Naming a Shooter...Living in Peace...

A number of officials and journalists make a big to do about not using the name of a perpatrator of a crime, such as a mass shooting when commenting or reporting on it.  The reason given is that they do not want to glorify or sensationalize the crime and its effects.

I beg to differ.

Although my analogy may seem an insult to the pain inflicted on the mass shooting in Roseburg, Oregon today, I do not mean it to be.  As a child, when teased about my cerebral palsy--"Palsy Patty", etc., I was advised to "focus on the positive and ignore the negative."  My response?  "But it hurts!  I can't do that."  It took many years to arrive at my manner of dealing with the teasing.  Knowing I could not ignore it--the teasing was not going to go away magically, I needed a strategy to cope with the teasing.  Over time, I adopted a mantra that I live by yet today.  Without a second thought, I "focus on the positive, and learn from the negative.  Instinctively, I knew that I needed to give my attention to learning as much about the people who teased me--what were their motivations, what questions did they need to have answered in order to stop teasing me.  Call me an idealist, but, I am firmly convinced that people can understand, that teasing may be stopped.  I believed--I still believe--that it is my responsible to answer their questions.

Returning to the mass shooting at Umpqua Community College in Roseburg, Oregon, our attention is drawn back to past mass shootings and what the responses that various people and groups believe should be.  Passionate on both sides, some say that gun control laws are essential.  Others say that guns are not the problem, but, that the mass shootings point to the need for mental health programs and services.

Although a pacifist, and an ardent supporter of further gun control legislation, I feel called to respond to the need for more mental health programs and services.  I agree.  However, it is not an either or question.

Addressing the need for more effective mental health programs and services demands learning about the individuals involved in perpetrating mass shootings  What were their motivations?  What was their background?  Those are just two questions that come to mind.  I am sure there are many others.  The process of asking questions must begin with the very information that investigators--police and journalists, sometimes feel compelled to not speak...the name of the crime's perpetrator.

The contribution I commit myself to regarding mass killings is threefold.  I live every minute of every day as an ardent pacifist.  Secondly, when so inspired by world events, I will share my reflections on how to live peacefully.  Third, rather than putting myself in the middle of the battle to secure further gun control legislation, or mental health programs and services, I commit myself to volunteer in my community with organizations that provide positive, peaceful, creative ways to live harmoniously.

Once a week I gather with a community of individuals committed to live in peace and harmony.  We say, "May the peace of Christ be with you."  We commit ourselves to one another to leave the physical church and return to the outside world to live in peace with individuals of all beliefs.

I pray we may ask the questions necessary to understand the motivations of individuals who commit crimes.  I pray we may take the requisite action to make peace our way of life.  It is possible.

I Can't Remember When....

Most people lament, "I remember when..." with the delusion that those words spoken may turn back the clock to a different time.  Frequently, this is spoken regarding a job--a bad, boring job.  For many, many years I worked in a job from which I felt that my full potential was not being employed.
As many years as vehemence flowed constantly, I cannot remember that feeling.  I do not want to be taken back to that time.
In 2009, I had to stop working.  I have been known to say, "My get up and go got up and went."  Essential tremors and osteoarthritis allied with the well-entrenched cerebral palsy, and her silent partner, epilepsy to execute a "successful" coup d'etat over life as I knew it.  In 2009, I could not fathom the notion that I might live without working in the paid workforce.
Every 18 months or so, I must submit myself to an external reexamination of my incapacity to return to the workforce--a reverse performance review, if you will.  I am not a submissive person.  For now I must be.
Every 18 months or so, I must return to four humbling questions:
1. Has there been a change in your condition in the last 18 months?
2. If  "Yes" please describe the specific change or changes?
3. Please list all of the types of activities that you do during the course of a typical day.  What do you do from the time you arise in the morning until you retire at night?  Do you require assistance?
4. Please place the number shown next to the statement that most accurately reflects your ability/inability to perform each of them:
(1) I can perform this activity independently
(2) I can perform this activity with the use of equipment or adaptive devices
(3) I cannot perform this activity
      a.  Dressing
      b.  Toilet
      c.  Feed yourself with food that has been prepared and made available to you

            d.  Voluntary bladder and bowel control or ability to maintain a reasonable level of personal hygiene

e.         e.  Bathe (tub, shower, or bath)

            f.  Transfer from bed to chair

     On the one hand, there are many reasons why it seems that I should not make the confession I do now, I must submit to this confession.  As easy as it may seem to some to be hereto submissive, let me set the record straight.  It is not.  I understand the need.  Yet it is not easy.  

    I seek no dramatic persona.  Purely and simply I am brought to my knees whenever these questions are set before me.  The first time I faced these questions, they were excruciating.  These are not questions that elicit dignity.  These questions redefine what honesty must be--what the honesty of daily life is.  Try as I will to soften the blow, each time these questions bring me to my knees.

     My concept of someone who is no longer able to be in the paid workforce is that they are bedridden.  Yet, I am not.  

     I live within my limits working with what remains--an important part of those limits is that I cannot employ my body in the paid workforce.  

     I cannot remember when I worked by the time and revenue demands of a large corporation.  

     I pray I may work my way through this reexamination with honesty, integrity, and my dignity intact.  When can I nap?  Where is the Breyer's?

