What is Racism?

Dear Governor Abbott,
I am a military spouse and educator in Texas. I wanted to applaud you on your initiatives for making Texas stronger and safer. While looking through your initiatives, I did not notice any specific initiatives to address racial inequality in this great state. As an observer of the racial environment, I have personally noticed a few issues that I perceive to be worthy of addressing. I believe that racial inequality can be decreased in Texas through meaningful discourse, community training, and leadership example.
It helps to make sure we all understand not only what racial inequality is, but how to recognize it and most importantly what to do about it. Based on personal observations and listening to fellow citizens of all races, it boils down to a significantly unfair bias in the way a person is treated at work, in their community doing everyday things, and in government facilities based on a split-second (often unconscious) reaction to a person as a result of their cultural identity whether it be skin color, dress, mannerisms, an accent or any other cultural identifier. When we listen to people's stories about their experiences with racism, it gives the community better information about how to combat racism. Could we establish community forums in which people of all races may share their understanding of racism, their own contribution to the problem, personal experiences about racism, and potential actions that can be taken to eliminate it? Racism is a form of bullying, so some of the strategies used to combat bullying could also apply to prevent racism.
Through these forums, if people could come to an agreement about what is and what is not racism, couldn't we expect better outcomes for all Texans regardless of their race?  Some of the most common requests I hear from minorities have to do with having better representation through a better understanding of culture and the benefit of the doubt when they move about in their lives trying to accomplish the same things their white counterparts are able to accomplish without the same fears and reactions.
I also believe that a leadership example is essential in implementing new thought patterns and attitudes about race in Texas and the rest of the US. Forums are only as strong as their promoters, therefore, I would ask that starting with the governor's office and trickling down to city mayors and police officers across the state, our leaders set an example of respect for people of all races from the gas station attendant to the person behind the counter at the DMV. The media has a responsibility to seek out and broadcast positive race relations as much as they focus on negative situations.
As a middle- and high-school teacher, I have found that I have to teach my students exactly what respect is before I can ask them to comply with the directive to "be respectful." Perhaps there is a need among adults to relearn what respect is and how to show it to others. I believe that when a person shows others respect--even those whom they do not believe deserve it--they are showing nothing more than that they respect themselves.
I would like to live in a world where the Mexican entrepreneur, African American teacher, Asian business owner, and white transportation worker each have the same opportunities in that first split second of each interaction and that their character would speak for itself louder than the color of their skin. I believe that leadership example, meaningful discourse, and education are the keys to combatting racist bullying.
Thank you for considering my request to develop an initiative to bring Texans more closely together in racial equality!

When You Are That Guy

I survive in the space between two extremes. On the one hand, I find benefit in invisibility but on the other hand, I want to be recognized and admired. While I was growing up, my single aim in life was to skate through without anyone knowing I was there. However, I learned from a counselor years ago that my anxiety and depression are triggered when I feel invisible, worthless, or any suitable synonym.

This morning, I learned that I was “that guy.” You know who that is, the one who causes inconveniences for others and maybe doesn’t even know it or does know and doesn’t care. I had left a review about our tour in Venice on Trip Adviser and went back to see if it had posted. This is what I found instead, “I had a great time and Oscar, our guide, was a good storyteller. History & facts came alive with the stories. Also, Oscar speaks great English, minus strong accent.
I was only unhappy with the long wait for a group of 5 who came back from lunch after the appointed time (I.e. late) and made the rest of us (about 15) waited for them to eat their lunch and fed pigeons with the left-over.”

Guess who that party of five was. Yep, you guessed it. Us. First of all, whenever I read something scathing about myself on social media, my blood runs cold for a second and I can feel all the blood drain from my face. It’s happened before and I cannot control the reaction. Further, I desperately wanted to go back in time and have picked a different restaurant and read the rule about not feeding the pigeons earlier. Then I wished we had apologized to our group for being late. In our defense, after we met up with our group, we discovered they were waiting on a gentleman who was in the bathroom, but he only went to use the facilities because, well, we were late.

