The Anglican Communion Wars

Civil wars and religious wars are often inseparable. Religious differences spike political stand-offs as one side holds out for what it considers to be moral and the other side upholds what it considers to be justice. Culture, leadership, economic status and global location can also contribute to violent wars that involve the deaths of hundreds of thousands.

Map of former Yugoslavia with division of Bosnia-Herzegovina. June 2006 Author: Paweł Goleniowski (swPawel)see Wikipedia Yugoslavia for full size version.

For instance, the Yugoslavian war that split the country into parts was not only a cultural war, but also a religious war. Mark Silk in Religion in the News, Spring 2000, said of the conflict, “The aim of restoring Orthodoxy to its "rightful" place at the center of Serbian self-assertiveness may seem like an abuse of what we think of as Christian ideals, but that doesn’t make it hypocritical or nonreligious. Had NATO policymakers taken more seriously the religious significance of Kosovo for Serbian national identity, they would not have so badly miscalculated what it would take to persuade Milosevic to withdraw his troops. It is not irrelevant that Serbian religious practice now seems to be undergoing a revival.”

He goes on to say, “Religion is a moving target, even within a given country. As circumstances change, it can come to the fore or retreat into the shadows as a political actor. Whether the conflict is taking place in Ireland, Chechnya, Nigeria, Burundi, Iran, Afghanistan, Kashmir, or Sri Lanka, we cannot afford to be dogmatic about the role religion plays. Its measure must be taken case by case.”

The current conflicts within the Anglican Communion and its various national churches are religious conflicts that have been escalating into wars in recent months. What else can we call Nigeria’s attempt to enact a death penalty for homosexuals? This legislation was endorsed by the highest Anglican official of that country, Archbishop Akinola, and his actions put much of the rest of the Anglican Communion in conflict with that country and that church. A religious conflict.

photo of Bishop Minns and Archbishop Akinola by The Christian Post

And, now Archbishop Akinola has invaded the Episcopal Church in the United States over morality and Biblical interpretation issues. He has ignored the documents of Dar Es Salaam; he has ignored the due process he once endorsed; and he has planted his own church in place of The Episcopal Church, a major blow to reconciliation with the Anglican Communion.

Possibly the only reason that this conflict has not degraded into actual warfare is that the United States is much more powerful than Nigeria and thus not susceptible to invasion should the Archbishop set his mind to rescuing the entirety of Episcopal churches or even the entirety of Protestantism. In other places and other years, very violent wars have been fought over lesser provocation.

King Charles I

For instance, the Civil Wars in Great Britain began when Charles I tried to impose the Anglican Prayer Book on the Scottish Church. From our perspective we can see that Charles was doomed to failure for the Scottish nobles and clergy signed a National Covenant in 1638 to defend their church against Anglicanism and Episcopalianism. The conflict escalated into war and later involved Ireland – not just on religious issues but also political and societal issues. The Thirty Years Wars ended with legislation in 1689-1701 that specified the relationship of the monarchy to the parliament, the rights of both, and the fact that the monarch must be a communicating member of the Anglican Church.

In other parts of the world, wars are being waged in the name of religion for lesser offences than accepting homosexuals into full communion in the church or the ordaining of women. Bonnie Erbe, writing for Scripps Howard News Service said, “Right now, we only need look at the Middle East for confirmation of the fact that religious differences spark violent conflict. In Iraq, Sunni and Shiite Muslims murder each other for political gain. Palestinians are several years into a bloody intifada against Israelis who, according to each side's religious texts, spring from the same ancestors.”

Just as emotional violence done to vulnerable people can exact consequences as serious as physical violence, so the emotional and spiritual “wars” of the Anglican Communion are exacting their disastrous results on people all over the world, most especially the vulnerable women and homosexuals.

The common people in most countries follow their leaders, and Archbishop Akinola’s followers will undoubtedly follow him, along with lesser bishops in his area. The Archbishop of Canterbury’s leadership has failed with the installation of Bishop Minns in Virginia. I don’t know how the common people of other countries will react to this invasion and this religious conflict. The people of the Episcopal Church in the United States have tried to act in a reconciliatory way, a via media way, and that has failed to impress the leadership of purportedly Anglican churches who disagree dogmatically. Where will the Anglican Communion go next? Who will be killed in the name of religion? Where will the Episcopal Church stand?

Civil War Postponed, Mother's Day Gratitude

In a comment over at Father Jake's place, I promised more about reconciliation and civil war in TEC. Here's my comment: The schism in TEC reminds me in part of civil wars. Each side believes it is right. One side wants its own country and institutes war to get that. Sometimes civil wars result in two different countries (some middle East nations and some middle European nations); sometimes civil wars result in reunion (USA, Iraq -we hope, parts of the United Kingdom). Perhaps we can look back and have no more hate than to refer to this difference of viewpoint as "the recent unpleasantness."

But, for now, the war is still "on". I don't want to be excluded as a sinner, and others don't want me there at all. I and Thou. How different we are; how alike we are.

I suspect that outside interests will increase the pressure to choose sides until no one can take the via media. And, I'm deeply grieved.