Mourning A Body--My Body

My left hand is my life's blood.  It is the vehicle I use to craft words, the tool I use to live.  My right hand has never served me.  She never will.  I know that.  Blame is not for me to assign.  Anger is not mine to wield.  My right hand has never served me as others' have.
This week, a gradual diminishment--a lifelong fear--came to a head.  I made progress to the outer world.  Not by others misassigning it.  I didn't misassign it either.  Rather, I rallied the consolation I need.
A mere appointment for hand therapy, hand x-rays, and a neck MRI did not deliver this week to me...not alone.
Every 18 months or so, I receive a questionnaire to reauthorize my long-term disability insurance.  A formality perhaps.  Yet, this time it hit me hard--it hits me in the gut.  She pulls no punches.
I have forgotten the sound of my left hand's voice propelling me up out of bed in the morning.  Did she ever speak?  Have I lost my hearing?  Am I deaf to her call for help?  How long has she--how long have they--been gone?
Did I abuse my left had so much--with such bravado--that I have lost her forever?
Will remorse...a contrite heart...a confessing of my wrongful pride...be enough that my hand may be entrusted to my service?
Voicing that thought through my still-working fingers is embarrassing.  Am I losing dignity as I stand aside of my body?
I hold on for dear life in the bathtub as I pull my body to a standing position after bathing myself.  Will this be the time I will lose my grip and fall?
The time for contrition has come...a shower/bath bench.  I have looked from afar.  This week's questions--the questions are served by only one answer.  I confess a bit of vanity remains.  With Amazon.com's hand to hold mine, soon I will be the proud owner of a reasonably-priced teak shower/bath bench.
I mourn a body--my body.  Is it mine to blame?  Is it mine to wield anger at because it is not serving me.
I must serve my body regardless of how it serves me.
Thirty-two years ago I was baptized--I joined the Catholic Church.  Through friends, I learned it was more than possible to blend intellect into faith into my being.  Skeptics to that blending asked, "But...resurrection...that just doesn't make any sense!  Do you believe in resurrection?  Do you believe in The Resurrection?"
I did not know I did not understand what words to utter.
Time has passed....years have elapsed....life has changed me...life has changed my body....much over many years has made now sense at all.
Do I understand resurrection?  Do I believe in resurrection?
No.  I must.  I am a woman of faith, I am a woman of hope.  I am a woman of love.  I am a woman of belief.
Do I understand The Resurrection?  Do I believe in The Resurrection.
No.  I breathe seeking to believe what I do not understand.
I mourn a body--my body.  I mourn a bath--the loss of a bath.  I was always a woman of a shower.  So, why am I mourning?  I seek understanding that has yet to be delivered to me.
I mourn a body--my body.

Stop. Listen. Negotiate. Compromise.

     I do my best to steer clear of political commentary on events of the day--events that everyone blogs about, screams about on television.  But.  I am disgusted.  I shall say my peace, sign any constructive petitions I become aware of.  Then, I shall return to the world where I am making a constructive contribution.  Catholic Church reform.  Donor research at a local museum.  Serving on a regional accessible transportation planning committee.  Proofreading print versions of braille books occasionally.
     Somehow, when I wasn't looking, my life became full, richer than I imagined possible.
     So, what engenders disgust in me?  Simple.  Congress.  The Tea Party.  The government shutdown.  The debt ceiling.
     Up until I was 40 to 45, I kept abreast of current events every day, and with great passion.
     Occasionally, I would write a letter to the editor, when I felt the issue warranted it.
     I am 53.  I have reached a point in my life, rightly or wrongly, that I want people to take responsibility for their actions.  Honestly, I am reaching the point where specific positions matter less to me than moral and ethical behavior by which every adult is called.
     Specific to Congress, and the decisions they are supposed to make, my cry is simple.
     "Whatever decision you make regarding the need for government services, I ask you to answer a question, "Do you believe that you are guaranteed that you will wake up tomorrow with the same capacities you have as you go to bed tonight?'"
     My immediate appeal regards personal health.  However, the more I think about it, the more I realize that my question goes deeper than that.
     "Do you believe that you are guaranteed that you will wake up tomorrow morning with the same economic resources that you have going to bed tonight."
     Initially, when I moderated my habits regarding news, I felt guilty.  I felt that I was not fulfilling my responsibilities as a citizen to be informed.  However, coverage of health care reform--the intensity and nature of the coverage--led me to seek refuge in calmer places.  I was faced with my own health challenges.      I could not handle the challenges presented by coverage of health care reform.
    My health challenges are manageable now--not gone, but, manageable.  Slowly I have developed a rich life in which I use my gifts, rather than taxing my body.
    To Congress--to individual decisionmakers who comprise Congress--I offer my comments.  The challenges before you well may be extremely difficult to address.  However, let me be quite clear.  Its nature as a difficult challenge does not serve as an excuse to delay or negate addressing the challenge.  As an individual, serious consequences would result from my failing to take the medication available to control my seizures, and tremors.
     To Congress--to individual decisionmakers who comprise Congress--I offer my comments.  Principles are good to have when serving in leadership positions.  Principles are the foundation of moral and ethical behavior.  But, principles cannot be substitutes for--obstacles to--engaging in negotiation.
None of us "gets our way" in this life.  Life is not perfect.
    Central to leadership are clear principles.  Listen.  Negotiate.  Listen.  Compromise.  Listen.
    Let me know when it is safe to come out from the rock--the refuge of peace--where I have put myself.

Antibullying and Religious Freedom

     I am a reasonable, rational person--most times.
     Antibullying legislation is being opposed by the Minnesota Catholic Conference, and Catholic dioceses in Minnesota?
     Why you ask?
     Antibullying legislation violates religious freedom!
     How!
     I am Catholic.  I was drawn to Catholicism by virtue of peace and respect that pervades Catholic traditions.
     Bullying cannot be tolerated in a civil society.  It just can't.  Case closed.
     Antibullying is an instrument of moral, and ethical accountability, which the Catholic Church must embrace.  Freedom without moral and ethical accountability is hollow at best.
     Bullying is not an academic matter to me.
     Bullying.  Patty.  Bullying.  Palsy Patty.  Bullying.  Being tossed off the junior high bus seat.  Bullying.  The principal, "Just bring in the names of the bullies, and we will take care of it,"  Bullying.  Risking a junior high school friendship-- getting the names of the bullies.  Bullying.  The principal, "Oh, we can't do anything."  Bullying.  Mimicking my bent, cerebral palsied hand.  Bullying.
     Forty years have passed between then and now.  Yet, my visceral response to bullying is undiluted.
     1974.  I vowed that whatever form it might take, I would act to ensure that no other individual had to experience--endure--the pain--the stolen dignity that bullying effects on innocent human beings.
     Bullies moved me to embrace the respect and peace that Catholicism exuded--the Treasure of Christ.
    The Catholic Church opposes antibullying legislation in the name of religious liberty.  How!  Tell me how!
That is unconscionable.  Absolutely unconscionable.
    Being Catholic has taught me to be a Child of God.  Not in the level of my maturity.  Being Catholic has taught me to be a Person of God--full of unjaded wonder, untarnished awe at life that surrounds me.
    Being Catholic has taught me to be a Person of God.  Not in the level of my maturity.  Being Catholic has taught me to be a Person of God--embracing joy, embracing God.  Relinquishing temptation to be held captive to the dark skepticism and cynicism of life that surrounds me.
    Antibullying legislation is not an obstacle to religious liberty.  Antibullying legislation is an instrumentt of love--a staff to guide us into human decency.

