half-and-a-fourteen-and-a-twelve

(I know, I know. I had to shake the dust off and reset a password just to get logged back in here. It’s been awhile. Things got sort of heavy and it was time to step away and process this world with the people I hold closest for a bit. I’ve missed you guys though – it feels good to be back.)

Many of you have travelled along with us on Labor Day Weekend for a number of years (15 of them, to be exact) as we celebrate half-birthdays (September 3 & 5) at some of the quirkiest places the (mostly) southeast has to offer. (But since it’s been an actual decade since I blogged about this accidental tradition, if you’d like a a little history, see this post or this one.)

This year’s half-birthday adventure was a bit of a odd one, even for us. One kiddo is in a cast almost to his elbow and the other other one has an eardrum that we’re praying doesn’t rupture before the day is out. As life unfolds and schedules evolve, finding those days to sneak away gets more and more tricky – but it feels more important than ever to do just that. 

So, when this year’s plans (involving a number of things that included good ears and two hands) seemed to fall apart, we went a bit of a new direction. We headed a whopping 8.4 files away to a sweet little AirB&B on the outskirts of Columbia. In fact, the address was in West Columbia address, so I guess you could say we didn’t leave town at all. 

Even still, we still managed to meet all of our half birthday rules…

1. We did something we’ve never done before…an escape room (well, technically Maddie has done a couple of escape rooms but not at this place or this room!) and a scavenger hunt around Columbia (well, mostly a scavenger hunt, until that eardrum decided to remind us how unhappy it was). There’s something about visiting a city in your backyard as tourists that is kind of cool. We decided we would go to parks we normally don’t have time to visit and eat at restaurants we haven’t tried and just generally do the things we do when we go somewhere brand new.
2. We ate somewhere we’ve never eaten…several somewheres and found a few new favorites! 
3. We followed no schedule and listened to no rules. (Okay, we followed one schedule and took Hudson to one rehearsal but since theater is his very favorite place to be, it felt like that was okay.)
4. We brought home a magnet for our half-birthday collection!

Whatever it looks like for you, sneak those moments and traditions in however you can. I promise, even the quirkiest ones are worth it!

If you need a few ideas to get started…here are our half-birthday adventures:

2009 – Babyland General in Helen, GA

2010 – South Carolina Aquarium in Charleston, SC

2011 – Georgia Aquarium in Atlanta, GA 

2012 – Santa’s Land in Cherokee, NC

2013 – Discovery Place Kids in Charlotte, NC

2014 – Tweetsie Railroad in Blowing Rock, NC

2015 – Stone Mountain, GA 

2016 – Dollywood in Sevierville, TN

2017 – Biltmore House in Asheville, NC

2018 – Tea Plantation & Scavenger Hunt in Charleston, SC

2019 – Disneyland in Anaheim, CA

2020 – Sleeping in a Train car in Waynesville, NC

2021 – Camping & Wave Runners in Hilton Head, SC

2022 – Camping in & Visiting Calloway Gardens, GA

2023 – Escape Room & Scavenger Hunt in Columbia, SC

i can start with my words

A few weeks ago, I was on the phone with a community member who wanted to share some concerns. In the first few seconds of the conversation, before I had introduced myself or even shared my name, he told me that he was sure that as a “small-minded liberal” I would not take his words seriously. His only frame of reference for diminishing my intelligence and ascribing this worldview to me, a complete stranger, was my profession. His assumption was that my work as an educator meant I was necessarily boiled down to this status. 

While I tried to filter his words through the frustrations I knew he was feeling, his words stung. No matter how many times this happens, they always do. The old adage that sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me, it turns out, is a lie. 

Our words have power. They have the power to hurt or to heal. They have the power to destroy or repair. They have the power to take life or breathe it anew. 

It has been a hard few weeks in our schools. Our news feeds are filled with stories of threats and weapons in our schools. As parents, educators, students and community members, we are all grappling with what we must do to keep our children safe. The days are heavy. The situation is serious. There is so much work to be done. 

I do not have all of the answers. I imagine none of us really do. But I know one place I can start. 

I can start with my words. 

If my words tear down, demean, and dehumanize others, I should not be surprised when those around me begin to believe less about the value of life. In fact, I bear responsibility for the way my words take or bring humanity. I must remember that “death and life are in the power of the tongue” (Proverbs 18:21).

A simple scroll through social media paints a picture of a world in which we have normalized labels like “Demoncrats” and “Repugnicans.” If I convince myself and everyone over whom I have influence that people who identify with mostly democratic principles are demons and people who identify with mostly republican principles are repugnant, I devalue their lives. I dehumanize them. My words communicate that people who believe something different than me are evil or dangerous. 

It should come as no shock that the children hearing my words are learning the lessons I am teaching – lessons that lead to anger, hatred and, eventually, violence. 

