as ourselves.  ALL of our neighbors, just as they are.  He didn’t ask us to judge anyone, persuade anyone or argue with anyone. He doesn’t need us run to His defense or interpret for others what we think He meant.  He just commanded us to love Him and everyone else, even when it’s hard, even when we don’t agree.

I believe this event at Chick-fil-A is not going to read like an event in SUPPORT of a company or a CEO or free speech, or traditional marriage, no matter what Mike Huckabee and the attendees intend.  To me, it seems like an event AGAINST—not against gay marriage or a “lifestyle,” but against real people—  my friends and neighbors, you or your son or daughter, co-worker or parent. Why would we want to risk hurting people we love? Why would we want to send the message that Christians are prideful, judgmental, angry fighters?  Why would we ever want to let anyone believe for even a second that we think there is anyone capable of being outside of the love of our God?

God is big enough to fight his own battles, whatever they are.  Bigger than all of this.  There are, for sure, passages in the Bible I can’t reconcile.  But here’s one I can:

“And you must love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your soul, all your mind, and all your strength.’  The second is equally important: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ No other commandment is greater than these.” (Mark 12:30-31)

I’ve got enough to keep me busy right there.  Love is bigger.

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    About Me

    Christina | Virginia Beach
    Psuedo Yankee, city-loving former working mom of four finds herself home with the kids and transplanted to the somewhat Southern suburbs. Finding her feet while still attempting to harness the power of the passion of her youth for useful good.

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