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?

Enablement. Pity. Transformation.

     Tonight I acted such as I do rarely.  I disentangled myself from my enablement--enablement of an acquaintance.  Her lifetime.  Horrible abuse.  Justifiable anger.  Deep pain.
     I minimize no one's abuse--I minimize no one's pain.  Each of us have been given our own challenges.
     Our charge--our human dictate--is to transform our abuse--our pain--whatever its severity, whatever its source may be, into constructive motivation to live toward our future.  Though I may sound so, I am not Pollyanna's advocate--I am not her apologist.
     We may not transform our pain at the cost of another's life.
    "There, but by the grace of God, go I."  "I contribute, or act charitably on behalf of those less fortunate than I."
     Both reek of arrogance, unwillingness to understand the essence of transformation, to name but two.
     Enablement.  Pity.  Transformation.
     Enablement.  A noun.  Give (someone or something) the authority or means to do something.
     Pity.  The feeling of sorrow and compassion caused by the suffering and misfortunes of others.
     Do not get me wrong.  Sorrow and compassion are of tremendous comfort to me at moments of life's challenges.
     What I do not abide by is the rotten smell of eggs--the dripping of molasses--that protects pity's pearl.
     Tonight I was overcome.  A rotten egg.  The molasses.  It oozed out of my earpiece.  No longer could I digest the eggshells thrown in my direction.  I had to speak.
     Transformation.  A thorough or dramatic change in form or appearance.
     As someone who strives to live by the example of Jesus--living a life transforming, wallowing has no place--my wallowing, or other's wallowing.
     Wallow.  (to wallow) (of a person) indulge in an unrestrained way in (something that creates a pleasurable sensation.)  [Boldface in original text.]
     Unfortunately, wallowers do not recognize their own indulgences.  Unfortunately, people living transforming lives mistake their own transient enablement, and pity for their lives imbued with sorrow, compassion, and joy.  Such transience is normal--such transience is necessary to us mortal beings..
     I pray I may--we may all--call out those people who wallow in their abuse and pain.  I pray I may--we may all--affirm the transforming lives of the People of God who surround us.

My Way to be Christian

The Weapon...I am a Christian....the rest of the world be damned...
Have you accepted Christ as your Lord and Savior???
Do you have all of your questions answered???
The Weapon...I am a Christian...the rest of the world be damned...

The Instrument...I am a Christian....the rest of the world be peace-filled...
I know what Christ teaches about how to save myself and the world.
I listen...I question...I challenge the call to conform...
The Instrument...I am a Christian...the rest of the world be peace-filled...

The Instrument...I am a Christian...the world will peace-filled...
I live by Christ's words...I speak the words Christ speaks to me...
I live with Christ's heart...I act with Christ's hear...
The Instrument...I am a Christian...the rest of the world be damned...

The Weapon...I am a Christian...the rest of the world be damned...
Have you joined Minnesota Citizens Concerned for Life...
Do you respect all of life...or do you respect only the life as you conceive it should be...
The Weapon...I am a Christian...the rest of the world be damned...

The Instrument...I am a Christian...the world be peace-filled...
I breathe Christ...
I respect life that differs from me...I am strengthened by differences in my life...
The Instrument...I am a Christian...the world be peace-filled...

The Instrument...I am a Christian...the world be peace-filled...
I am an instrument of thy peace...
Where there is hatred, I sow love...
The Instrument...I am a Christian...the world be peace-filled...

Bringing Reason to the Shrill

     I strive to bring reason to the shrill.  Health care mandate.  Health care reform.  Health insurance.  Auto insurance.
     First, the health care mandate.
     Why is mandating the purchase of health insurance different from vehicle insurance?
     No one is addressing this seeming parallel.  I am not a driver.  Am I missing something?  Tell me.  I want to understand.
     Health care reform.
     To decision makers, I ask a simple question:
     Do you believe that each of us is guaranteed that we will wake up tomorrow with the same capacities we had when we go to sleep tonight?  On what basis?  Do you believe in a God that shelters us from life's unavoidable realities?  How does that influence your decision making?
     Can you tell me what your medical needs will be tomorrow?  What will the cost of those needs be?  I do not know the precise sum of my needs.  Yet, life has given me a good idea.
     I pray we may celebrate the joys of our daily living.  I pray we may embrace the sorrows of our soul's breathing.  Simplistic though that may sound, that is how I define sanctity of life.