Our children are watching. They are listening. They are imitating. They are learning. The words we speak are teaching them how to view the world. In JK Rowling’s Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Professor Dumbledore says it this way: “Words are, in my not-so-humble opinion, our most inexhaustible source of magic. Capable of both inflicting injury, and remedying it.”

So what will we do? Will we speak grace or siphon it? Will we speak love or fight it? Will we speak life or destroy it? 

“Throughout human history, our greatest leaders and thinkers have used the power of words to transform our emotions, to enlist us in their causes, and to shape the course of destiny. Words can not only create emotions, they create actions. And from our actions flow the results of our lives.” Tony Robbins

The situation in our schools is complex and critical. It is worthy of our best minds and our deepest work. It matters because our children matter, more than anything else. 

But the way we come to table with each other will impact even this work, as it does all of the corners of our lives. The way we speak to and about each other is the first step…on the phone, in an email, on social media, in the store, at the baseball field, in the church lobby, at public (or private) meetings, political rallies, office break rooms, or even in our own backyards. 

And while I cannot control the words of those around me, I can start with mine. I can breathe life and humanity into the spaces around me – starting with the words I speak. 

right or responsibility?

On May 11, 2021, the Governor of South Carolina signed an order requiring school districts to give parents the choice to sign a waiver exempting their children from wearing face coverings to school. That night, our family rallied together to talk out our plan. We decided to stay the course, leaving masks on for the remainder of the school year. Maddie and Hudson were a part of the conversation, but the decision was ultimately one for Jerry and me to make. As we talked about our responsibility to love our neighbors, we decided a mask was something we wanted to do because we believed it helped protect our community. We leaned into trusting our medical community and following public health guidance, which has been important to our family throughout the pandemic.  We talked about being really open to others who might make different decisions and we promised to show lots of grace to people in turmoil.

Within a few days of this decision, one of my children was called a liberal communist and a communist bastard at school for wearing a mask.

Within two and a half weeks, we received notification that our fourth grader had potentially been exposed to COVID-19, though not as a close contact exposure requiring quarantine. As we were planning to see extended family for the first time in nearly 18 months the following Monday, we decided to have our family tested to be safe. At that time, he showed no symptoms at all. While we waited on results, he began to feel achy and to complain of chills. By the next morning, we were not surprised to see his positive test results. Thankfully, my husband and I were fully vaccinated by that point and our twelve year old daughter had recently had her first vaccine dose. We stayed healthy, miraculously. For nearly three weeks, Hudson fought chills without fevers, aches and lethargy, nausea, congestion, high fevers and more. We would think he was beginning to recover and he would spiral back down again. Although he was never in danger of struggling to breathe, he was miserable and frustrated for many days. More than once, he looked at me and said, “I kept wearing my mask everywhere for others. Why didn’t they want to keep me safe, too?”

Several days into our diagnosis.

To be fair, I do understand those who say that they do not want the government to mandate a face covering for our communities. I am sure I do not want the government to have to issue such a mandate, myself. I am thankful for the freedoms and rights that are inherently afforded to me in this great country. I’m not out to lose those.

But you see, there’s something at play here that’s apart from a right. There’s a responsibility.

Dictionary.com defines a right as “a moral or legal entitlement to have or obtain something or to act in a certain way.”

Meanwhile, responsibility is defined as “the state or fact of having a duty to deal with something” or even “the opportunity or ability to act independently and make decisions without authorization.”

Perhaps I have a right to shed my mask, ignore my symptoms, and put myself in continued situations where exposure and risk are high. But I have a responsibility to my community that means even more to me. I do not choose to wear a mask again because I am ungrateful for the rights I have been given; I choose to wear it because I believe in my greater responsibility to keep my community safe. It seems that my children will have the right to attend school without a mask, but we are raising them to hold sacred their responsibility to “look not only to [their] own interests, but also to the interests of others.” (Philippians 2:4)

Although I am aware it may not land this way, I am not writing this blog tonight to ask you to put back on your mask or consider sending your children to school with one. That is, at least as of the time I write these words, your decision to make.

There are many decisions you can make to choose responsibility over right. You can choose to stay home and to be tested when you are experiencing symptoms of COVID-19 or when you know you’ve been exposed, you can talk to your healthcare provider about whether or not the vaccine is appropriate for you, you can be gracious to those who are grieving and kind to those who are ill. There are many options, but we must each make choices each day – do I choose to cling to my right or embrace my responsibility? Which will it be?

And let us not grow weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up. So then, as we have opportunity, let us do good to everyone, and especially to those who are of the household of faith. Galatians 6:9-10

maybe wrong is not always bad

Just a few years ago (though it feels like many more), our community awoke to rising creeks and strained dams, while the rain fell and fell all around. In those early morning hours, churches cancelled services and we all began to peer out of our windows a little more carefully – watching closely to see where the waters rose. As the flood waters began to rise, the people of this community quickly sprung into action, meeting needs before they were even articulated, over and over again. It was magical to watch — overwhelmingly beautiful, in fact. The flood waters could not wash away the fabric that knit people carefully together. 