But...If My Life Was Perfect...

     But...if my life was perfect....
     I would not:
          Be sensitive
          Be compassionate
          Be understanding of other people--of the world around me
          Be flexible in how I approach and accomplish physical tasks
          Be flexible in how I view the diversity of people, beliefs, and cultures
          Be awe-struck by beauty around me
          Be wonder-filled about life within and around me--life distant from me
          Be appreciative of basic human capacities--thinking, and walking, to name a few
          Be attentive to how words are used--how I use words
          Be attentive to how my words and actions affect other people I know and do not know
          Be blessed with a sense of humor
          Be determined to live my life fully
          Be passionate about pursuing my interests
          Be interested in learning every day--each moment--of my life
          Be willing to apologize when I had offended someone else, or stolen someone's dignity
          Be dedicated to fulfilling my human potential, and encouraging others to do so
          Be open to the notion that this list is not complete
          Be baptized...be willing to seek an ongoing living of baptism        
     If My Life Were Perfect, I Would Not Be Human.

If My Life Was Perfect...

     I have struggled to advise a family member as to how to fulfill their unique human potential.  Knowing the position of respect bestowed on me has given me a sense of responsibility.  Only following the Boston Marathon Bombings have I been given an inkling as to how to fulfill my responsibility.
    My family member lacks the sense of how to fulfill his adult responsibilities--fulfill his human potential.  Ascribing responsibilities on other intimates how they have failed their responsibiltiies to my family member has clouded his willingness to look at his own human potential--the gift he has been given by God--by his belief in God.  I know that belief exists in him.  I do not know the form of belief.
    My belief--the form of my belief--calls me to offer something.
    From an unlikely source--the Boston Marathon Bombings suspect--I understand one way--one something--I may offer.
    Optimist--idealist--that I am, recent years have taught me, "life is not perfect."  Self-pity is not the sum of that equation in my life.  So where does that leave me--how does that affect my offering to my family member.
     A List.  An Itemized--A Humbling List.
     If My Life Was Perfect...    
     I Would Not:
          Need to wear my ankle foot orthotic--my brace on my right leg
          Need to walk long distances with a cane
          Need to use a wheelchair
          Need to take medication to control my intentional tremors
          Need to take anticonvulsants to control my seizures
          Need to grab the right handrail with my left hand when walking up or down a flight of stairs
     I Would Not Fear:
          Outstretching my left hand--lose the use of my left and right hand by:
               Opening doorknobs
               Carrying heavy bags of groceries
               Carrying heavy loads of laundry
            My capacity to stand up from the ground
     People Would:
         Think my handwriting was beautiful

Intentional Failings. Human Potential.

     Be it Mom's "focus on the positive, and ignore on the negative" mantra, strengthened by my necessary modification of that mantra, "focus on the positive and learn from the negative," not since my junior high school cry, "Mom, don't you know I can't do that!" have I allowed myself to itemize "the negative" and use that low "bank [of capabilities] balance" deter me from investing my life in what I could do.  In fact, many times, truth be told, use of "the negative" as a justification for not acting or doing a given task leads me to cry out in opposition.
     The Boston Marathon Bombings suspect has led me to revisit my mantra, "Focus on the positive and learn from the negative."
     We have not heard from the the Boston Marathon bombings suspect regarding his motivations and intent.    I have not addressed--I cannot--my questions, or feelings with him.  Only in prayers seeking understanding have I done so.
     I believe he might describe some failing in his upbringing that led him to his actions.  Failings in his perceptions of given aspects of his upbringing.  Economic situation.  Family dynamic.  Social interactions in the community.  Experiences and influences of formative years--of current worldview, have overridden any belief in his power to learn from his experiences and influences, and dedicate himself to others not experiencing the same situation.
     Two caveats.  First, the actions--the intents--of the individuals or groups credited with causing the negative experiences and influences must be separated from the individuals or groups credited so credited.
    Second, condemning other human beings for any action overlooks a fundamental reality.  We are all human beings created with enduring frailty.  As hard as we may try, we cannot escape the fact we fail our potential.
    Our enduring human frailty is not an excuse, or a justification for acting with intentional failing--from intentional failings.  Intentional failings that rise to the threshold of criminality must be treated as such.
     We must strive to achieve to our human potential--forever and in all ways.  Failing to do so is the ultimate intentional failing we may commit with our lives.

Language of War. Language of Peace.