This must wait until later, but I will get back to it.

On another topic: today is Mother's Day - and a Happy Mother's Day to all of you out there. Somehow I'm not sure you need to even be female to be a mother to someone. So, to all you who "mother", may you be honored on this day.

I was delightfully surprised yesterday to receive a card from my godson in Chattanooga. I thank his mother for sharing this wonderful son with me for more than 20 years now!!!

Better

Bronchoscopy was done this morning. Got lots of stuff out of my lungs, some had been there a long time. I got to watch on the screen, fascinating - also got to see my larynx as the tube came out. AND, I CAN BREATHE, really breathe. I can't remember when I could breathe this well. Specimens of what they took out have been sent for analysis. No evidence of cancer. Procedure made easy because of tech and nurse (both male) who explained everything as we went and we did a lot of joking.

I've eaten food forbidden until tomorrow with no ill effects so far. Didn't want soup. I even was able to sing a little coming home.

What hope! when I felt hopeless. I could just have this done periodically and I'd be happy. Doc changed some of my medicine around based on what happened this week when the wind was blowing and I was miserable. Particulate matter more than allergy. So, we're at least trying something different for now.

Thanks for all the prayers and good wishes.

You Are 27 Years Old

Under 12: You are a kid at heart. You still have an optimistic life view - and you look at the world with awe. 13-19: You are a teenager at heart. You question authority and are still trying to find your place in this world. 20-29: You are a twentysomething at heart. You feel excited about what's to come... love, work, and new experiences. 30-39: You are a thirtysomething at heart. You've had a taste of success and true love, but you want more! 40+: You are a mature adult. You've been through most of the ups and downs of life already. Now you get to sit back and relax.

What Age Do You Act?

This is really weird since I'm in my 60s.

Disability and prayers

Hmmmm. I’ve been reading some of the sites listed over at Dancing Through Doorways – about disability, particularly autism. One site was particularly disturbing: Autism: Getting the Truth Out. Disturbing in the sense that I don’t know many autistic people and that I am so ignorant of their circumstances. I saw a segment on television some time ago about an autistic musician, probably on 60 Minutes, and was impressed by his musical ability. I didn’t think much about the rest of his life. But, then we never think much about the rest of anyone’s life, do we?

While the articles on another site seemed dated, one by an adult who had been in the closet (of autism) for most of her life struck me personally. She talked about high functioning and how she learned to talk about her disability in ways that did not alarm people or provoke pity. She has incorporated their expectations and their acceptable mannerisms into herself until she felt she no longer knew who she was.

Many of us do that. And, many of us have disabilities that we cover well or deny. That denial will get you in the end.

I’ve had respiratory problems all my life. I lived much of my life as a high functioning respiratory disabled person. There, I’ve said it. I am and have long been disabled. I’ve lost many jobs because I got sick and couldn’t get well in their set length of time. I’ve worked in states where discrimination is difficult to prove, especially when you deny to yourself that you are disabled.

Right now, I’m a low-functioning respiratorily disabled person. A good diagnosis on Friday and an extended weight loss program may bring me back to medium-functioning. May.

I am not obviously disabled. People do not shun me. Employers would hire me, but they would also let me go when the extended illness came. I am bright and loved (what blessings), and I have all the physical things that I need in life (more blessings). I do not have self-esteem. I have to pretend that I will get well, when the truth is that I don’t know if I will ever be better than now. Perhaps. The Friday procedure should tell us something.

What I have to accept is that I am disabled. Ten years ago my pastor, with whom I shared an office, said that I should apply for disability. I was horrified. I wasn’t disabled. I was just sick and I would be well again. Untrue. I got better, but I never regained all my strength of body or immune system. Last week a friend suggested that I apply for disability. I was silent, not wanting to hurt her feelings because she is disabled as a result of an auto accident. I didn’t feel that I was disabled. Not me. I can do it. I will get well. Untrue. I will never be well. I may get lots better, especially if I lose weight, but I am respiratorily disabled and I will continue to be for the rest of my life.

That’s so hard to accept. It’s not my vision of self. Just as the autistic woman said that others’ visions of herself was not her vision. My vision doesn’t fit others’ visions either; I’m in denial big time.

Perhaps some of my adventurousness during my earlier years was in part due to the fact that I knew I had to live it all as quickly as I could. Someday I wouldn’t be able to do those things. Someday I might be stuck inside just because the wind is blowing hard.

My communication with God slides among three perspectives – prayers for others, pity for myself and gratitude. Drop in an occasional amazement, and there you have it. God and I had a talk the other night about my weight. I heard in my heart that I’m not ready yet, and I heard in my heart that I haven’t developed the discipline that losing the weight would take. It wasn’t going away by itself. God would help, but I had to do my part, and I wasn’t doing anything except feeling pitiful. (Twelve steps programs would say, “Margaret, you have to act as if..”)

Same with respiratory problems. I wasn’t doing everything I could to alleviate the symptoms. I could do better. And, I have done better on that, Thanks be to God. I take my medicine, I use my inhalers, I stay out of the wind, I use dust masks (awful things – make your nose run), and I still feel sorry for myself.