We’ve seen it again and again. Every time a crisis comes, people are greater: greater than the need – greater than the pain – greater than the fear. People come together to serve without checking first to see that those in need align ideologically, religiously, philosophically or politically before they offer to help. 

Maybe this is why what we are watching unfold in our community right now is so painful.

Why is it that neighbors who would share the literal clothes from their backs are shouting at each other on the pages of social media and threatening the very safety and well-being of those they often claim to love and serve?

Over the past fourteen months, I have repeated a simple phrase to myself each morning: people in crisis do not respond the same way they might if they were not in crisis. And the reality is, we’ve all experienced some degree of crisis these past months. This phrase has helped me remember that we are not all operating from the same emotional baseline as we hold in more typical situations. 

But, my friends, this much has become clear: navigating such a challenging season with an increasingly hateful and caustic rhetoric is a pandemic for which there is currently no clear mitigation plan. 

It is possible to believe differently and still live and love together. (I mean, we can’t even get on the same page when it comes to the right football team in this house and my husband and I are doing just fine.) 

Try as I might, I don’t have words to pour calm over hearts that I know are so broken tonight. 

My educator friends are hurting, and rightfully so. The stroke of a pen upended their worlds this week and threw them directly into the frontlines of a battle that cannot possibly be won. In response to the hurt and confusion that has followed, they have been threatened and mocked loudly and publicly. 

My parent friends are hurting, and rightfully so. They are trying to do what is best and right for the children dependent on them for their every well-being, and balancing competing interests and beliefs nestled in systems that feel beyond their control.

My healthcare and public health friends are hurting, and rightfully so. They are weary and defeated and so tired of defending their life’s work and learning. Their work is heavy and critical and also somehow controversial, in the very strangest turn of events. 

My journalist friends are hurting, and rightfully so. Every word they write or speak is sure to incite anger and opposition, and somehow the hatred of the entire discourse has been laid unfairly at their feet. 

My politician friends are hurting, and rightfully so. In a world so deeply divided and polarized, they are trying to find ways to balance philosophy and guidance and constituents and each other in order to move diverse communities forward safely. 

And, dear Lord, our children are hurting, and rightfully so. They have been thrown into the crossfires of a war that is not theirs to fight, in a world that is theirs to inherit. They are hearing our frustration, our pain, our anger, our devastation, and they are having to process a world void of civil discourse and compassion. They are seeing the worst of us in the hardest of times, and they are learning to move through these days from the examples we are (and are not) providing. They are our greatest hope, and we are weaponizing them. Kyrie elision. 

Recently, my daughter has become interested in understanding more about the Romanov family’s murder following the Bolshevik Revolution. Earlier today, she started talking about the people who have pretended to be Anastasia throughout history and how painful that must have been to Anastasia’s grandmother. She talked about how she hopes she will never knowingly hurt someone else, even for the prospect of some kind of fortune.  I agreed, but decided to push just a little. I reminded her it’s easy for us to say that now when we have all we need and often so much more in our family, but that it must be infinitely more difficult when you are hungry and alone with nowhere to go. After we talked it through for awhile, we reminded each other that doing what is right when it is hard is a choice we must make again and again. Later, she said, “it all comes back to not judging what you just don’t understand, doesn’t it? It’s still wrong, to me, to trick someone on purpose. But maybe being wrong doesn’t necessarily mean being bad.” 

It was a simple moment, a passing conversation. But I am convinced that the greatest gift we can pour into our children is the ability to sit a moment in someone else’s point of view, even just for a second. If, just for one moment, we stop to consider the why behind the what – the why behind the words spoken, the post written, the insults hurled, then perhaps, in that moment, we can choose a response bathed in grace. That does not mean backing down from the beliefs we hold most true. It just means considering that even though I think someone may be wrong, I do not have to therefore determine that person is also bad. 

And then, maybe then, we can serve freely again – anticipating the needs of those wounded most deeply in this crisis: grace. compassion. kindness. love. The rain that falls today may not swell creeks and strain dams, but it is just as dangerous. How about we join together to be that community again? The one that shows up and serves deeply. Regardless. 

have I done enough?

Thanks to a little Disney magic and the gift 2020 has given of endless Friday evenings at home, we settled in tonight to watch Lin-Manuel Miranda’s Broadway musical Hamilton, just like many of you probably did.

We’re pretty familiar with the music. (An aside, don’t let your kids listen to music when you’re still processing it for the first time yourself. If you do, you’ll notice your six-year old singing, “boom, goes the cannon, watch the blood in it, spray” before you realize the questionable parenting move you’ve made. And he still thinks it’s “in it,” so nobody needs to tell him otherwise, okay?) We know the basic gist of the story.