Verbal Abuse

     Recently, I heard myself to say that verbal abuse, and sexual abuse are not the same.  I abhor little.  Yet, abuse of any form, I abhor--tremble away from.  I cannot speak to sexual abuse from first-hand experience.  I know one, maybe two individuals whose lives have been touched--violently touched--by sexual abuse.  Hostility, and submissiveness, respectively, make it difficult for me to address with compassion my friends' experiences.
   Hostility, and submissiveness are common responses to sexual abuse.  Yet, I do not feel I may address the issue with the respect it deserves.
   For those reasons, I direct my ponderings to what I do understand from life experience.  Bullying.  Verbal abuse.
   I do not feel the piercing sting--the deep pain--inflicted by Palsy Patty, and the mimicking of my bent right arm in my face during my childhood.  It was not everyone--each of my peers, or every day of my life.  Yet, I never knew the moment, when the bullying would attack.
    My only response was to identify the words I could speak--the explanations I could give--that would make other kids understand why I looked different.
    I do not understand.  Contrary to each and every belief of everyone I knew, I knew that all I needed to be given were the words--the explanations--that would make people understand.  I knew that I could create the understanding that did not exist--in which kids and parents were not willing to engage.
    Compounding the verbal abuse---the lack of understanding--of my peers was the attitude--the belief--of adults that bullying--verbal abuse--was nothing more than a phase kids go through.  No credence was given to the notion that the self-esteem of the kid being teased was not a phase that would be outgrown.  No credence was given to the notion that the nurturing of positive self-esteem was essential--the positive self-esteem of kids who were being teased.  I understood.  Yet, far deeper than the physical disability I had, I was disabled from enlisting the support of my parents, the parents in my neighborhood, the authority figures--principals, most teachers, and counselors--people who I thought were supposed to know better.
     I do not understand quite where my conviction came from--my belief that I could nurture understanding, if only some one of these adults would give me simple, logical, reasonable, understandable words, and explanations.  Nascent faith, perhaps?  I do not know. All I do know, is that in eight grade, I made a commitment to myself--I did not have a sense of God, or that might be what I might call it--to dedicate myself to work toward nurturing the understanding that I did not experience.  It took me years to understand--to identify--what  form my missionary work might take.  Writing?  That seemed the most likely to me, yet, I had no notion of what my outlet would be.  My self-confidence--my introversion--did not lend itself to speaking, or assuming any leadership positions.
    1978.  College.  A staff member asked if I was interested in serving on a campus-wide "Handicap Awareness Committee."  Bingo.  While people close to me did not understand my involvement, my dedication that precluded the studying I should have been doing, I knew better.  I knew that if there was any hope of my making any meaningful contribution to society, I needed to work through the issues
    Pervasive though my paralyzing fear was--fear that others would criticize me, and my actions--I assumed leadership of the Handicap Awareness Committee.  I was driven by the knowledge that I was pursuing my missionary work.  No trips to  Central America for me.  My missionary work was right at home.
     My missionary work was being carried  out.  I spoke to education students at a college in South Dakota.  I nurtured understanding in future teachers of the necessity of nurturing understanding, and building self-esteem.  I shared the transcript of the speech I gave with parents in my neighborhood.  I took the necessary risk of building understanding--of communicating to them what I had not been able to do twenty years earlier.
    Palsy Patty died.  No longer would she have negative, hurtful power over me.  I do call upon her when communicating understanding, and compassion are my call to do.
     "There goes another gimp," spoken by a coworker, who must have seen someone behind me with a walking disability, called the spirit of Palsy Patty to me in an instant.  Gimp is not a word I use to describe myself.  Gimp is not a word worthy of my speaking--reflective of the respect of other individuals I am called to express--to or in regard to any other human being.
     Verbal abuse is not the same as sexual abuse.  Yet, they do share an untenable violation of the human spirit.
     Verbal abuse.  Hostility.  Anger.  Submissiveness.  Others may choose to respond in such spirit.  I cannot respond in such a spirit. [In the heat of political debate, and hyperbole, name-calling of the individuals with opposite convictions is unthinkable.  Yet, far too often, that seems the norm.] It is not a matter of whether I will not respond so.  My will is not in question.
     Verbal abuse.  For a lifetime, I have been called to nurture understanding, build self-esteem, and most importantly separate actions from the individuals responsible for their commission.  Verbal abuse--name calling.  Physical proximity has no part in the commission of verbal abuse.  I abhor the infliction of any derogatory word on the basis of different beliefs, or actions.
    When I asked my father why the kids were teasing me, he said, with deep love, "There is nothing you did wrong, it is something wrong with them."    Emotionally, I did not question his love.  Yet, I could not reconcile how something could be wrong with the kids teasing me.  Young as I was, that seemed an untenable response.  An eye for an eye?
     Verbal abuse.  Bullying.
     Thank God, bullying is finally getting its due in the United States.  It has taken us until suicides rooted in sexual orientation-based situations for society to take bullying seriously.  Suicides are the sad impetus to take seriously a grievous violation of the gifts of being human.
     Verbal abuse.  Bullying.
     Whatever the subject may be, whoever the object may be, I cannot so engage.  Such is my missionary work.  I do so act.  With Compassion.  With Joy.  With Resolution.
     Verbal abuse.  Bullying.
     How do you respond?  Do you erect physical boundaries?  Or, is defamation limited to those human beings within your earshot?

