Eyes to see

My Dad taught me at a young age to give a firm handshake and look people in the eyes when speaking to them. It's perhaps the most important thing he ever taught me. People want connection. They want to be seen and known. Giving someone your attention by looking them full in the face, whether a good friend or someone you've just met, shows them that you care for them. But it's hard to care for someone if you never actually see them. 

Back in college I did a short internship in a correctional facility in Jackson, MI. I was taking an abnormal psychology course my senior year at Albion College and the professor worked at the prison. He was looking for brave souls to help tutor inmates. He offered extra credit. Ever the overachiever (but not really in need of the extra points) I raised my hand eagerly to participate, then looked around the room. The room was full of men (like, big football player dudes) with a small scattering of women. One other female had her hand up, too. I recognized her from the education program. I was in the elementary cohort and she was in the secondary group, so we didn't have many classes together, but I'd seen her around. None of the men volunteered. After class was over we got the details from the professor and prepared for our first experience in prison. We were instructed to wear professional but non-revealing clothing, no ponytails, and no jewelry.

My classmate and I drove up to the G. Robert Cotton Correctional Facility on a beautiful fall day. We were told to wait in the family waiting room and that the professor would come to get us. I remember scanning the room and feeling eyes on us. Everyone kept to themselves, no small talk or chit-chat, just silence and shifting on squeaky plastic chairs. There were young women, mothers with small children, and grandmotherly-types sitting against the cinder block walls. My classmate and I heard the click-clack of the professor's wing tips on the tile and moved with purpose to meet him.

We were ushered through the metal detectors and patted down. We were outfitted with personal protection devices (PPDs)--they're like a pager with a pull-cord. If you're in danger, you pull the cord and a guard comes to get you. Why the device? Because we would be in a large classroom with many inmates at once, and the guards stay outside. It's a law in Michigan that inmates must earn their GED before being eligible for parole, and because many inmates do not have appropriate education to find jobs once released, my classmate and I would be assisting them in preparing for their GED test. These men were highly motivated to complete their work so they could take another step towards release, so they weren't considered dangerous. 

I remember entering the empty classroom after taking a rather humiliating walk through the yard where my classmate and I were relentlessly catcalled. Our professor shrugged and told us to just keep walking. We met the instructor--a woman--and were given a run down of what we needed to do that day. The inmates filed in a few minutes later.

I remember trying to make eye contact, but I was largely unsuccessful. The men kept their heads down. The room was a mix of guys in their late teens through what I guessed was mid-forties. What was most notable to me was the number of vision and hearing impaired men in the room. They got their materials and took their seats. They raised their hands if they needed help. Most preferred to work alone. Some could barely sit still. Many could not read their materials. 

I remember helping a man who was probably near my father's age. He attempted to make small talk and wanted to know about my family. Having been instructed to not say anything about my personal life, I redirected the conversation to the inmate's life outside of prison. He had two teenage kids whom he adored and couldn't wait to get back home to. I soon realized that the small talk was an attempt to divert him from his work for the day: a workbook page on Roman numerals. He couldn't do it. It took every elementary teaching trick in my repertoire to help him through it, and I'm not sure he fully understood it once the page was complete. Roman numerals. Not advanced chemistry or Shakespeare--decoding and adding numbers. 

Age has faded many of the memories of my short time at the Cotton Facility, though I do remember that I got a 4.0 in the class. But I've never forgotten the lessons I learned there: the stakes are high for missing a child's learning difficulties, there are many reasons people end up in jail, and everyone deserves to be seen. 

All of this is to say that before my brief experience volunteering in the prison system I would have written these men off. I would not have looked in their general direction, let alone into their eyes. They were not real people to me. And I'm fairly certain most people would feel the same way. 

This week the question of whether or not states should be allowed to execute criminals came front and center. Kelly Gissendaner, a woman who did not pull the trigger in the case she was sentenced to death for, was executed in Georgia. Alfredo Prieto, a man who's IQ was 66, was executed in Virginia despite open appeals filed by his lawyers. Richard Glossip was granted a last-minute stay in Oklahoma due to a mix-up with the drugs used in the lethal injection. He is scheduled to die in November.