     Little riles me.  Underestimation of my employment worth, potential and economic contribution.  Personal confrontation necessary to meet my personal needs--perceived on my part.  Rhetoric.  Political  confrontation.  I work to dissipate such feelings before I succumb to the temptation of nervous obsession.  I strive to be at peace with myself--with the world.  Do not be mistaken.  I am passionate.  I am animated.  But...I choose the issues, and people in whom I will invest and share my passion.
     War and peace are at the core of my passions.  I work against war, and strive for peace.
     War.  Military action.  The position of conflict--be it liberal or conservative--matters none.  The means do not justify the ends.
     War.  War monger.  Enemy.  Hawk.  Play book.  War games.  Show of strength.  Win.  Lose.  War.
                   War of words.  Rhetoric.  Negotiation.  Mediation.  Compromise.  Treaty.  Peace.
     Peace.  Pacifist.  Ally.  Dove.  Diplomacy.  Tact.  Pacifist.  Conscientious objector.  Pacifist.  Peace.
     Words matter.  Civil society matters.  Reconciliation matters.
      Diversity of thought, beliefs, culture, and ways of living need not be the price we pay in order to nurture a  civil society.
     Yet, time and time again we find ourselves at the precipice--we find ourselves willing to jeopardize the peace we claim as our national aspiration.  Within my lifetime--since April 1960--we have succumb to single words.
     Vietnam.  Iran.  Iraq.  Afghanistan.  The Taliban.  Saddam Hussein.  Moammar Gahadafi.  Al Qaeda.
     I am too young to remember World War II.  Korea preceded my conception.
     However, I have witnessed the lingering effects of World War II and the Korean War.  In 1972, I was 12.  I took extreme statements literally--the hallmark of a young mind with a narrow prism through which I saw and understood the world.
     In 1972, I visited Dachau--the first World War II concentration camp opened in Germany.  More precisely, I visited the grounds of  Dachau.  I sheltered myself behind the safety of our car.
     Mom and Dad told me that the concentration camp had gas chambers in which many--countless--human beings had been killed.  I understood that it was important  to visit Dachau, to see  it.  But, I thought that I would view physical remains--bodies rotted by time, but, kept in place to be viewed such that that piece of history would never be replicated.
     I knew that I did not have the inner strength to go into the Dachau Concentration Camp.  I waited outside  while Mom and Dad spent time inside.
     That was World War II--my narrow prism into a human atrocity.
     Korea.
     The prism through which I view Korea--the war that preceded my conception--was slightly broader, not much, but slightly broader.
     My dad.  A forward observer in the Army.  A man entrenched--literally entrenched--in the most destructive human action imaginable.  My dad.  A man who used his love of photography to document his experience, so that he would remember it clearly--so that he would not glorify the human destruction he had witnessed.  It took me many years to understand that.  I could not reconcile those pictures with the advocate for peace I knew.
     Korea.
    My mom.  A young housewife--a homeowner--a woman left to wonder whether she would ever see her husband again.  My mom.  Not yet a mother.  My mom.  A witness to the other side of war--left alone to continue her life in limbo wondering what the future would bring.  A witness to the forgotten side of war.  Just as many men, who were war veterans, did not want to talk of that time of their lives, she too did not want to return to that time.
    Vietnam.  Seven years older than I, my brother came too close to being a part of that war.  Conscientious objector status.  That was his saving grace from his draft number--30.  Draft number 30, and posters in our kitchen with monthly tallies of the men killed in Vietnam--men on all sides of the war.  That was my witness to Vietnam.
    2013.  North Korea.
    I pray we may change the language of war we speak.  Words matter.  Lives matter.
    War.  War monger.  Enemy.  Hawk.  Play book.  War games.  Show of strength.  Win.  Lose.  War.    War of words.  Rhetoric.  Negotiation.  Mediation.  Compromise.  Treaty.  Peace.
     Peace.  Pacifist.  Ally.  Dove.  Diplomacy.  Tact.  Pacifist.  Conscientious objector.  Pacifist.  Peace.
     Words matter.  Civil society matters.  Reconciliation matters.
     May the Peace of Christ be with you.  May the Peace of Chris be with us all.

The System's Face. Me. The System's Face.

     2009 found me at my stamina's end.  In alphabetical order, cerebral palsy, epilepsy, osteoarthritis converged with the aging process.  My get-up-and-go got up and went.  A sharp mind and 49 years under my belt--I was left to build a new life.
      A lifelong follower of the news, diagnosed anxiety left me stressed beyond the days' news to bear.  Though "a bleeding heart liberal" by common parlance, no longer could I listen to defenders of the system--the safety net for those unable to work any more than I could tolerate, I cannot tolerate those with no time for--no understanding of--why any "system" might need to exist.
      I paid into "The System" for more than 25 years.  I paid into Social Security.  I paid into private long-term disability insurance--not so that I might cash in some day.  I "paid in"--I invested in--because, as much as I believe "all men [and women] are created equal,"  it is with no cynicism that I say, "life is not equal."
      Not everyone lives with an equal inventory of life's parts.  Bodily.  Economic.  Social.  More I am sure.  Life is not Perfect.  For whatever reason--however it manifests itself--each life is not on the same level with the same resources--the same needs.
      Yet, each life is precious.  The System is the Net to protect those lives.  Not for pity.  Not for poster children to yield tears from others, raise funds, or intimidate others into different beliefs.  Such defiles the very preciousness it claims to magnify.
       In 2009, I was brought to the front door knocking at "The System," with need.  No begging.  No laziness.  No nefarious intent to abuse--to cheat--The System.  I came to the front door of "The System" with need and guilt--Guilt with a capital "G," that I was not living up to the Ethic I was raised to uphold--the Work Ethic.  No bravado, just the conviction that I had to contribute to society--to the community in which I live.
     Nearly four years later, I continue to redefine "Work Ethic" means within my body's limits.
      I am learning a new vocabulary.  New roles.  New activities.  New balances.
     Volunteer.  Catholic.  Reflect. Write.  Blog.  Neither lazy nor cheat flows through my bloodstream.  Yet, Guilt persists--"intellectually" unjustified guilt--guilt that I personify the very stereotype I abhor.
     47% helped no one.  Not just as you might think.  47% as proclaimed by conservatives, and decried by liberals--helps no one.  Highlighting--not worshipping, but highlighting--how victim is not the essence of "The System's Face"--those who must knock at The System's Front Door-- is essential.  
     If the lazy, cheating, victim stereotype were in fact true, as some conservatives genuinely may believe, then, conservatives need to articulate how to live within inescapable boundaries imposed by the body.
 If conservatives believe that The System--the safety net it provides is not needed--then, talk about how to work within the limits of the body.
     Bleeding heart liberal though I may be, I do not hold liberals free of responsibility.  Liberals pound their chests with pride proclaiming the virtues of the Safety Net.  Hold your horses.
     Clear your throats.  Speak with clarity not with political banter volleying useless debate back into the court of conservatives who decry The System--the conservatives who decry The Safety Net.
     I am The System's Face.  Look at me.  Defense of your positions--volleying of the political football--does nothing to tell me, and you, how to live fully within the limits of my body--the limits of your body.
     I am The System's Face.  Look at me.  I have needs--undeniable needs.
    You are The System's Face.  Look at yourself.
    You are not immune from need--be it physical, economic, or social.  Though today may not be your day of need, such inevitable may come to be.  Do not hide from its possibility.
   The System's Face.  Do not Deface me.
   Conservatives dig deep into the Spiritual Wellspring from which you proclaim your value.
   Tell me.  If I am not to be suspended from an eternal fall by the Safety's Net, then, tell me.  How am I to live?  How are others, whose bodies are similarly compromised to live?  Don't speak of Survival of the Fittest.
    The System's Face.  Do not Deface me.
    Liberals.  Draw from your Thinker's Tank from which you Talk.
    Tell me.  Can you still your political bravado of The System--The Safety Net--in confrontation with conservatives who decry it?  Liberals.  Can you help me--help others--in the Safety Net--the System's Face to redefine how to live within the Safety's Net?
    Conservatives.  Liberals.  Can you tell me?
    Are you willing to work together to redefine the life--the fruit we may bear--in the Safety's Net?
    Conservatives.  Liberals.  Can you tell me?
     Are You willing to change the Pronouns by which you Think--the Pronouns by which you Speak?
     Liberals.  Conservatives.  Can you tell me?
     Will You speak not of They?  Will You work together to redefine the life--the fruit We may bear--in the Safety's Net?