Compassion

     Compassion.
     Compassion gets a bad wrap.  Weak.  Idealistic.  Hopeless.  Unrealistic.
     I am not among those bad rappers.  I believe in compassion.  I believe in its ideal.  I live by its hope.
     Never before this week have a found a haven of individuals willing to admit--to affirm--their commitment to act with compassion--to live with and by compassion.
     We live in a world of instant gratification.  Impatience.  Deadlines.  As unsavory as those realities may be, these are facts of life.
     So, how do we counteract those societal pressures--those necessities of a working world--a healthy economy?  Some may say that there is no way to achieve those objectives.  We live in the world of Facebook, Twitter.  So, what hope is there to affirm--to advocate for--compassion?
     Compassion.  Achievable.  If so committed--if so wiling--you do have opportunities.  You do have options.
     PeaceNext.  Charter for Compassion.  Two opportunities.
     PeaceNext.  Social media need not be frivolous.  Peace Next.  The Facebook of Compassion.  Global.  Ecumenical.  Faith-filled.  Committed.
      I am new in my understanding of Peace Next.  Yet, I am committed to following my instincts.  As a lifelong pacifist, I am more than willing to open myself to this venue of hope.
      Interreligious dialogue.  Ecumenism.  A Parliament of World Religions its aspiration.
      In developing the World Wide Web--the human exchange of information and knowledge--within the architectural structure of the Internet, Tim Berners-Lee wrote of the opportunities for free, global communication, which are offered by such forums as PeaceNext.
      Given a forum, concrete actions are the next steps necessary to give Compassion a firm foundation.  So, what actions?  Where do I give my voice to compassion???
      The Charter for Compassion offers a wellspring of opportunity.
      The Charter is distinct from PeaceNext.  The Charter for Compassion sets forth commonsense principles to commit yourself to--to make yourself accountable to others.  The Charter for Compassion offers the space, where you may commit yourself to intentions of compassion not listed.
     In my humble opinion PeaceNext, and  The Charter for Compassion are the World Wide Web at its very best.
     Commit yourself to Compassion.
 

Compassion. Read. Consider. Sign. Live.

The Charter for Compassion

The principle of compassion lies at the heart of all religious, ethical and spiritual traditions, calling us always to treat all others as we wish to be treated ourselves. Compassion impels us to work tirelessly to alleviate the suffering of our fellow creatures, to dethrone ourselves from the centre of our world and put another there, and to honour the inviolable sanctity of every single human being, treating everybody, without exception, with absolute justice, equity and respect.