And since I didn’t have a chance to explain to the group why, I’ll explain it to you. We had 30 minutes for lunch and accidentally chose a sit-down restaurant for sustenance instead of walking just a bit farther where the quicker fare was to be found. Why? Because we thought we were running out of time. Ironic, isn’t it? Then we feared insulting our waiter and the owner by rushing them, but we did anyway and asked for our pizza to be boxed (and cut because they don’t usually cut it for you) and we ran back to our group with full pizza boxes in hand and 66 Euros poorer. We also managed to insult everyone in the process, the restaurant staff and the tour group! Talk about slam-dunk.

And as we approached, we learned a member of our group was in the restroom so we opened our pizzas and ate really fast while fighting off pigeons. I suppose as a sign of surrender, a person in our group decided if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em and held out a crust for one of them which amazingly landed on his hand to partake. It was really pretty cool. But not cool as we found out by reading a sign later. I also feel like saying that I gave the half of my pizza that I couldn’t finish to a homeless man as we continued our tour and did not feed any pigeons with it.

Every time I rewrite the scenario in my head for a better outcome, I come back to the same thing, is it better to be noticed or not? All of my solutions include abject apologies and invisibility by way of rectification. So I’ve given myself permission to just be “that guy” this time. Nobody died. Nobody was injured. Nobody missed a flight or other important meeting. This same reviewer obviously enjoyed every part of the tour, except for us.

Here’s what the reviewer doesn’t know and I suspect in every situation like this, there’s more to the story that if it were just known, might change the tone. That morning, I had noticed that my Hashimoto’s was flaring up, no doubt due to the unhealthy diet I had adopted while on the trip. It caused my husband and son to make a note that they would have to “keep an eye on me” that day. One symptom is the inability to think clearly. It almost resembles ADHD with self-interruptions, bad judgment, and flakiness. It had been my decision to eat at that restaurant. I was uncharacteristically optimistic about the timeline. We had already ordered before we realized we only had 15 minutes left.

Then another symptom flared, the one called anxiety! I was trying to get us out of there on time without causing problems for anyone at all. I actually think the rest of my party was a little bit confused as to my decision, but they were gracious anyway. We only stood around eating our pizza because there was a man in the restroom, so we figured we might as well gulp our lunch down. We were all pretty hungry and it was ridiculously good pizza, by the way. I have no excuse for feeding the pigeons. It seems like in the states, it’s actually okay to do that but I don’t spend enough time with pigeons to be sure.  As I write this, my anxiety is off the charts, so this is my therapy—to explain what happened to my five blog readers because it’s cheaper than paying an actual therapist. And I can assure you that the pigeons did not mind.

At one point, I just wanted to disappear. One thing I realize from all of this is that there is another aspect that triggers the worst reactions in me—whenever I am recognized and called out for being “that guy.” But maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t hurt to assume the best about people before berating them in a public forum. At least I’m not “THAT guy!”

Bone Chilling

    Come with me to a desert and imagine it robbing the moisture from your skin and eyes. You squint against the heat of the sun and lick your lips only to be rewarded with sticky dust gathered there uninvited. As you suck in a breath of heat it gives no relief to your lungs. All around you lay the remnants of a once-thriving community. People that once danced, moved, and breathed. You don’t have to look hard at the landscape at your feet to know that the bones scattered as far as the eye can see have nothing left. Buzzards don’t bother circling overhead. Their meal from this tragedy was satisfied long ago. The wind causes a hollow clattering as a fragile femur rustles against a phalange or fibula. The passage of time has secured their current condition; ghostly white, splintery, dry. An ocean of dried out, hollow bones.

     What are your dry bones? What have you given up on? Where lies your discontent?

Failed marriage? Failed parenting? Failing grades? Failed unity in our country? A prison sentence?  A failed career? Failed religion? A failure to communicate? 

     How about death?

     So much failure abounds that the flies don’t even bother hovering. There’s nothing left that attracts them. These bones are so wispy, the breeze pushes them around like trash.

     When Ezekiel stood at the edge of a scene like this, it had been so long since he had been home, he didn’t even think it was possible to go back. Yet he was tasked to bring word of the Lord to the living among his fellow captives. It’s hard enough to bring a tough word to a tough crowd but here he stood in the valley of dry bones about to give the directive of a lifetime. God said, “Prophesy to these dry bones.”

     He stared at the pile of bones maybe questioning his sanity. He looked at the hopelessness and felt it in his own bones. I’m not sure if he expected anything or not.