I expected to enjoy it. I even expected to be in awe. I did not expect to weep.

I did not expect my eleven year old daughter to look at me when it was over and say, “She did it, didn’t she? She made those things he wanted happen and nobody ever talked about that, did they?”

There were so many places that unexpectedly reached deep within, but the final moments of Eliza Hamilton singing grabbed the breath right out of my chest:

I put myself back in the narrative
I stop wasting time on tears
I live another fifty years
It’s not enough
I interview every soldier who fought by your side
I try to make sense of your thousands of pages of writings
You really do write like you’re running out of time
And I’m still not through
I ask myself, what would you do if you had more time
The Lord, in his kindness
He gives me what you always wanted
He gives me more time
I raise funds in D.C. for the Washington Monument
I speak out against slavery
You could have done so much more if you only had time
Oh. Can I show you what I’m proudest of?
I establish the first private orphanage in New York City
I help to raise hundreds of children
I get to see them growing up
In their eyes I see you, Alexander
I see you every time
And when my time is up
Have I done enough?
Will they tell your story?
– Lin-Manuel Miranda, “Who Lives? Who Dies? Who Tells Your Story? from Hamilton

In the very narrative Eliza writes herself back into during this song, we see the way that wives and slaves and orphans and immigrants and so very, very many of the members of our untold history wove the fabric of ideas penned in the halls of government buildings into movements on the ground in our great nation.

The world feels so heavy right now. Competing and conflicting voices are consistently whispering in the corners of our spirits and shouting across the miles of our country. Everything feels built upon a hidden (or sometimes not-so-hidden) agenda. Bias is the only guarantee and the questions that loom are large and complex.

But perhaps somewhere in the midst of all of that, now is the very time to claim the words we heard sung on the streets of New York in Miranda’s Hamilton: “Look around, look around at how lucky we are to be alive right now! History is happening in [your city] and we just happen to be in the greatest city in the world.”

How can I be brave enough to write myself into the narrative? Even when it hurts? Even when there is brokenness and pain and betrayal involved?

I don’t have all the answers, but tonight I’m committed to one thing: I will look for the stories we’re not telling. I will ask hard questions of myself and others around me. I will seek out disconfirming voices. I will try to first understand.

As we navigate this next stretch of 2020, there are going to be some really difficult moments ahead. In my closest spaces, many of those will have to do with how we approach school this fall. Education is my chosen and cherished profession, but gracious, it is also sometimes really, really hard. Our public school system is fundamental to democratic society in the United States. We’ve always known that, but never has it been more apparent than the past 4 months. However, there is, right now, an inherent tension between the long-standing functions of education (academic, social emotional and societal) and the risk of danger to students and faculty members in returning to a building together. There isn’t a perfectly “right” answer. There may not even be a great one.  There are hard answers with complicated implications all around. But there is also the reality that educators are the most creative and determined professionals in our country, and they will press forward passionately towards finding the best, varied pathways to support our students.

And I will listen. And I will tell their stories.

Education may not be the primary space you’re called into right now. Maybe it’s government or business or church work or agriculture. I’m guessing that whatever it is, it’s not easy in this season.

But you can listen. And you can tell their stories.

We can tell the stories of conflict and pain, but also those of victory and healing. We can tell the stories with grace. We can tell them without hatred, without condescension, without judgment. We can tell them with honor.

And when our time is up? They’ll tell our story. It will be a story of redeeming the narrative; of shifting culture. It will be a story that honors the untold chapters of those fighting on the ground to finish the work of our Founding Fathers. It will be the story of continuing to build a nation that is dedicated to holding “these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, and that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights…”

to love and let go

Tonight I have a post to share with you from a guest author – my 10 year old daughter, Maddie. She wrote this piece today about her experiences with foster care and gave me permission to share it with you. Both her graphic organizer and the writing were insightful and instructive for me, so you’ll find them both below.

“Could you bring me a diaper?” my aunt asked. 

“Of course,” I replied. I knew that she needed help. She needed help because her latest friend was really young and really fast. Some people might say that these children weren’t technically her kids. None of them were. Yet, they were all here for a reason. And we all love them like they are part of our family, and she loves them like her own kids.

About four years ago, my aunt became licensed as a foster parent. At first, we were not really sure what that meant, but over time, we learned that foster care provides a safe home for children who are being mistreated in their homes. This impacted me because I am extremely close to my aunt and see her almost every day. Since then, over thirteen kids have stayed with my aunt, and I have loved every single one of them.

Kids have come to my aunt for many different reasons. One of the most common reasons is that they don’t have enough to eat and their homes aren’t inhabitable. Sometimes they have been aggressively attacked by their parents or other adults. One of the kids, Lily, had never gotten a single full meal in her entire three years of living. Then there was Anna. If there was trouble, it was usually her doing. Her parents had badly mistreated her and always cursed around her. Sometimes, she even repeated those words in front of my brother or me.