My Subconscious View. Me. LTD. SSDI.

    Me.  Work Ethic.  LTD.  SSDI.  Me.
    Work ethic was instilled in me from childhood.  By example.  By parental instruction.  By familial heritage.  From 1960 til 2009, Work Ethic was held in high esteem--faithfully unquestioned.
     SSDI.  Before 2009, initials.  Social Security Disability Income.  A paragraph in a yearly Social Security Administration statement of credits earned.  SSDI.
     LTD.   Before 2009, initials.  Long-Term Disability.  A sensible work benefit offering.  An insurance policy.  A minuscule deduction--$2.72? per paycheck I presume.  A remote need that echoed it the possibility of my imagination--a need vague to my view, yet, haunting to my anxiety.  An anxiety inexpensive to appease, however remote it seemed.  LTD.
    SSDI.  LTD.  I knew no one within the limits of LTD--of SSDI.  LTD.  SSDI.
    LTD.  My knowledge of anyone on long-term disability was LTD to no one.  LTD.
    2009.
    A defining moment in my view of the world--in a view of myself.
    2009.
    SSDI.  I knew no one on SSDI.  Enlightened though I thought myself to be, I had far different images of who were receiving SSDI.  Some of those images haunt me yet today.  They do not describe who I am, yet, they define my sense of what I believe I must be in order to receive SSDI.
    SSDI.  Bedridden.  Paralyzed.  Confined to a wheelchair.  Totally dependent.  Unable to meet my activities of daily living independently.  Feeding.  Bathing.  Dressing.  SSDI.
    Bedridden.  Paralyzed.  Confined.  Incapable.  Unable.  Incontinent.  Dependent.
    2013.
    Four years have passed since 2009.
    2013.
    I am redefining what my life within the limits of my body is.  Volunteer.  Researcher.  Swimmer.  Friend.  Sister.  Cousin.  Aunt.  Daughter.  Writer.  Catholic activist.
    2013.
    Yet, four years later, the haunting drumbeat of my Subconscious View tower over me--the haunting drumbeat is deafening.  LTD.  SSDI.
    2009.
    Periodically--necessarily--surveyed, the haunting drumbeat is pounded into my spirit.  LTD.  SSDI.
    Surveyed--periodically--necessarily.  My personal questionnaire.
    2013.
    Do I fulfill my misconception--the haunting drumbeat?
    OR
    Am I moving forward to Redefine My Life within my Body's Limits.
    Me.  SSDI.  LTD.  The haunting drumbeat is deafening to my spirit.  LTD.  SSDI.  Me.

At Arm's Length--Or--Take to Heart

     A fortuitous nightmare awakened me to the installation of Pope Francis I.  A moment before me--before my eyes--a moment before the eyes of the world.  The moment is now.
     Pope Francis I touched me--touched the world--with the Hand of Jesus.  He held a baby.  He went to a man unable to come to him.
     Some spoke of--whispered "the economic"--the Poor, the Weak, the Vulnerable--as others within view safely from an arm's length.
     Others speculate whether this is The Moment when administrative mismanagement within the Catholic Church will be cleaned up--whether church management will be made transparent.  Management in the Vatican.  Management in local dioceses.
     Still others ask whether this is The Moment when the Catholic Church will move into the twenty-first century.  Will the Catholic Church embrace married priesthood?  Women's ordination.  Same-sex marriage.
     I shall work--continue to work--with those dedicated to Church Transparency.  I shall work--I shall continue to work--with those dedicated to moving the Catholic Church in the twenty-first century.
     I like others are elated--surprisingly elated.  Yet, I pray of This Moment differently.
     I pray.
     May We embrace This Moment--This Franciscan Moment.
     May we embrace not just the economically--the socially--Poor--the physically Weak, and the Visibly Vulnerable.
     May we embrace our Inner Poverty, our Unifying Weakness, our Inescapable Vulnerability.
     May we not hide under the Guise of Heroism--the Cry of Pity--at those Stronger or Weaker than we see ourselves to be.
     Are you--are We--up to the task of embracing this Franciscan Moment?
      I pray.  May we open our arms to Pope Francis I--to this Franciscan Moment.