     But those bones are us. They are me. We face hopelessness daily with a sense of dread we may not even be aware of. We walk through our lives in a daze crushing dry bones under our feet as if they weren’t lifeless enough already! I’ve become hopelessly lost in a world that does not want, need, or even acknowledge any part of the existence of God. It discourages me, not because I need others to believe in order for me to believe, but because I don’t understand what is so offensive about God that keeps people from Him.

     Now His people are another story! I understand why we are offensive. All one has to do is scroll through the newsfeed of one’s favorite social media site. We are a mess, fighting with each other, talking over each other, lashing out at figures we’ve never even met. I totally get it if people don’t want to believe in me. I have a list of names in my Bible of those I’ve shared about Christ with who still do not buy it as far as I can tell. And Those are my dry bones; trying to love God in a world that doesn’t even care He’s alive.

     Ezekiel stood in front of a mass gathering of still bones and spoke them to life. It is largely believed to have been a vision (http://biblehub.com/commentaries/ezekiel/37-1.htm) but a vivid one and one that had impacted him deeply. In front of his squinting eyes, the bones gathered to themselves and connected bone to bone to create a vast army as sinew and skin wrapped around the skeletons like a hug from a long lost friend.

So can that which was dead be brought back to life? Can there be resurrection in the most definite of finalities? The marriage, the friendship, the career, the class, the faith, the conversation. 

     Or death? 

     God asked if the bones could be brought to life. Ezekiel's answer was a safe one, "Only you know, God." 

     The resurrection of the bones in Ezekiel’s vision has implications for me. The first is that only the author of life can reverse the finality of death. We will all be seen to our grave one day; that is unavoidable but “if the dead are not raised, then Christ has not been raised either. And if Christ has not been raised, your faith is futile; you are still in your sins” (1 Cor 15:16-17). “But Christ has indeed been raised from the dead” (1 Cor 15:20a). Those dry bones coming to life told a story of a promise that Israel would be gathered again and returned home one day. It also told the story of what would happen for anyone who would follow Christ. About 600 years later (give or take), Jesus would call a man out of his grave in order to prove that death was not the final answer and that He Himself could overcome it.

     But even that is not the rest of the story told in the dry bones. The re-animation was not the end result. I’m telling you, that would’ve been enough for me! I’m pretty sure I’d have peed myself watching and listening to the sounds as lifeless bones came together, the shaking as they stood upright, skin latching onto them before my eyes. Those bones-turned-bodies had no breath in them so the work wasn’t complete.

     Neither is it with us. The word in the passage for breath is also the same word denoted for Spirit and it is used interchangeably 10 times in the passage (http://biblehub.com/commentaries/ezekiel/37-5.htm). As we walk through our valley of dry bones, God’s promise is so much more than simply reassembling our parts and wrapping us in skin. He breathes His spirit, His breath, into us, and that is how we have hope and that is how we can overcome the most grievous heartaches in this life.

     In the end, the pile of brittle, lifeless bones stood on its feet as a vast army and inhaled the spirit into their bodies. “This is what the Sovereign Lord says: My people, I am going to open your graves and bring you up from them . . . Then you, my people, will know that I am the Lord, when I open your graves and bring you up from them. I will put my Spirit in you and you will live . . . Then you will know that I the Lord have spoken, and I have done it, declares the Lord” (Ezekiel 37:12-14)

     Can my failures give way to new life? God knows. 

All references from: 

http://biblehub.com/commentaries/ezekiel/37-7.htm 

http://biblehub.com/niv/1_corinthians/15.htm 

Take Me to Church

It’s hidden so well, you wouldn’t have any way of knowing it was there unless you were invited. And I was. So I went. The directions were to take one country road through the cornfields of Southern Illinois, turn left at the end of the road and take an immediate right then keep following the cornfields until the road opened to a wide spot. There might not even be a parking lot for it. You might not be sure if it’s a church or a home except that it has a peeling wooden sign with the name and year of establishment that likely hasn’t been painted since. Your first thought might be, “How would anyone find this place?” and it’s like I said; you’d have to have been invited. That’s the only way.