I can’t get out of this rut. So, readers, I need some prayers – for depression, for hope, for a significant outcome of the Friday bronchoscopy, for the courage to go to Weight Watchers, for a way out of this rut that I can and will take. I have so much good in my life; I want to get out of this pity me scheme, look reality (if it exists) in the face, and go on with what I can do. Thanks.

Railroad Tressel Bridge

For Juanuchi:


This railroad tressel (funny, MSWord keeps trying to correct that spelling to trestle, and maybe they are right, but I like it this way) is located over the Tombigbee River near Columbus, Mississippi, a town in which I lived off and on for much of my life. From early college days until I was past 40, I climbed and walked on this bridge with all manner of friends and one husband/then ex-husband.

It was a turn bridge at one time with the giant cogs and wheels still underneath. We actually got it to move a couple of inches once, but quickly restored it to the smooth rails that would keep the trains moving safely. We often climbed over the side and onto the huge round concrete pilings that held the bridge in place – sat on the wheels and lost ourselves in the roar of the trains that passed a few feet above our heads. Times now when I still wish I could lose myself in that noise and vibration.

The bridge is gone, making way for the Tenn-Tom Waterway – an enterprise designed to allow barges to haul goods up and down the river from the Gulf of Mexico to Ohio and beyond. All the wonderful old bridges are gone now. I miss them.

Of course, I don’t live there any longer, and my agility in climbing over the side (especially after the dock incident several days ago) is questionable. But, I’d probably try. I’m fresh out of new outlook on life. I’ve used up all the hope I have for right now. I’m ready for an infusion from the future or the past. I want angel wings from either direction. I’ll settle for ghosts or speaking stars.

But, I’m always fascinated at how the rails come together at certain points to allow the train to change tracts. I’m at one of these points when I must not stop and get stuck at the intersection, but I must go on and figure out which road is mine. Unfortunately, that’s not my story to tell right now. The doctors need to finish their story before I can decide which part of this train track is mine – getting well or just going on. How sick am I? How well am I? Which is likely to prevail? How long?

I’m not even looking for control any longer. I just want to quit being stuck on this blasted point, not knowing which way to go. Living it day by day is not my style or ability (at least for longer than 15 minutes).

So, I dwell on the faces that accompanied me as I played on this bridge and in the woods and lake nearby. I see them as they were then – some 20 years ago. I see me as I was then, too. I claim that hope and that joy to keep me going until I can find some more of my own in the here and now. Thanks, friends.



Bridge over the Tombigbee River approx. 1978

Tuesday Bird Blogging

Living on a creek in North Carolina offers some amazing views of wildlife - mostly birds and lizards. Today has been no exception. This cormorant (possibly close cousin to a cormorant, I don't know) sat on the stump at the end of the promontory across from out house...for hours. Finally I found the camera with the telephoto lens and took its picture. It was looking away from me because two jet skis were approaching. He only moved his head to watch them pass.

Then, I saw the osprey's head peeking over the top of the nest; so I tried another shot. Maybe you can see that dot of white; the nest has gotten deeper since last year. I don't know if she has eggs or not, but she's certainly alert to anything going on in the creek.

Walking back to the house I met a six or seven in lime green lizard - so brightly colored that I was startled. For two years, I've had a buddy chameleon, but he was not so large. He would appear at eye level when I was walking through the gate, and I would stop to talk with him. He must have liked me because he'd put out his orange under-neck and stay as long as I talked to him. I saw him every day that I was outside. This bright darling was shy and hid in the latticework so that all I could see was the tip of his tail. As I talked to it, the head gradually appeared, then drew back. Perhaps I shall I have a friend this year as well. This one did not stay still long enough for a photo - especially not with the telephoto lens.

I've been tagged as a Thinking Blogger

I've been tagged as a Thinking Blogger by Cecelia at Closeted Pastor. For the origin of this award please go here

My requirement now is to tag five other blogs that make me think. MadPriest has already been tagged...and possibly others that I read regularly. My choices are in no particular order but are ones that make me think about our world, my life, God, nature, as well as ones that make me laugh, which helps bring order to the chaos of my thinking.

What's equally as interesting is to back track to see what other blogs have been nominated - is there a commonality?

Anyway, I name Saint Pat because she is a reporter - not just a journalist, not just a photographer, not just a questioner, but a person who goes out of her way to report on issues, incidents and scenes that the rest of us might miss. And, she does it well.

I name Grandmere Mimi because she keeps me grounded (along with Cecelia) in the spiritual aspects of daily living. Prayers, poems, reminders of Holy Days, reviews of good eating places, and memos to ourselves. Her reflections and her lively wit (as often exhibited at OCICBW) are wonders. Thanks Mimi.

Badtux, the Snarky Penguin. Ah, Badtux. You make me laugh, you make me think, you lead me to blogs that I don't understand and you challenge me to keep exploring. And, you helped me find the delightful graphic of the Linux penguin drinking Coke.

Paula's House of Toast calls out the wonder in me with photography and commentary that pulls my soul and emotions into a place where they have never been.