Pope Francis I

     February 11th 2013 was a day of historic surprise.  Adrift in the Mediterranean on vacation, I floated in my own excitement--surprise at my own excitement--regarding the resignation of Pope Benedict XVI.  I was aflutter with excitement over who the next pope might be--over what people at home, invested in church reform, were thinking and saying.
     My faith does not rest--does not depend upon--the stance of the Pope, or the state of the Vatican in the Catholic Church.
     Raised as a Universalist, "church hierarchy" was not an issue.  By its very nature, church hierarchy was nonexistent.  Sometimes I feel out of step when I hear that phrase, because it is not a part of my spiritual heritage.
     I am reticent to criticize the Universalist Church, more often referred to as the Unitarian Universalist Federation today.  Rather, with all due respect, I want to speak as someone who understands the need to have church hierarchy of some form in order to have a rich spiritual heritage, which may be transmitted--communicated--from one generation to the next.  The Universalist Church, as I was raised to call it, was a marvelous home for my parents.  They did not find their needs to be met in the Catholic, or Episcopalian Churches of the 1940s.  Later, the Congregationalist Church specific to their experience was a transition time for them.  Later, with young children, the Universalist Church met their needs.  From the Catholic, and Episcopalian Churches, my parents left the pageantry, not the basic Christian values of love and hope.  Although "faith" was something understood to them as a trapping--a mindless trapping of the pageantry they sought to escape.
     I came into their lives without the heritage of the Catholic or Episcopalian Churches--without the Christian tradition--to draw upon in my childhood.  I was left to draw upon the Universalist Church tradition that worshipped the mind, the intellect, and reason, as the sole sources of answers to the big questions of life.
     I value my mind, my intellect, and reason.  However, the answers I sought, and the answers I seek exceed the purview of the mind, the intellect, and reason.  Beyond words to explain--beyond any words, faith is my home in which I form my questions, and search for answers.
     Structure is necessary.  Many times when I hear people spew venom about CHURCH HIERARCHY, I silently wonder, "Do you really want religion without some hierarchy?  How do you propose to build community without some foundation."
    We idolize democracy, yet, we must not confuse democracy in religion as being free of some hierarchy--some structure--on which to build a foundation for communion.  We need some structure.  We need leadership.
     Many times in the 31 years I have been Catholic, I have heard differing views regarding the obligation to go to Mass.  I confess, I do not have a perfect attendance record at Mass.  Yet, when I hear people bemoan having to go to Mass with a heavy heart, I scream silently, "DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT IS LIKE NOT TO HAVE MASS TO GO TO?"
     I confess, I have been very blessed in awesome worship communities.  Save one parish, my mind has been fed, my spirit filled with joyous notes of music, and a wealth of people surrounding me as models of living what Christ taught--what Christ teaches--through the words spoken, and actions taken each Sunday at Mass.
     I do not know where Pope Francis I will lead the Church.  Where will he lead me through the life he lives?  Where will I entrust myself to be led by him.
     I am quite surprised by how excited I have felt about Pope Francis I.  Never have I felt much, if any, investment in who the Pope in the distant place called the Vatican in Rome  thousands of miles from me in St. Paul.
     Some people I know are concerned--disappointed--by his conservative stances on issues such as same-sex marriage, and women's ordination, to name a few.  I pray some day these issues will be given the heartfelt blessing of the Catholic Church they deserve.
     For now, I shall work to advance what it means to be a progressive Catholic.  For now, however contradictory it may seem, I invest myself--I celebrate--the opportunity to live the poverty of my body.  When we hear, "the poor,"  or "poverty," immediately our minds go to economic poverty, or begging for food, clothing, and shelter.  Is that the full meaning of poverty?
     Pope Francis I, teach us the meaning of Poverty that we may embrace it, not run from it.  Teach us to Listen through the vessel of Poverty.

Jorge Mario Bergoglio

     What do we know of Cardinal Jorge Mario Bergoglio?  Today he took a new name--Pope Francis I.  What does he tell of who we are as human beings?  What can he tell us, if we open ourselves to him--to the person of God that he is?
     Many people look to his country of origin--Argentina, Buenos Aires to be specific as to his home.  Others speak of his age--76 years old.  Still others highlight his positions on issues facing the Catholic Church.  I hear some people note his personal qualities--his pastoral nature--his humility.
     I am deeply struck by another aspect of Jorge Mario.  Since he was a teenager, he has lived--breathed--with the capacity of one lung.  An infection left him to live differently than he might have otherwise.
     Jesus spoke of--speaks of--living open to vulnerabilities in all areas of our lives.  The College of Cardinals did what I questioned--yet hoped--they would have the courage to do.  The College of Cardinals has given their blessings to the service of a man who may bring his vulnerabilities to us in service.
     Are we willing--can we open ourselves to living our vulnerabilities as the gifts of our lives?
     Is the threshold of our judgment of the Pope--our assessment, be it positive, or negative--his positions on "the issues?"
     Are we up to the spiritual challenge of making ourselves open to the vulnerabilities of Jorge Mario Bergoglio as personified in Pope Francis I?  Are we willing to be mirrored in the face of Pope Francis I?
     In the name of Jesus, as a child of God--a person of God--I pray we may so be.

The Papacy...Physical Vulnerability....

     I am a Catholic.  Vacationing left me to Pope Benedict XVI's resignation only last week.  Acquaintance with likely papal candidates is now my undertaking.  Not experienced in church matters, nary a neophyte to this process.
     Who might lead the Catholic Church next?  What are his perspectives?  His visions?  What of his person-as a human being, not as anything theologically, or hierarchically?
     Learning about the selection process of bishops--according to Canon Law--is a filter for my own views--educated in the possible while open to the yet-to-be lived.
Contemplating possibilities is a passion.  Cynicism is a toxin I do my best to avoid.
     Theologian Thomas Reese provided a questionnaire sent to bishop candidates seeking basic information about the candidates to be used in decision making.
     "1. Personal Characteristics:  Physical appearance, health, work capacity; family condition, especially regarding any manifestations of hereditary illness."  [Thomas Reese, Archbishop:  Inside the Power Structure of the Roman Catholic Church, Chapter 1, pp.20-21.]
     I do not know if the questionnaire is used currently or not in the selection of bishops, or other church leaders, such as the Pope.
    Among attributes polled was "physical condition."  Living with cerebral palsy, epilepsy, essential tremors, and osteoarthritis, I am attuned to the "physical condition" aspect of evaluating church leaders.  Thomas Reese noted that "physical conditions" could be used  to disqualify men from consideration to be a bishop.
     Papal selection is a more secretive process to say the least.  Yet, I am called to evaluate the current papal selection process by Reese's "physical conditions" revelation.  John Paul II was noted to have Parkinson's Disease only in his death certificate.
     I am led to wonder.  If disclosure of "physical conditions" were the norm, who might be selected Pope?
What might physical vulnerability bring to papal leadership?
    Papal wish lists are being proffered at the pace of children's Christmas letters to Santa in December.  Many Catholic papal wish lists to the College of Cardinals at the Vatican include leadership on vital issues, such as:
    1.  Clergy sex abuse
     2.  Financial accountability and transparency
     3.  Married priests
     4.  Women's ordination
     These are but a few of the issues put forth.  All are vital.  I defer to other advocates more experienced than I to speak to these and other valid issues of concern.
     No litmus test on a single issue will lead to selection of our next Pope.  The most effective leader is a man who understands these issues.  I pray we may have a Pope receptive to Catholics, and individuals of all world religions of diverse perspectives and convictions.
     Within that context, may the College of Cardinals be open to a man who is vulnerable in spirit, compassionate in heart, mindful of understanding, and receptive in manner of being.
     Physical condition should be no more a positive selector of a new Pope any more than a negative disqualification to be Pope, or a matter seen worthy of no more note than a death certificate--as with Pope John Paul II's death certificate.
    What might the result--the possibilities--be if we opened the papacy to an exemplar of vulnerability?  What might the result--the possibilities--be if we opened the papacy who a man who understands being brought to his knees, literally, by his own vulnerability?
    [I was witness to breaths held by the physical vulnerability of a priest at Easter time.  Would the priest be able to uphold his priestly duties in his physically compromised condition?  Yet, that priest's physically vulnerable presence at Easter intensified his message far more than any words could ever have done.]
    Others offer themselves as the champions of clergy sex abuse issues, the advocates for financial accountability, the proponents of married priesthood, or the pioneers for women's ordination.  I give voice to  vulnerability--physical vulnerability.
    How might physical vulnerability humble our next Pope to understand the diverse issues, needs, and hopes of Catholics and other world citizens?  How might physical vulnerability of our next Pope reveal to each of us to live with our own vulnerabilities as human beings?