It’s normal to feel uneasy as you approach the building. You’ll see others enter with far less deliberation than you, but they know where the front door is. They come every week. You’ve never been there before, so you wait to see which door they approach and follow them in like you know exactly what you’re doing. You don’t. You stand awkwardly off to the side looking around taking in the small, musty sanctuary. You contemplate whether you should start introducing yourself by name with a completely unnecessary explanation that you’ve never been there before. And just when you’re about to make the first move, someone will come right up to you and let you know they’re glad you came.

That first person is likely to give some form of apology for the smallness or oldness of their church and building followed by an explanation for his choice of attire. It’s not that he’s ashamed, but he knows about the churches with full-time staff that draw people in; even people who don’t know the first thing about Jesus. That’s where they’ll hopefully meet Him, but this is where this guy meets Him. In his overalls.

Soon after, the pastor himself will come shake your hand and when he says he’s glad you came, he means it. Even when you tell him you’re from out of town and probably couldn’t find your way back there even if you wanted to drive the four hours it would take to do it every Sunday. He’s already let the teenager in your group lead his Sunday School class for that day WITH his baseball hat on, no less!

The aged aroma of the sanctuary carries its own accompaniment. It’s not always an organ, but even if it’s a piano of some sort, it will sound like an organ. That’s just what happens when certain atmospheric components converge. The piano player, who is likely the pastor’s wife, will start playing a song and the music director will take her place up front only she won’t need the microphone, she announces, she’s loud enough without it. And the mixture of the 35 or so voices tentatively harmonizing to Hymn number 391, “I Surrender All” (the first, second, and fourth verses) serves to show that the music leader was right. The microphone was completely unnecessary.

It will take quite some time for an older gentleman to take his place up front for the ministry he’s been set aside for; providing the message to the children before they are dismissed. But the members of the congregation will position themselves to help him get there without compromising any of his dignity. He has help from his puppets to get his message across, and the children eagerly come forward and wait with anticipation to hear what their puppet friends have to say this week. Today’s message will be about courage told as only two puppets can tell about it with an illustration of how hard it sometimes is to simply get up in the morning. Then a young girl, who has been invited to speak, will share an essay she wrote about fear and how to overcome it; all the while shaking in her tennis shoes. Then it will be the pastor’s turn to share his message on overcoming fear. He’s been the pastor for years and considers himself lucky and equal to the congregants. He probably has another job Monday through Friday to make ends meet.

During the service, many things will be assumed: that everyone already knows everyone else, that everyone knows the order of service even if it’s not printed in the bulletin, that everyone knows the prayer requests whether they’re printed in the bulletin or not, and that they’ll know when to stand and sit and pray and speak. And if it’s your first time there, you might feel like an outsider to it all. And every time I’ve invited someone to church with me, that’s my fear—that they won’t feel comfortable right away and maybe won’t want to come back.

That’s when I’m most thankful for all the different cultures in which the Lord is welcome and able to work. Through mega churches and mini churches. Through home churches and secret churches. Through American churches and Chinese churches. Through old-fashioned churches and modern churches. Through well-planned churches and spontaneous churches. Through transient churches and established churches.

The vast array of venues to preach Christ and who He is, what He’s done, and how He wants to work through us is one of the means by which the gospel can spread. The central message of Christianity is not confined to one culture; even among all the cultures in America. And when you leave the tiny sanctuary in the middle of the cornfields, you’ll realize this very important thing: the message wasn’t spoken as much from the pulpit that Sunday, but it started with the invitation to come.

And I’m glad I did.

Mxied Messages

I have at my fingertips a license to fix all that ails the world.  It’s so simple; I’m not sure why someone else hasn’t thought of it already.  Don’t go getting any ideas of hijacking this solution and getting rich off the fall out!  I thought of it first. 

It’s called posting opinions on social media. 

Here’s how it works.  While scrolling through your newsfeed, Twitter feed, or other preferred social media, keep one’s eyes trained for headlines that could potentially unlock the mysteries of the human race, like the following:

11 Things You are Doing Wrong as a Parent of Teens

1 Genius Device Could Save Thousands of Children During School Shootings

Why Teaching Your Kids to Share is Bad for Them

7 Exercises for a Flat Stomach by Tomorrow

8 Telltale Signs that She’s Cheating

9 Common Fashion Faux Pas

10 Ridiculously Easy Life-Hacks that Ought to be Illegal

Blame the Teenagers for What Happened in McKinney

Here’s Why the McKinney Cop’s Barrel Roll is Worth Discussing

Can a Person Choose Their Preferred Race Like they can Choose Their Preferred Gender?