I don't know how to limit this to just five. So, I'm going wildly astray with the last nominee. It's Knut's Blog. Unfortunately, it's in a foreign language; so I can't expect them to participate. Knut is a polar bear cub who has been nursed into life by a prominent zoo after being abandoned by his mother. This cub is beautiful and charming and is being raised just like all us humans would love to raise a pet bear. I have some concerns about his "taming", but I cannot contemplate killing the cub as one animal activist advocated. So I watch the clips and I think about how we get along as humans and how well this wonderful cub is adapting to interspecies companionship.

Let me add that I will be updating my blog list to reflect those that I read regularly; so if you're not named here, it's only because I chose randomly. Thanks to my blogsphere community.

The participation rules are simple:
1. If, and only if, you get tagged, write a post with links to 5 blogs that make you think,
2. Link to this post so that people can easily find the exact origin of the meme,
3. Optional: Proudly display the 'Thinking Blogger Award' with a link to the post that you wrote.

A success love story

A follow-up to Love and Perspective
When one couple of the Homeless but not Helpless group came to our church, some of the rest followed. Some of them claimed to practice Wiccan, one said she was a Satan worshipper, and they came to get help with food, since we were running a SHARE program then. But, they also came to services – not a requirement and not even on the same day as the food distribution, which I ran.

I came to know their names and their stories, and as Saint Pat has so eloquently said on her blog, the stories matter. These are people, many of whom were abused as children. Some of them grew up with wealthy parents; some grew up as outcasts; some were dirt poor.

Several family groups kept coming to church after the food distribution stopped. And, I fell in love with the children of one family. I became Grandma (I think my white hair prompted that name). They were baptized – the whole family – not all at the same time but as they came to realize that St. Anne’s was where they wanted to be and that the God they found at St. Anne’s was their God. Since they had worked with me in the food distribution, they asked that I be their sponsor for confirmation. So I became “godmother” to this family.

As I heard the story of Clarice being adopted by a dentist and his wife and growing up with all the privileges of middle class America, I wondered what went wrong. I still don’t know. This young woman was obese and living with a Vietnam veteran with PTSD and numerous other health problems. The daughters sat with me in church, and the youngest memorized some of the prayers and songs because she could not read. The son was a tremendously talented cartoonist, who lost or gave up his art ability when he reached puberty and developed schizophrenia. The physical, mental, emotional and social problems of this family were overwhelming.

But, they persevered. Other Homeless but not Helpless friends passed through their home, which they finally got with Section 8 housing assistance. Clarice learned which churches gave out food under what conditions. And, she used what amount of food budget she had to buy the perishables that churches can’t distribute easily. She fed anyone who was hungry. They began a garden and canned the produce of that garden.

Their home was often filthy. Housekeeping was not high on the priority list when you were interested in saving small animals from death, when you were interested in just staying alive with all the mental/emotional problems assailed you. We worked on kitchen cleanliness after a bout of digestive problems, and everyone cooperated. A compost bucket was kept, dishes were washed, food was put away.

They were frequent visitors to the various churches who gave monetary assistance with rent and utilities. They simply did not have enough income to cover the basic necessities. And, Clarice got to know the system well. Finally, someone who was helping people with social security and disability problems, got them qualified for a bit more money from various sources.

A budget was developed. An unexpected cold spell still brought requests for help with fuel oil. Clarice began taking her medicine since she could now get it through Medicaid. With a fine intelligence, she worked hard to quit using the financial resources of the community and make their budget work – except for food – and she still feeds everyone who comes by – and they come because there is food and acceptance.

Walking beside this family, wondering if I were going to get head lice from holding the daughters in my lap, thanking God that I have little sense of smell when I went into their home were not easy. Loving them was. How can you not love a little one who comes running to you with a bright face and arms outstretched for a hug? How can you not love when someone asks you to help them get on their feet? How can you not love when a schizophrenia young man stands outside your door talking with whomever he sees in the ether but returns to reality and gives you a big hug, carries heavy things for you, and becomes normal for the few minutes that you can connect? How can you not love when the couple gets married and calls you joyously after the service from the civil office? How can you not love when they join you at the communion rail with smiles and outstretched hands for the hope and love, courage and inclusion we all find there.

They are my family. I am godmother, Grandma. Now, I live several hours away from them. They call me to see how I am doing – thank God for cell phones. They call me to say that all the bills have been paid. The youngest calls and sings to me. But, they also call when that cold spell hits and the heating oil tank is dangerously low. I have a charge account now with their local fuel oil company. I get special requests at Christmas, but I don’t get frivolous requests, and I do get consulted about special purchases before they are made.

Drugs and alcohol have disappeared from their personal usage, but they don’t turn away those who are still addicted as long as they play by the rules of the house. Their pantry and freezer are stocked. Clothes come from the local thrift shops or the church clothing closets. They get therapy to help solve problems within the family. And, the oldest daughter is away for a few months in a home for disturbed teenagers. She’s learning anger management and how to handle her particular mental illness, but she’s determined to come home again. On a recent visit, she abided by all the rules and showed respect to her Mom.

I can’t do much now except the fuel oil, listening on the phone, loving them and praying for them. They are using, not abusing, the social services system to survive and be participating members of the community. They are a success story.