Her current child, Eleanor, is here because at her biological home, with her biological mom, she was not safe at all. I love her a lot. She is super cute for a two year old. I opened up my heart to her from the moment she arrived. She gets so upset sometimes, and we don’t really know why, but it probably means she has had some scary experiences in her past. 

The hardest part of foster care is letting the children go. It’s hard because you open your heart to these children and then they have to leave, and you wonder if it’s selfish to want them to stay with you. You hope they are going to be in a better place back with their families, but it’s still really hard. When Anna left it was really hard because she had traveled with us a lot and stayed with us for over a year. I had grown to really love her and then I had to watch her leave. She was the first one I ever cried about.  It was really hard for me to adapt without Anna. After all, she had been my cousin for an entire year, the longest any of the others had. I had to persevere really hard to get over that loss, and I don’t want to go through that again. 

Sometimes I try not to get too close to them if I think they are only going to stay for a little while because then I will have to watch them leave. It’s like letting go of a piece of your family. I have to remind myself that their parents have been worried about them and missing them and trying really hard to get them back, so it’s better for them to go home. When Eleanor leaves it will be even harder because I love her more than I’ve ever loved anyone. I don’t really want her to go home like all of the past kids. She has really captured my heart.

The best thing about being involved in foster care is that you know that you’re helping the children and you’re helping them get a better life. You’re also, in a way, helping the parents because without that push the parents most likely wouldn’t have tried to change anything. But with that push, most of them try super-hard to get back on track.

When I think about being a part of foster care, it makes me feel good but sad sometimes. It makes me very thankful for my family and all of the people who love me. That is why I know that I need to help my aunt. In this way, I am doing everything that I can to help these children know love.

Note: I had to change the names of all of the children to keep them safe and to protect their identities.

Maddie’s Graphic Organizer

• Beginning
  • Plot: My aunt fosters children and I want to share what the experiences are like: opening my heart to young children and then watching them leave, knowing that now they are with their parents, but still wishing that they could be with me instead. I also want to explain what it feels like to find out that you have a new cousin, to watch them play, to love them, and then to watch them get reunited with their parents.
  • Feelings: Distressed, Sad, Mad, Happy, Confused, Wonderful, Dreadful, Painful, Amazing, Weirded out
• Middle
  • Plot: I have already been through quite a few foster kids, but now they are taking one that I had really started to care about, and I am starting to get mad. This kid was the first kid that I would cry over because they took her away.
  • Feelings: Distressed, Mad, Sad, Angry
• End
  • Plot: Things have started to turn back to normal and I have finally gotten over losing sarah. I have realized that it was selfish of me to wish for them to stay and to try not get attached to any of them.
  • Feelings: Happy, Wonderful, Peaceful

happy new year!

It’s 10:08 pm on this last day of 2019 as I’m sitting down to begin writing this post. The kids have decided that this is the year they’re going to stay up until midnight, and we’ve exhausted all of the games we got for Christmas working to stay awake a bit longer. An episode of The Mandalorian is now capturing the attention of the crew, so I’ve slipped off to the couch to try and write a few words as this year draws to a close.

This note was originally going to accompany a (yet unmade) Christmas card. Somewhere around December 20, I decided our Christmas cards might be more like New Year cards this year. That didn’t quite happen either, which is maybe the best overall description to capture 2019. We have had great intentions, not quite enough time, and often fallen short of our goals to get things done. But we’re here – laughing and loving and walking together. 

Christmas Eve, 2019

Looking back over the past twelve months brings a quick breath filled with emotion and wonder, as our lives today are quite different than they were on January 1, 2019. 

In a March whirlwind, Jerry began the interview process with the pastor search team at Congaree Baptist Church in West Columbia, SC. On March 31, an affirmative church vote brought us officially to the church, and he began work as pastor immediately. A few short weeks later, we started the process to list and sell our house and accidentally sold it by owner on Facebook before that happened. At the end of May, we moved to Pine Ridge and into the church parsonage. We have fallen in love with the people of this church and community as we are learning to serve in a new way here in 29172. 

• 

• 

• 

Congaree Baptist Church, March 2019

Jerry has settled into his role as a pastor with the grace and conviction he brings to everything he does. He is teaching three times a week, so much of his time is devoted to study and preparation. When he’s not in the office, you can often find him at local hospitals or in the homes of church members, visiting and walking alongside those who need his warm smile or grace-filled words of comfort. Occasionally, you can find him on the golf course or running through town, although the hours away are few right now as he finds rhythm in new routines and responsibilities. As a result of some serious pleading from the kids, he auditioned for The Wizard of Oz at our community theater this spring and was cast as the Tin Man. It was a wild ride, as the show overlapped our start at Congaree, but it was an amazing experience for the kids to be in a show with their dad.