And the list goes on!!

The first rule of fixing all that ails the world is to not actually read the information posted with the headline.  Simply scan the headline and accompanying picture and click that “share” button with abandon!  Social Media statistics indicate that only a percentage of one’s friends/followers/stalkers actually see what you post, so the more you share it, the more your friends might see it.  If you’re lucky, several of them will also share it, thus exponentially increasing your efforts at fixing the evils of the world one click at a time. 

The second rule of fixing it all is to quickly move on to the next item of interest, carefully following rule number 1 in the process.

I’m scrolling through my Facebook newsfeed and I just don’t know what to think. 

VW tricks Hong Kong movie-goers into checking their cell phones so they won’t text and drive.

Making guns illegal works about as good as making drugs illegal

Pray for such and such person (that I don’t even know)

Cheap food is easy to make and is delicious

Cheap food is bad for you

Teaching kids to share is bad practice

Everyone needs to share

Don’t be your kid’s friend, be their parent

Modest is hottest

Modest is not hottest; hot is hottest and women should not try to be hot

Don’t blame women for men’s reactions to women’s bodies

The number on the scale does not determine how fit you are

“Lose 15 lbs fast!”

Do your own thing and I’ll do mine

If you do things for others, you’ll be a happier person

Put yourself first

If black lives matter, cops are bad

If you think cops are good then you don't care about black people

Praise God in one post then put sexually offensive memes up depicting assaults on women in the next

Tell girls they need to cover up their bodies so boys won't try to rape them (or worse, desire them)

The video of a guy roofieing girls' drinks to show them how to protect themselves People screaming "RAPE CULTURE" at those kinds of videos (while disregarding how sexist the video actually is)

So then, I'm on my way to the gym the other day (hey, I go once a month whether I need it or not!), and I'm wondering what to do with my wallet, car keys, and phone. If I leave all that in the car, it could get stolen and who wouldn't accuse me of asking for it? And if I take it into the gym and put it in my locked locker, it could still get stolen and I'd still have been asking for it. So just by virtue of having things that people want makes me a target, I guess! But how is theft culture different than rape culture? I still have to protect my belongings from theft by keeping them out of sight. How is anything in this world ever going to get fixed? Am I really asking for it? Or is there something else at stake here.

One common theme is the idea that a large number of people have to be in concert about a certain cause in order to change things for the better. A collective cognitive force must be the only answer, thus I am being fed a load of crap via the same social media I voluntarily signed up for 5 years ago, but I still believe in the power of personal responsibility (and God)! I believe that I can make a difference all by my little lonesome and don’t need millions of minions to back me up in a cause. I believe I can be a voice for the minorities, the poverty stricken, the downtrodden, the sick, the weak, the prisoner. They don’t need millions of people believing something is wrong about their situation and haranguing about it on the Twitter; they just need ONE person willing to speak out, donate, lift up, pray for, support, and encourage.  It is MY responsibility to reach out to our black brothers and sisters; even though I don’t even know the right way to do that anymore (thanks, social media!) It is MY responsibility to remain steadfast in my faith, and should not be dependent upon millions of others who agree with me! It is MY responsibility to not make girls feel shameful because—heaven forbid—one walks into a church service wearing nothing but a bikini! Likewise, it is my responsibility to dress in a way that makes me feel confident and attractive. But just like my wallet and my keys and my phone, sometimes there’s just nowhere to hide it all, so I also need to adopt a certain level of self-preservation and by doing so, should not be accused of contributing to “rape culture” by being wary any more than dressing like a prostitute might make someone believe that I was asking for it.

Speaking of asking for it, I can’t post this without knowing that it might stir up some bad comments. I welcome them. But please do not try to tell me that I’m taking this out of context. I’m finally putting it all IN context so that maybe as a collective we can finally take note of the ridiculous mess we’re making of the world, ironically, in an effort to fix it. According to history, Jesus thought that was what He was doing when we was executed 2000 years ago.

I believe that.

THAT alone is my responsibility!

Yes, I’m posting a link to this on social media!