Joe’s son, Joey, is buried in the columbarium at St. Anne’s, and I figure it won’t be long before Joe joins him since Joe has emphysema and a bad heart that is slowly quitting. He doesn’t leave the house now; so the family no longer attends church; someone has to stay with him. I’ll be there to bury Joe just as I was there to bury Joey. They are my family. I will see them when I go back to visit. We give each other love and acceptance just where we are and as we are. Where love is, God is there.

Not very green

Your Life is 36% Green

You're on the right track to living a green life, and you're definitely doing your part to help out. You care about the earth, and hopefully this quiz has given you some ideas on how you can do more!

How Green Is Your Life?

Bleah. Of course, there is no public transportation and I have asthma so bikes are out. I do drive a hybrid car. But, obviously I could do better. Since I don't work, some of the questions did not apply. But, I'm like Mystical Midget, I buy books instead of using the library.

Reality of a better life or Living by adages

“Holding on to your fear and the idea that you can control things.” I just heard my partner say that to someone on the phone, and I felt it all the way to the bottom of my gut. You’d think that after my acrobatic antics this morning I would have learned that I can not control things. “Trying to think your way into better living” – Ooooooh, she’s saying good things.

After the acrobatics, I don’t think I fear dying from this respiratory stuff anymore. I could easily have been killed or paralyzed this morning with my somersault. But, I wasn’t, and I don’t have any control over whether or not I die from a fall, from an auto accident, by a stroke or from a heart attack – or from this respiratory stuff. I may suffer for years; I may not.

My task for today is to keep doing the things that will make me healthier physically, and let the day flow forth. Make happy plans, call friends, pet the cats. And, laugh. Laughing is important – laughing with God at the silliness of our squabbles (I’m not talking about war and violence here, okay?), laughing at our own mistakes, laughing when we realize that we really can’t do something (then look for another way), laughing when we fail because we can try again, laughing at the ducks exploring the deck.

Add wonder to the mix. The ospreys’ nest is just across the way, and I marvel at their flight and their catching fish in our creek. My rose bushes came back after a very severe pruning this winter and are now in bloom with lots of bright red. The pinks and multi-colors come later. Waking up and seeing the iris blooming in the front yard. Feeling the drift of the current in the creek as I maneuver the jet ski.

I’m letting go of fear that doing something will make me feel worse. I’m taking it for granted that I will gradually get better. I’m letting go of the fear that I will lose the things that make me happy and realizing that the things that make me happiest, I cannot lose. Letting go of the fear that I will never fit into this new community because someday I will be well enough to make those extra friends that I need here.

I need to do more, think less – at least think less about me, think more about others, think more about flowers, think more about reading science stories and science fiction/fantasy stories.

On Nick Knisely’s blog, he talks about physics, about the fact that reality doesn’t exist – or something like that. And, he’s speaking in the most macro sense. Gravity still seems to work and we can use it in most ways, but reality and locality are physics that scientists are examining. On a macro level, the answer to the age-old question, “If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around, does it make any sound.” The macro answer is no. But, if you’re not watching the electron, it doesn’t exist.

Now, I think about reality and its relationship to better living. If I’m not living better, then no amount of thinking will do any good. I have to actually do it for it to happen. I have to look better living in the face and call it my own before it will happen. I can’t just imagine better living and expect it to happen.

So, here’s my motto for today: Give up fear, live better, and quit trying to control everything. Maybe that’s a motto for life.

Gymnastics at age 61

I never once thought that in my older age I would become a gymnast, but I apparently am doing quite well at it. Unless you count the bruises and contusions. This morning I went for a wonderful jet ski ride, came back, tied up, and was standing on the lower platform of the dock. I decided to step up to the next level without using the stairs. Ha ha.

I’m a short thing and I weight a good bit more than I should and I’m 61 years old and have been ill for several months. (Obviously getting much better now except for the external bodily damage from my gymnastics.) I was so happy from my jet ski ride that I thought I could do anything.

Not.

I put one foot on the higher platform, thought again about what I was doing, but “I can do this – just focus my energy.” So I did focus, and I heaved. Well, I made it successfully to the upper platform (about 2 feet up from the lower). Unfortunately, I toppled sideways in what must have been a very difficult, and I hope graceful, somesault. My knees scraped the edge of the dock leaving no blood but scrapes and bruises. My shoulder and head hit the jet ski. I can’t repeat what I either thought or said. When my head hit, I was perplexed – this shouldn’t be happening.

However, I was only wet from the waist down – very shallow water and upper body held up by my head hanging on the jet ski edge. Thank God, the edge is rubber. So, I turned to the lower steps and sludged up them. Then I lay down on the lower level of the dock – slightly nauseated for about 10 seconds.

I pulled my aerosol air horn from my life jacket and set off a series of bursts that brought Lisa from the front yard to ensure that I reached the house safely. My skin is still oozing from some of the contusions, but I figure that will stop eventually. But, I’m clean again and will probably take another jet ski ride tomorrow.