• 

• 

Wizard of Oz, May 2019

In September, we’d planned our annual half-birthday trip with a surprise for the kids – Mickey’s Not So Scary Halloween Party and a few days at Hogwarts at Universal Studios in Orlando. However, Hurricane Dorian held a surprise for us instead. After several sleepless nights of hurricane tracking, we found flights to California and moved our trip out west to Disneyland. It was nothing short of divine how the details fell into place, and we all four enjoyed our first trip to the Happiest Place on Earth. It was a really sweet time away from us after a season of such deep change.

While it seems impossible, Maddie is now at the halfway mark of her last year in elementary school. She continues to thrive in school as she soaks in every opportunity to learn and grow, in English and in Mandarin. She finished reading the Harry Potter series this spring and read the Hunger Games trilogy this fall, among several other new favorites. When she’s not at school (and often when she is), you can often find her singing or acting somewhere. She has found a love for choral music this year, singing with her school chorus, district honor choir and church choir. She also started riding horses with my aunt this year and greatly enjoys her time at the farm. Maddie is a passionate defender of what she believes is right – from tracking current events to research on the importance of more time outside at school to outlining a service project in response to a book she read, she is constantly seeking ways to make an imprint on the world around her. She’s a world-changer, and we couldn’t be more proud of the work she’s done this year to embrace her place in her story. 

“I’d Sing You a Song,” Maddie (10) and Hudson (8), December 2019

2019 has been a big year for Hudson. He graduated from OT, which was bittersweet for all of us. Hudson’s occupational therapist was an absolute gift to our family. Through his time with her, Hudson learned to recognize and respond to many of the sensory triggers that lead to anxiety and frustration. By working hard with her for several years, he is able to function comfortably in many environments that were overwhelming and incredibly intense before. He was also released from his counselor, who was another precious gift to Hudson and our family. She helped him work through some very intense anxiety, particularly surrounding nighttime, which brought the gift of deep sleep and true rest. We are super-proud of Hudson for reaching these milestones, and most importantly, he is really proud of himself. (In fact, he helped write this part of his story for you.) He picked up gymnastics to add some of the vestibular input that keeps us in sensory equilibrium. He has quickly fallen in love with this sport that encourages him to jump, hang and flip — all things he craves and enjoys. He is also doing well in school, building confidence in English and in Mandarin, and particularly loving any opportunity to write. His room is filled with stories that he is writing on his quest to become an author. When he’s not at school, you can find him (if you’re quick – he doesn’t stay in one place long!) on the basketball court, hanging from the door frames or singing and acting, too. He has enjoyed several great opportunities to sing this fall, and truly loves being on stage. 

“Red Ryder Carbine Action BB Gun,” Hudson (8), December 2019

As for me, I’m continuing to find my place in the world of Human Resources. I am surrounded by an amazing team and really precious friends, and I count my blessings on a regular basis that I am able to do work that I love surrounded by people I love. After taking a break while our family was in a deep season of transition in 2018, I am volunteering again as a Guardian ad litem for children in our community who are in foster care or whose families are being supported by DSS. I’m also really enjoying the chance to teach with Jerry again on Wednesday nights, something we dearly love and haven’t been able to do in quite awhile. We have a little music corner in the parsonage, so I’ve even been able to find a few minutes here and there at the piano again, which has been therapeutic and a blessing. 

Life is, as always, full. The oven isn’t on as often as it should be, and the house is a mess more often than not. But at the end of the day, that isn’t what’s most important, anyway. 

So as we lean into this new decade, the Freemans are ready. Ready for more love and laughter, and even ready for some tears that will surely come. Who knows? Maybe we’re even ready for Christmas cards to come actually before Christmas 2020. Maybe. 

Happy New Year 2020!

numb no longer: waking up & acting

Waking my youngest son up each morning requires a certain combination of skills in advanced mediation and a tactically strong strategic offense. It is not for the faint of heart. The thought of getting up in a dark, cold room is virtually paralyzing to him, but warmth and light are not welcome alternatives. The longer he lays still, the more frustrated his parents become. One solution we employ is to remind him of every single thing he needs to do in order to be ready to leave for school, with tones conveying a certain…well, we’ll just say a certain sense of urgency. 

Too much input leads to an inevitable shutdown, cycling us back around to early morning paralysis. He is completely numb to our requests to kick things into high gear, as my mother might say. 

As the news swirls around and around right now, the most frightening things to watch is not the sensationalized, biased way we approach these moments with anger and vindictiveness. Instead, the most frightening thing to watch is the collective numbness of so many participants in this great democracy.

Unfortunately, in a time in which you cannot possibly wrap your head around one political move before another headline is released, it is easy to become numb and shut down. 