Guns. Self-Defense. Inner Resources.

     An understanding of what I do not understand regarding guns emerges as I watch the news--general crime stories involving guns--and listen to coverage of the Sandy Hook Elementary School shootings in Newtown, Connecticut.
     My understanding--my lack of understanding--falls into two categories.  First, beliefs regarding guns as vehicles of self-defense, and secondly, is my lack of understanding regarding the facts of guns.  I shall address the first category as the foundation of my reflections for this post.  I need to reflect further on the second category, and how to formulate my thoughts, and questions into a forthcoming post.  I can ill-afford haste.
     Some individuals say they want guns for purposes of self-defense--defense of self, or of family.  I do not.  I could say that I do not feel comfortable in holding the gun, and in aiming it appropriately in a timely manner.  Such is true, and more so today with the presence of essential tremors in my left hand--tremors aggravated when I am very nervous.  So, that is true, in part.  But, to a far greater degree, I cannot bring myself to act so harshly toward another human being.  I just cannot do so.  Further, and most importantly, I believe that stronger than any bullet I might pierce the skin of another human being are my inner resources.  Gun control advocates speak of the dangers of guns being used against the owners, who purchased them for self-protection--guns being used by perpetrators of crime against gun owners.  I subscribe to that belief.
     I take it one step further.
     Beyond the reliability of any gun, whatever the type may be, is the reliability of my inner resources.  I prefer relying on my inner resources any day.
     As I child, I encountered many bullies--not everyone was a bully, but, there were more than my taste.  Whenever, I encountered bullies, I asked myself what I could say to stop their behaviors.  I failed many times, yet, I could never bring myself to return the favor of the hurt they inflicted on me, by trying to hurt them intentionally.  Although I failed many more times than I like to admit, I developed tremendous inner resources.  Some have said that I am too sensitive.  I resist that characterization.  Insights have been given to me through that sensitivity that have given me tremendous inner resources.
    We need to look at inner resources--at nurturing strong inner resources to serve us through challenges that might otherwise call for a gun.  We cannot afford to overlook the treasury of inner resources

Confessions of a Pacifist

     I have no desire to jump on the bandwagon of every hot button issue in the news.  Only when I do not hear what I believe--deeply believe--do I feel compelled to respond.  The Sandy Hook Elementary School shootings fall into that category.  Gun control.  [Presently, my thoughts regarding mental health services are not well formed--maybe later I will address that.  But, not without careful contemplation will I do so.]
     I shall examine gun control, but, not as you might think--not as it is addressed in common parlance.
     Under my rule, in a perfect society, no guns would exist.  Yet, I am not the ruler.  The world is not perfect--my understanding of guns does not suffice to be an "effective" advocate of gun control.
     We speak of background checks.  We speak of gun safety classes.  Common agreement seems to exist on the reasonable nature of those two elements of gun ownership--of gun use.
     Now, conceal and carry licenses are more controversial.
     Several issues lend themselves to consideration separately--media coverage; online information regarding guns.
     Media is moving toward avoiding mention of the names of the individuals who shoot numerous people--individuals who instigate rampages, or massacres.  Both the availability of information regarding guns, and media usage of the shooter(s)' name(s) are driven by the concern that there will be copycats, who seek fame.  That is sensible to me.  Yet, I want to address some issues, and related questions separately.
     All this is well and good.  Yet this is not all that is needed by a second group of people involved in the gun control debate--advocates of gun control.  I may be condemning all individuals who are advocates of gun control, who are more informed than I.  I will take that risk, in the hope that I might be clarifying issues and questions not sufficiently included in the discussion--the national conversation regarding gun control that seems likely to be forthcoming.  I do not know how to address directly the ardent supporters of the Second Amendment--those individuals who oppose gun control.  My intent is not to inflame the debate.  That is useless.  Clarity is the essence of effective advocacy--advocacy regarding any issue.

Bravery...Courage...Cowardice...