However, as I told Lisa, I wish I hurt more. If I did, I might remember that I’m not as physically fit as I once was and that steps are a good thing. That’s why I had them built. Some part of me was aware of this, but the adrenaline from the jet ski ride clouded my vision of self. Now, I’m on my way to my regular therapy appointment, and I dread telling her that I lost sight of reality. More about reality in my next post, though.

Ten Tangible Wants

Perhaps what I need instead of a gratitude list is a list of ten things I want. The list of intangibles that I want would be much too long for any blog – things like world peace, healing of our earth, better health, being useful instead of just being and so many more. So this list will be the tangibles that I hope someday to have, not in order of priority.

1.Clothes that fit – losing weight will help this
2.A red kitchen – Ikea has a lovely one
3.To see polar bears – preferably at the North Pole, but a zoo will do – Knut is cute
4.A bedspread that I really like – my bed is queen size but high off the floor, and I use king-size blankets and spreads, but I really have never seen nor can I conceptualize what I might want
5.Someone to really clean the house once a week and fold the sheets and such
6.A good landscaper to work on my yard
7.A church where I feel comfortable and the ability to get there – this involves better health as well as the size and character of the congregation.
8.Coca-Cola made with sugar not corn syrup
9.Having a dance party at my house
10.Traveling to see my many friends across the country

Anyone else want to play with this meme?

The New House Wants

This weekend we toured several of the homes on the Parade of Homes – a builders' array of new homes in various price ranges. The first house we saw was uninspiring – partly because the new owner requested that shoes be left at the door, and I'm not comfortable walking around without shoes; so I didn't see much of that house.

However, the second house we saw because it was “strange” looking – all square angles, and I wanted to see how the inside could possibly fit into those spaces. It sat on a hill overlooking a wide quick-flowing river. The minute I walked into the house, I was awestruck. Palatial was the only word I could use to describe this home. And, I felt so good in it. The shiny floors reached up and touched my kinesthetic being as I reached down to slide my hand along the beautiful hardwood and then the marble tiles. I sniffed the air (not that I can smell much anyway) and the air smelled fresh and new...like the way a new car smells.

The walls were a continuous color throughout except the dining area, and the floor in the dining area had an octagonal inset of dark green stone. The kitchen was a marvel of brushed stainless appliances and conveniences that made me want to cook. Then I looked up to the windows – all 20 plus feet tall of them. And, I looked out to the river. And, my heart said, I want this.

I was so awestruck that I managed the stairs and saw the views from the bedrooms upstairs...and all the closet space. And, I saw the dock on the river. It was startlingly beautiful.

But, the fixtures were brown and tan, and the lavatories all had those decorative cabinets with bowls sitting on them. And, the lighting fixtures were baroque – as befitted the overall house. And, there was carpet all upstairs. Even though it also had a screened porch and a grill built into the patio, it was not my house. Never mind the cost.

When we had looked at other houses, we came home and talked about how we felt in that house. It was clean. The grout in the tile was not irreparably dirty. The baths were tile. The hardwood wasn't dented and scuffed. The baseboards were clean and didn't have dirt lurking where they joined the floor or the wall. The paint wasn't chipped. Everything worked like it was supposed to work. And, the tall ceilings were deliciously freeing.

We checked out the MLS listings for other houses on the water (can't live without the water now, I think), and we discovered that none of them fit our needs. So we began to think about tearing our house down and building a new one on our lot.

Somewhere along the way of talking about financing, we stopped and realized that we had been sucked in by “The Wants”, the desire for perfection, the sweet smell of newness. Our house isn't perfect; neither is our life. We couldn't make the changes to ourselves that would enable us to keep a new house in that kind of perfection, and seeing it get dirty or something break would be so depressing. We couldn't “live” in such a place.

I think both of us have made gratitude lists that include not only the intangibles of our lives like each other and friends, but also the blessings of this home for us and for our friends. We may redo the kitchen and living area; we may put down new flooring throughout the house. Both of these are needed. But I never see those lines of dirt along the baseboards when I am serving a meal to friends or walking out to my screened porch with its soothing fountain. I haven't messed up a meal because the kitchen didn't function right, and I haven't had to polish stainless steel appliances.

In this house, we can afford to travel a bit, give away some money, leave newspapers on the floor overnight, and enjoy boating of all kinds. We can also afford to have someone clean every other week so I don't have to do the heavy stuff of cleaning floors and doors and blinds. In that palatial home, we'd have to give up a lot of the things we enjoy. And, we'd have to change ourselves into the kind of people who can live in perfect houses. Not gonna happen.

Oh, is this true?

You are Agnostic

You're not sure if God exists, and you don't care. For you, there's no true way to figure out the divine. You rather focus on what you can control - your own life. And you tend to resent when others "sell" religion to you.

What's Your Religious Philosophy?

Coke Drinking Penguin

Linux Penguin Drinking Coke - Although I don't use Linux, I do love this image of the penguin (cute thing) drinking my favorite drink.

Hat tip to BadTux, the Snarky Penguin

Your Dominant Intelligence is Linguistic Intelligence

You are excellent with words and language. You explain yourself well. An elegant speaker, you can converse well with anyone on the fly. You are also good at remembering information and convicing someone of your point of view. A master of creative phrasing and unique words, you enjoy expanding your vocabulary. You would make a fantastic poet, journalist, writer, teacher, lawyer, politician, or translator.