(I mean, in an attempt to understand just the timeline of events in Ukraine leading to the election of President Zelensky, our family listened to a podcast, printed out and studied a timeline, and practiced our collective note-taking skills. And that was just to understand the background to this story.)

Early this week, we learned (mostly via Twitter), that President Trump had decided to withdraw US Troops from the border of Syria and Turkey, leading to almost immediate military action by Turkey towards Syrian Kurds. As of the evening of October 11, at least 16 civilians have been killed, including a 9 month old infant. In the hours following this announcement, many national leaders began to speak out against this action of the President, including South Carolinians Lindsey Graham and Nikki Haley. Preemptive Love, a coalition of aid workers on the ground in Iraq, Syria and beyond, has explained what’s happening this way: “Turkey has begun an invasion of Kurdish-controlled northeastern Syria, following the withdrawal of US troops from the border. More than 100,000 people are on the run now. Another 3 million refugees could be displaced again, into the middle of a war zone where few aid groups can reach.”

Based on the reactions of politicians on both sides of the proverbial aisle, it seems this decision was made fairly unilaterally by President Trump, who justified the decision by touting his “great and unmatched wisdom” on social media.

With that assertion, my numbness began to fully give way. 

My responsibility to American democracy and international human rights did not end at a ballot box. It never will. My responsibility to my family, my faith and my country requires me to pay attention to what is happening around me. This is not about a political party or even a political ideology. It is about understanding that the rights and privileges afforded to me cost something. 

Tonight, they cost me some time and vulnerability. It seems a small price to pay when I consider the totality of what is happening around me. 

Tonight, I have reached out to the officials elected to represent me, regardless of whether my vote was cast to place them there. Tomorrow, I will call or email again. I will call, email, write, message and meet again and again, because it matters to me that our country is in crisis. 

It matters to me that my elected officials know that, for me: 

• It is not okay for the President of the United States to make foreign policy decisions from a personal belief of “great and unmatched wisdom.” That is counter to what is true about a democratically elected leader, and, importantly for me, counter to what scripture teaches. (Be not wise in your own eyes; fear the Lord, and turn away from evil. Proverbs 3:7 ESV)

 

• It is not okay for the President of the United States to ask foreign governments to interfere in US elections. I’m not here to argue whether or not this happened on the July 25 phone call. I’m saying that is outside of what I believe to be best and right for American democracy for this to happen – in the past or the future.
  

 

• It is not okay for the President of the United States to make significant military and foreign policy decisions that knowingly endanger lives without the insight and collaboration with pertinent foreign policy and national intelligence officials.

 

• It is not okay for the President of the United States to call names, belittle and mock the people he was elected to represent on Social Media. (It’s not okay to call names, belittle or mock people outside of the United States either, for that matter.

 

• And it’s not okay for me to sit on my couch, or in my car or on the phone and complain about what is happening without acting. It is not okay for me to sit silently, afraid that you might disagree with me or think less of me somehow. It is not okay for me to allow myself to be numb any longer.

Sarah Stweart Holland and Beth Silvers say it this way in their book I Think You’re Wrong But I’m Listening, “Whether you believe our country’s problem is generational, geographical, or partisan, the most important thing to know about the polarization in American politics today is that we are choosing it. We are choosing division. We are choosing conflict. We are choosing to turn our civic sphere into a circus. We are choosing all of this, and we can choose otherwise.”

We can choose otherwise, but what we cannot choose any longer is nothing. 

We can no longer choose to be numb. 

has anything really changed?

Thanks to a dear friend and a couple of ticket vouchers, my mother, daughter and I enjoyed a girls’ night out last night. We saw West Side Story at a community theater nearby. Truthfully? I was a little nervous about taking my 9-year-old to see a pretty mature production. We’ve never really shied away from tough conversations, though, so we decided to attend and deal with the inevitable string of questions when they came. I knew there were some pretty adult themes, so I steeled myself to debrief those after the show was over.

But I wasn’t ready for the reaction she actually had.

We skirted most of the more mature moments relatively unscathed. But in the middle of the song “America,” she turned and looked at me and simply said:

“We still treat people differently when they aren’t born here. Just like they did to the people from Puerto Rico. I don’t know if America really is the place people would want to move anymore. I mean, I love it, don’t get me wrong. But America seems about as broken now as it was then.”

And then, in the final moments of the play, she whispered this to me:

“Has anything really changed? People still hate others just because they look different or sound different or think different. I don’t think this feels like something that happened a long time ago. It pretty much seems like what we see on the news now.”

In all the ways the night had played out in my mind, that wasn’t the story I’d written.

But she wasn’t wrong. Following a week that’s been as divisive and vitriolic as anything I’ve ever seen, it definitely feels like hate is the predominant emotion filling our streets.