The crimes these three were convicted of were heinous, even evil. And there is no doubt that there should be consequences for the perpetrators of these crimes. That's what our legal system is for. But how can you look someone in the eyes and tell them their life is not worth anything? That an eye for an eye is the only way to right a wrong? Most victims' families will tell you that the execution of the perpetrator does not help them heal. And there is still no proof that the death penalty deter criminals. 

Can Christians who proclaim to be pro-life still be pro-death penalty? And in the wake of yet another school shooting this week can we be pro-guns, too? The culture of violence in this country takes my breath away.

Jesus himself stopped an execution (John 8: 1-11). And I imagine Jesus bent over, drawing in the dirt, as the Pharisees tried to justify her stoning and catch Jesus in a theological trap at the same time. Jesus recognized the woman's sin and did not soften that her actions had consequences. But he would not allow the religious establishment to take her life. And then I imagine that Jesus straightened up, wiped his hands on his robes, looked her in the eyes, and released her to sin no more.

I have intellect and experience. I am capable of grace and compassion. I don't have all the answers. But I do have scripture, ears to listen, and eyes to see. It's time to have some serious conversations in this country. We need to start seeing each other. And maybe we should start by looking inside ourselves. 

It ain't easy being green

I wrote the cover story for the October issue of The Current, the news magazine for the Illinois Great Rivers Conference of the United Methodist Church. It was a great honor to be able to share the message of creation care to such a large audience of people of faith. You can read the article online here.

I've had some great conversations since the article was published, and I'm sure I have many yet to come. But the conversations so far fit into one of three categories: "I'm good", "thank you!", or "you're crazy". 

Lots of people think they already do enough for the Earth. Recycling is usually the thing people reference as their main conservation activity. And recycling is GREAT, but I'd argue that it's a starting point, not the finish line. Others in the "I'm good" category think that creation care simply doesn't apply to them--they're too old, too young, too poor, too rural, not good at that kind of thing, etc. To that I'd say that no one can do everything, but everyone can do something. Start small, start with something that matters to you, and go from there.

Then there are those that think I'm absolutely crazy, part of the "left-wing liberal agenda". They argue that humans couldn't possibly affect the big wide world we live in, or that God would never allow the Earth to be destroyed, or that government regulation is the real enemy here. I understand the disbelief, but I don't agree. But even if we don't agree on the mechanics of what is causing our climate to change, I think we can find middle ground here: we can take better care of God's creation without placing blame or living in guilt. Psalms 24:1 gives us a good starting point (using KJV today, feeling fancy): The earth is the LORD's, and the fullness thereof; the world, and they that dwell therein. The Earth is God's, we are God's, we all belong to each other. We should care for one another and our Earth as God cares for us. The end.

Most people I've spoken to have thanked me for my article and for my work with Faith in Place. But it's a guarded thanks--its the acknowledgement of the message with the fear of accountability. I promise you this--if you and I talk about creation care, I will follow up with you to see if I can be of service to you or your congregation, but I'm not keeping score. I'm not judging you. I'm not perfect at creation care, either. I'm simply a resource gatherer and message deliverer.

It ain't easy being green. So start small, with something that matters to your congregation or your community. Not everyone can start a community garden, but many of us could do a water audit and retrofit. Solar panels are awesome, but they aren't suitable for every building. Maybe you could look at better lighting options (LED's, CFLs) instead. Divestment from fossil fuels is a strong political statement, but it's not for everyone for a variety of reasons. 

There have been a number of issues in recent decades that have challenged the thinking of people of faith. When confronted with information that stretches you, where do you fall on the conversation spectrum? Are you all good? Do you think the new information is too "out there" to spend any time thinking about? Or are you thankful that the message is being discussed? 

Ask a pastor's wife

One of the benefits of being the wife of an itinerant United Methodist pastor is getting to meet new people everywhere I go.  Seriously, everywhere.  Grocery stores, outlet malls, coffee shops...my husband and I strike up conversations--or respond to others' questions--almost anywhere. It's so humbling to be the hands and feet and ears of Christ. 