What Kind of Intelligence Do You Have?

Saved from Execution for What?

What If Killer Can't Grasp Meaning of Execution?
by Patty Reinert and Mike Tolson
Houston Chronicle April 17, 2007

In the decade before he shot his in-laws dead in the Texas Hill Country, Scott Panetti was hospitalized 14 times for schizophrenia and psychotic delusions. He heard voices and fought with various personalities in his fractured mind. He once planted his furniture in the ground and watered it, believing it to be possessed.

Yet a Gillespie County jury deemed him fit to stand trial for capital murder in the 1992 slayings, and a judge allowed him to represent himself despite objections from even the prosecutor. Dressed in a purple cowboy outfit with a hat dangling from a string around his neck, Panetti flipped a coin to choose his jurors, ranted incomprehensibly and tried to subpoena everyone from President Kennedy to Jesus Christ.

The jury rejected his insanity defense and sentenced him to death.

Every mental health expert to evaluate Panetti agrees he is mentally ill. But on Wednesday, his lawyer, Keith Hampton of Austin, will ask the U.S. Supreme Court to answer a more difficult question: Is Panetti now so insane that he should be spared execution because he cannot grasp the fact that his punishment is the result of his crime?

(I couldn't get a link to this article, but this preview is from Pew Forum.)

Omigod! Why do we have the death penalty? To assuage our anger at violence, violence that we condone in children’s video games? To prevent future crimes? (Certainly wouldn’t work here) To punish the evil-doer? (He doesn’t connect punishment and deed.) What is going on in our world that we deliberately kill so many people? I’ve ranted about war, but this is corporate insanity.

Who could possibly say this man is not insane? But, the greater question is: If we say he is insane, what do we do with him? Mental hospitals and mental health care are little better than the mid twentieth century. Certainly, we have better counselors, but too few of them. Certainly we understand more about mental illness, but where do you go for care? Certainly we have more psychiatrists, but how do you get an appointment, and how do you pay for continuing care, much less the medication?

When you listen to the homeless, you may realize that mental illness keeps them homeless more than lack of housing resources (though affordable housing is a joke). When you listen to some drug addicts, you realize that the addiction followed the mental illness, not caused it. And, what of our veterans who have been brainwashed in the military to “kill, kill, kill” and now are confronted with a society where killing is wrong?

How do we protect those who have mental/emotional illnesses from themselves and how do we protect others from them? We are doing a miserable job of rehabilitation, therapy, medication management, training, supervision for those who need it. Are the techniques available to help keep us all safe – from ourselves and from one another?

All I have is questions, prayers and grief.

Will Middle Eastern War Ever End?

The War in Iraq claims more lives each day than those lost at Virginia Tech. Five hundred people in the US die in traffic accidents each day. I’m sure other statistics are equally as high. How many lives does cancer claim each day?

Yet, the violence of the attack at Virginia Tech and the violence of the war in Iraq disturb me terribly. I guess traffic accidents are no less violent for those involved, and someone once said to me, “A drunk driver is like a loaded gun pointed at your head.”

We call for the withdrawal of troops from Iraq, for turning the government over to the Iraqi people. Let them build their democracy or their government. Let’s look at what might happen if we pulled out over a period of several months and were out of Iraq by the end of the year. The government is now run by one of the Muslim sects that fights violently with another. The Kurdish section in Northern Iran seems to be the only stable place in the country. They have lights and water and food and cars and relative safety.

Would the world have genocide in Iraq as the two sects of Islam fight to eliminate each other from the earth? The country’s military would not be strong enough to carry any substantial fighting out of the country, but terrorists would continue in the world – fueled by the disillusion of the people of Iraq and the disappointment of the world in the USA. Unless the fundamentalists of each group killed one another completely, the fighting would continue on and on – each family taking blood revenge for those killed by killing others-as the Hebrew men killed others to protect Dinah's honor.

I don’t understand why one sect thinks the other has no right to exist. Why is it, “Our way or death”? Those converting to the other sect or to any other religion are persecuted, imprisoned, often tortured and sometimes killed. All because some people think God isn’t big enough to deal with these kinds of pluralities.

I don’t understand this kind of war or violence, and my prayers, like those of the ancient Israelites, are for an end to war and violence. May each of us work towards peace.

Love and perspective

The piece below was written in 1997, but in it I talk about how easy it is to love people who are different from you - and yet how hard. The epilogue to this story reads like a soap opera novel of people in poverty and in mental/emotional distress.