So where does that change? I am convinced it changes not on the national stage or the floor of the Capitol Building. It changes in my house…and in yours. It changes on my social media feeds…and in yours. It changes in the way I speak to coworkers and in the way you respond to family members who see things very differently from you. It changes from the ground up in the greatest grassroots campaign toward civility this country has ever seen.

If I refer to my friends as “demoncrats” because they have a different political ideology than me, I am the problem.

If I post that people I know (or don’t know) are “grumpy old perverts” because they have a different political ideology than me, I am the problem.

If I decry all members of any political party or race as “unChristian” simply by party affiliation or racial identity, I am the problem.

If I refer to people by an assumptive action: “the Illegals,” “the Deplorables” or “the Untouchables,” I am the problem.

If I derive all of my “news” from single-perspective, single-bias sources, I am the problem.

If I say that I am colorblind or genderblind instead of engaging in the necessary work of reconciliation, I am the problem.

If I bury my head and think I can stay silent and unengaged, I am the problem.

If I condone hateful and divisive language from my elected officials and other policy makers by my retweets or even  by my lack of responding, I am the problem.

If I choose comfort over courage, silence over truth or what has always been over what should be, I am the problem.

And I won’t be the problem any more. The stakes are too high. My children will see that there is so much more to our great nation and history than the ridiculous fighting consuming us at every level.

It is time for us to pick up the pen and write a new story:
a story of thoughtful discourse and respect.
a story of diverse perspectives and active listening.
a story of civil disagreement and purposeful compromise.
a story of broken, imperfect people seeking a united way forward.
a story not of hate, but of love…not a love that says we’ll agree all the time. But a love that says we will respect each other enough to face disagreements with grace and seek understanding.

Because, after all…

“I like to be in America.”

Rita Moreno as Anita in the 1961 film version of West Side Story.

 

 

look for the helpers

For the last two years, September 11 has brought something alongside the moments of remembrance and reflection — namely, weather alerts and storm preparations.  This year, as Hurricane Florence looms off the coast, dancing back and forth with an auspiciously disconcerting presence, it’s been quite easy to become consumed by weather maps and hurricane models. And squeezed into the moments between updated forecasts, our family has been talking about the heroic acts of the passengers of Flight 93 and what 9/11 still means to the United States today.

It feels really heavy.

And not just the events of this week, but the whole world around us seems to be spinning off-course. It feels heavy and hard and I am not really sure how to navigate these waters of parenting. How do you engage without causing fear? How do you learn without obsessing? How do you prepare without overreacting? How?

In our house, we’re doing our best by looking for the helpers. It’s a lesson we learned from Mr. Rogers. 

“When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, ‘Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.’ To this day, especially in times of ‘disaster,’ I remember my mother’s words and I am always comforted by realizing that there are still so many helpers – so many caring people in this world.” – Fred Rogers

Whenever a storm seems to be spinning just off shore of this life, we’re working hard to find the helpers. When we watch news stories of things gone awry or unimaginable pain, we look to see who’s helping. It’s not that we shy away from the hard realities of the world we live in, but we’re working hard to process through a lens of hope.

The really interesting part? As we look for the helpers, we’re finding ways to join them. If you look for the helpers long enough, you’ll likely find a way to be one. And when the helpers multiply faster than the problems, hope grows.

So here’s the plan:

• We’ll stay alert. We’ll watch the forecast (or the news story, in other cases) so we are prepared to respond appropriately. But we won’t obsess. We’ll turn the TV off when it gets to be too much.
• Instead…
  • We’ll look for the helpers.
  • Even more importantly, we’ll name them out loud. Who are our helpers today? First responders working long shifts. Meteorologists who haven’t slept  more than a few hours in days. Journalists who are keeping us up-to-speed. Food pantry personnel and volunteers stocking shelves. Teachers packing snack packs. Grocery store clerks working super-chaotic shifts. Government officials making hard and often unpopular decisions. Road crews facilitating evacuations. Nurses and doctors preparing to sleep at the hospital so their patients are covered. And oh-so-many-more.
  • We’ll join in. We’ll be helpers.
  • We’ll take danger seriously, but we’ll keep things calm. And even if the grown people are feeling nervous, they won’t panic.
  • We’ll snuggle. A lot. When things feel overwhelming and when questions arise, we’ll show an extra measure of grace and love in meaningful, authentic ways. 
  • And when those questions come? We’ll answer them. As specifically, simply and honestly as possible.

We certainly won’t get it all right, but the lessons we’re learning in these moments are the ones that matter most in the long-run. So we’ll focus on what really matters – not the upside-down schedules and loss of weather make-up days. Not the sordid details of tragedy or the bizarreness of the current political climate.

Nope. Not us.

We’ll focus on the helpers. We’ll be the helpers. And in so doing, we’ll find that beautiful, treasured hope that follows the helpers – and the hope that spurs us on.