One of my most popular blog posts was last year when I opened the blog to your questions.

So I'm doing it again! I'm not shy (you probably already knew that) so don't be afraid to ask!
Post your questions in the comments or on Facebook/Twitter and I'll answer them next week.

Be still

To celebrate my 35th birthday yesterday, I did this:

This particular idea for a tattoo has been on my mind for some time. One of my favorite bloggers, Glennon Melton, has the same two words inked on her wrist as well, but larger and in a different script. You can read about the story of her tattoo here. 

Some time went by, and then I read this by Lauren Warner at Sipping Lemonade. It's about Benedictine monks and how they take a distinctive vow when joining the religious order. Along with obedience and conversion of life, they also take the unique vow of stability. Stability is derived from the Latin word stare, which means “to stand,” “to stand up” or “to be still.”

The vow is described this way:

“We vow to remain all our life with our local community. We live together, pray together, work together, relax together. We give up the temptation to move from place to place in search of an ideal situation. Ultimately there is no escape from oneself, and the idea that things would be better someplace else is usually an illusion. And when interpersonal conflicts arise, we have a great incentive to work things out and restore peace. This means learning the practices of love: acknowledging one’s own offensive behavior, giving up one’s preferences, and forgiving.“

Wow. So much to unpack there. But amen to all of it. The part that really gets me is "ultimately there is no escape from oneself." I don't know about you, dear reader, but the older I get, the more I find this to be true. So I suppose I better start learning to be still with myself. 

A quick search of my Bible app She Reads Truth revealed the following verses containing the phrase "be still":

There are so many themes running through these verses. The ones that speak most to me are those that assure me of God's love and plan for me. 

I've been experiencing some anxiety lately, which is a very new thing for me. It started with having some car trouble a few weeks back and spiraled from there to full-blown headaches, stomach aches, shaking, sweaty palms, and racing heartbeat every time I needed to get in a car. I've realized the need to control my thoughts and learn how to still my racing mind. And a permanent, visible reminder seemed like a solid idea. 

So all of this is to say that yesterday, for $50 plus tip, I let a man who's life's ambition was to "cover the world in tattoos" ink these sacred words onto my wrist where they will stay until the day I die. I wonder if it will take that long for me to take the words truly to heart. 

What words do you need to tattoo on your heart (or your wrist)?

Middle-aged

I'm turning 35 next week. I realize not everyone is fortunate enough to celebrate this many birthdays, and I'm grateful. Just by virtue of being born in the United States, I will likely enjoy a longer and healthier life than women in most of the world. In fact, according to information I found on World Bank most of the world's female life expectancy doesn't much exceed age 70. Which makes me... middle-aged. At my peak. It's all downhill after this.

As I age, I grow more concerned with making a difference with the time I have left. I want to be remembered as a woman of grace by my friends. I want to leave my children as intact, effective, compassionate adults who get along with each other. Things I focused on in my youth aren't on my radar anymore; I care far less about what people think of me. Maybe that's what Paul was feeling when he wrote to the Corinthians: "When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me."

(Image taken from http://www.memes.com/img/510571)

Look, I have as hard a time as anyone "adulting" some days. But I'm learning to shed some of the guilt and shame over not being the thinnest or the prettiest or the most put together or the best housekeeper or cook in favor of building better relationships with my husband, my kids, my family, and my friends.

Perhaps the most important thing I'm learning is this, which comes just a bit later in the same chapter of Paul's letter to the Corinthians: "And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love." If we get this wrong, nothing we do will have lasting effect. There is no lasting legacy without love. But if we get it right, people will smile merely at the mention of our name. 

Maya Angelou said, “I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.” So that's what I'm working on--letting people know that they are loved and cared for above all else. 

I get this wrong so often, mostly with my kids and my husband. Sometimes I want them to know how inconvenienced I've been because of them, or how tired I am because of their constant needs.  I need to work on that. That's not how I feel in my heart about them, but it's often what is reflected at them. So, as I approach the middle years of my life, I'm coveting love and relationships and legacy, not cars and boys and makeup. Maybe I have this adulting thing figured out after all. 

What are you focusing on more as you age?