Today is Sunday. On Sundays I drive to the other side of town and pick up a family of four for church and Sunday School. They are young with a 12 year old daughter and a 20 month old son. They are disabled.
He is HIV positive and receives a disability check for being manic depressive. He also has a history of self mutilation. That’s how he became HIV positive. He injected a vial of blood from a friend who had AIDS because he was feeling bad about something he had done. She is manic depressive and has all the problems associated with obesity. The baby is wonderful - a charming, active child who adores me. He knows when the little white car pulls into the yard that he’s going for a ride, that the woman who gets out of it will come onto the porch with arms open wide to pick him up and twirl round and round with him until he laughs out loud. And, he meets me with outstretched arms. If I stop to get something out of the car, he bumps down the steps on his bottom and trots across to the edge of the yard where there’s a two foot drop to the driveway. If I’m not reaching for him by then, he calls to me - in non-understandable syllables so far - then sits down and prepares to ease himself over the wall to the driveway. He’s a determined young man. And his sister is all giggles and pouts. Large for her age, she is as tall as I am and wears a size 14 already. She is beautiful. Her dark hair falls in a glistening gush down to her shoulders. When she smiles, the world is blindingly bright.
I love this family. They call me Mom and Grandma even though I am not blood kin, even though I cannot be the Mom they yearn for nor the Grandma they need. I worry that I am not enough.
For some time I helped them financially, and still do occasionally. They always seemed to need just a bit more to meet their expenses - diapers, milk, medicine, bus passes. Their meager resources just weren’t enough. She tries to work at restaurant jobs. However, the family just doesn’t function without her at home, and only barely then. When the baby gets sick, she takes him to the emergency room, usually about 7 pm, and then stays home with him the next day. The husband cannot read well, cannot be awakened when he goes to sleep, and is often too tired to stay awake and care for his son. When the husband is sick, the wife must stay home and take care of him. And, sometimes, the wife just gets hurt herself. She stumbles and sprains an ankle. She picks something up and hurts her back. She has migraines from a plate in her head where a previous husband hit her. So her jobs last about two weeks. Then, she is fired because she doesn’t come to work or she quits. North Carolina’s Work First program says that she must find a job. So she stays off work for a week, looks for a job for a week or two, and then works for a couple more weeks. The state pays for day care for the son.
She has two other sons by the husband who damaged her head. I have never met them for they are in foster care. She voluntarily gave them up when she became homeless. The boys have been sexually abused by a man, possibly by their father, but the authorities are convinced they were abused by the current husband. No charges have been pressed because there is no evidence. Even so, she is not permitted to see them. She is almost a year behind in her child support payments and the courts are threatening to jail her if she does not pay the monthly $50 out of their meager government support checks.
Their situation becomes more convoluted each day. The 12 year old daughter was living with the wife’s father until this summer. Now the wife’s father has had a heart attack. Rumors are that the husband’s son by his first wife is in foster care in a neighboring county, and he wants to apply for custody. Their friends are people who bonded with them in a group called Homeless But Not Helpless - people with as many problems as they have. All people who continue to make poor decisions regarding their lives and their money.
We easily make the decision to buy food instead of toys when we are confronted with hard times. That decision is not so certain when you’ve been hungry off and on for a long time and toys produce a small amount of comfort that food does not. We pay the rent and electricity first. When rent and electricity take all the money that you have, you don’t necessarily spend everything you have on what seem to be intangibles. You spend some of your money on the cigarettes. You spend some on soft drinks. You spend some of school supplies. You spend some on nail polish and hair barrettes. And, when the rent is past due, you don’t remember that you had enough to pay it; you only know that you don’t have enough now.
So Sunday, I picked up the wife and son and a friend’s daughter who was visiting. We buckled in the car seat and a booster seat and drove the few miles to church. They rode home with friends. I came out to a closed car sitting in the sunshine. Car seat, booster seat, paper bag of clothes, diaper bag were gone. But the smell was overwhelming. Sharp, gagging ...urine, musty clothes, stale....stale...well, stale something. I was shocked. I had noticed the musty clothes smell before. They don’t have closets and their clothes are piled in stacks - clean ones here, dirty ones there. No chests of drawers. No shelves. Sure, they have a washer and dryer, and sometimes they have laundry detergent. But, you put clothes on the floor or against the plaster wall of an old house with no air conditioning, and you have damp, musty-smelling clothes. The car seats must have seen many accidents and were undoubtedly second hand when they began using them.
I rode with the windows down, and I wanted to never have them in my car again. I wanted to forget they exist. I wanted them not to be dependent on government and other handouts. I wanted them to always smell good. I wanted them to be well. I wanted to change them to be like me.
Then I realize that cannot change them, possibly not even change some of their behaviors. And, I also realize that I love them. They love me. We depend on one another. I give them rides and I listen. They give me love and perspective. Without them I forget that God loves all of us. Without them I become centered in having things, doing things, knowing important people, being important. Without them, I forget that all things come from God. Without them, I am lonely in a room of people just like me. They keep me grounded in the reality of being human. They remind me that I am blessed just as they are blessed with being uniquely ourselves. They remind me how a little love can go such a long way.

The mother and father divorced. The daughter lived at a group home for a while, was fostered, then thrown out, and was pregnant and unmarried when I last heard. The son developed severe behavioral problems and was removed from the home and was in a home for problem children. The mother married a young man who had been fostered in their home, and he is now in Iraq. The father married a young woman and they are addicted to crack. But, I see or hear from them occasionally; I pray for them daily; and they still call me Mom and Grandma. And, I still love them.