     I honor the men, women and children spoken of in recent days with regard to the Newtown, Connecticut.  I honor--I write to illuminate the true meaning of bravery, and courage.  This is not long held by me, rather, it is only inspired by the Newtown school shootings--by Robbie Parker, the father of Emilie Parker, a six-year-old girl, who was shot in Newton, Connecticut.
    Bravery.  Bravery is a vehicle by which a human being moves on a journey through loss, grief, challenge, or other life transition.
   "Bravery" is not--should not be--a crowning glory that serves to separate human beings from one another due to life circumstances.  Though some of us may have experiences more in common with some individuals, none of us has identical life experiences.  Yet, each of us does share with one another the experience--the gift--of being human.  We are called to share that gift.
     Too often, "bravery," and "courage" are spoken of in terms of flag waving, and throne- or perch-sitting.  I see it differently.  Finally, I see it differently--with clarity.
     When we laud those who have been in the military, we say, "the brave men and women in service or in the service.  Yet, we do not carry that over to our everyday civilian lives.  Service or the service is a commitment to a communal advancement of shared goals.
     Courage.  Courage is a personal attribute that fuels our vehicle--our bravery.  Without the initial drive we would be stuck--forever stuck--in our grief--in our loss.
     The choice, if you can call it that, not to embrace courage and bravery is to remain stuck--to fail to develop, nurture, and share the gifts we have been given.  Are we really willing to live in complete isolation, be it literal, or figurative, because we are too timid--too cowardly--to do the work necessary to free ourselves?
     I pray not. I dare you.  Be driven by courage.  Be moved by your own bravery.  Be inspired by others, but, do not use their bravery as a substitute for your responsibility to embrace--to engage in--your expression of bravery--your willingness to be driven with courage to acts of bravery.   

The Spirit of Accountability

     Last night, I tuned into a newscaster new to my ears.  Recommended by someone close to me, I was in search of new insight regarding disturbing broad generalizations made in the political arena.
     I knew my general view of the generalizations--generalizations about the 47%.  Yet, I wanted to be enlightened--dissuaded from my outrage.
     In general terms, the newscaster affirmed me--my stance regarding the 47%.  However, I was turned off, literally, by one simple word.
     "Idiots."
    Describing individuals with an opposing views as "idiots" is beyond my threshold for tolerance.  Name-calling does not give the necessary credence to any opinion, belief, or perspective.  I abhor name-calling.  I abhor it.
    Whenever challenged by beliefs, or opinions contrary to my own, I seek insight--I seek enlightenment.
    I hold decision-makers, and journalists in high esteem.  Hyperbole and sensationalism are excessive for my taste.  Yet, I will not lower my standards--my expectations--because of the lowest common denominator too often displayed.
    I am the daughter of a retired accountant.  Though retired, my father's value of being accountable remains strong--in him, and in me.  Far beyond financial accountability, forever in my memory, he has worked to advance adherence to ethical standards--professional ethics, and basic, human ethics.
    During 2012, I have been immersed in Catholic Church reform work.  Ethics--accountability--of words and actions is primary.
    Some may say I take too personally what is uttered in public.  I do not hold myself out to be injured by words spoken, or actions taken.  Yet, I must--I am called to--take personally the words of political candidates, and journalists.  Can you tell me, what am I too offer, why am I here, if not to offer my personal experience to my words, and my actions?  Why?
    I will not tolerate the broad strokes of 47%.  I will not abide by "idiots" in public discourse.
    Though other issues, and factors lead me to vote otherwise, I hoped the Republican nominee for President might listen to his wife's words--to his wife's life experience.  Interviewed during the Republican National Convention, Ann Romney spoke of living with multiple sclerosis.  She said:
    "You don't know, 'how much is it gonna chew me up and spit me out? ... How sick am I gonna get? Is this going to be progressive? Am I going to be in a wheelchair? Am I, you know, gonna lose all function?
     There's this huge unknown. And it's a very, very frightening place to be.' "
     Ann's words stick with me.  The newscaster's words stick with me--his characterization of his political opponents, "idiots."

     Where is the accountability?  Where is the spirit of accountable--to Ann, to the 47%, to journalistic seekers of truth, and enlightenment?  Where?

     Living by anything short of a spirit of accountability is sheer cowardice--sheer cowardice.

Victims. Entitlement.

"There are 47 percent of the people who will vote for the president no matter what. All right, there are 47 percent who are with him, who are dependent upon government, who believe that they are victims, who believe the government has a responsibility to care for them, who believe that they are entitled to health care, to food, to housing, to you-name-it -- that that's an entitlement. And the government should give it to them. And they will vote for this president no matter what. ... These are people who pay no income tax. ... [M]y job is not to worry about those people. I'll never convince them they should take personal responsibility and care for their lives."
                                                                        Mitt Romney
     I do my best to steer clear of political commentary.  Excessive ranting, raving does grave injustice to the issues that demand our attention.
     But...
     I must speak out against Mitt Romney's broad strokes.  You see, some may say I am within the group of which he speaks--not completely, but, sufficient to respond.  I no longer work.  Although I do pay taxes.  I receive SSDI.  I am covered by Medicare.
     Some may say, "Don't take Mitt Romney's words personally."  I must.  The only way I know to live is personally.  If I do not live from my personal experience,  then, I have nothing to offer this world.
     Oxford Dictionaries defines "victim" as, "[noun] a person harmed, injured, or killed as a result of a crime, accident, or other event or action."
      If you define "cerebral palsy," as a result of the event of my birth, then, yes, I am a victim.  However, "victim", when spoken in common parlance, has a heavy burden of pity that exceeds its dictionary definition.  I do not include myself in that group.
    "Personal" is defined as, "adjective.  of, affecting, or belonging to a particular person rather than to anyone else."
    "Responsibility" is defined as, "the state or fact of having a duty to deal with something or of having control over someone."
     I do what is within my power to take responsibility to care for myself--for the impact of "cerebral palsy," "osteoarthritis," "epilepsy," and "intentional tremors."  I take medications twice daily.  I swim three to four hours a week.  I use a straw to drink--to counteract a tremor-laden hand.  I adjust the arrangement of my home to accommodate my physical capabilities.
    Dependent?  Yes, I am dependent.
    I don an ankle-foot-orthotic--a leg brace--daily.  I use an electric wheelchair when traveling long distances.  I submit to lab tests to evaluate the amounts of medications in my bloodstream.
    Dependent?  Yes, I am dependent.  Everyone is.
    But...that is not the whole story of who I am.
    I do give back.  To my family.  To my friends.  To my church.  To my community.  As I am able, I do give back.
    Research.  Writing.  Listening.  Advising.  Advocating.  Volunteering.
    Entitlement is defined as, "the fact of having a right to something."
    Entitlement.  Respect?  Yes.  Respect--basic, human respect.  That is the Entitlement that I offer each individual I meet and know.  That is the Entitlement I expect from others.