It is also necessary in both public and private life to refrain consistently and empathically from inflicting pain. To act or speak violently out of spite, chauvinism, or self-interest, to impoverish, exploit or deny basic rights to anybody, and to incite hatred by denigrating others—even our enemies—is a denial of our common humanity. We acknowledge that we have failed to live compassionately and that some have even increased the sum of human misery in the name of religion.

We therefore call upon all men and women ~ to restore compassion to the centre of morality and religion ~ to return to the ancient principle that any interpretation of scripture that breeds violence, hatred or disdain is illegitimate ~ to ensure that youth are given accurate and respectful information about other traditions, religions and cultures ~ to encourage a positive appreciation of cultural and religious diversity ~ to cultivate an informed empathy with the suffering of all human beings—even those regarded as enemies.

We urgently need to make compassion a clear, luminous and dynamic force in our polarized world. Rooted in a principled determination to transcend selfishness, compassion can break down political, dogmatic, ideological and religious boundaries. Born of our deep interdependence, compassion is essential to human relationships and to a fulfilled humanity. It is the path to enlightenment, and indispensable to the creation of a just economy and a peaceful global community.

I encourage you.  Please affirm with your name.  Embrace commitments of compassion the charter offers.  Commit to your own.  Share.  Live with, by, and for compassion.

Dr. Richard Owen

Richard R. Owen M.D.

Owen, Richard R., MD Age 83, died December 11, 2011. Preceded in death by his parents, John and Ethel Owen; step- mother, Helen "Pat" Owen; brother, John; and sister, Margaret. Survived by wife, Amy; sister, Suzy Brickley; daughter, Marnie; sons, Rick (Ann), and Don (Meg); grandchildren, Lauren Lusk (Jeremy), David Jacobs, David, and Rebecca; as well as many other relatives. Richard was a doctor of physical medicine and rehabilitation who practiced in many area hospitals and clinics. Before retiring, he was Medical Director of Sister Kenny Institute. He enjoyed wheelchair athletics as a participant and medical examiner. He served on the board of, and went on many trips with, Wilderness Inquiry. A celebration of his life will be held at First Unitarian Society of Minneapolis, 900 Mount Curve, Minneapolis at 2 PM on Saturday, December 17, 2011. Memorial contributions can be made to the Sister Kenny Foundation, First Unitarian Society of Minneapolis, or Wilderness Inquiry.

Published in Star Tribune from December 14 to December 15, 2011
http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/startribune/obituary.aspx?n=richard-r-owen&pid=155035415

     A gentle man.  Wise.  Knowing.  Far-sighted.

     Dr. Owen was my physical rehabilitation medicine doctor in the 1960s.  At my first visit--before my first memory, he said, "Stand her up.  How far can your daughter walk?"
     "Don't you understand?  She can't do that! Don't you understand?" my outraged mother exclaimed.
     He stood up, transferred his brown, walking cane, and stepped forward.  He understood.  Polio met this doctor as a teenager.  Wise beyond his years, Dr. Owen understood.
     From my first memory, Mom and I went to see him to monitor the progression of my cerebral palsy, and identify courses of action we could take.  For my part, I met his reflex hammer with a kick in his face.  A grateful soul.

     Dr. Owen did not practice medicine.  He gave medical care.  Practical experience--living with polio since he was a teenager.  He was in his 40s, when I received his care.

    Dr. Owen knew the terrain of physical rehabilitation--not from a laboratory, but, from real life.   

  He was at peace with himself--with his life.  He was not aggressive.  He was affirming--with his manner, with his care.  Dr. Owen understood the geography of disability.  Without calling attention to "handicap," or "disability," he directed his energies toward how to live as fully as possible.
    Dr. Owen earned the requisite schooling to be certified a medical practitioner.  With little fanfare, and unwavering trust in his own life experience, he offered personal, medical care.
     Thank you, Dr. Owen.  Thank you.

An Invitation

This morning, I greeted a woman at Cabrini, whom I have known by face for many years.  I, like many others, have dismissed her as having much noteworthy to offer.  In a parish--a faith community--with so many social justice activists, this woman has been overlooked.  I am not proud of that fact.
     This week, I looked on the Cabrini website.  I was taken for a moment to see a beautiful picture of the front of our church.  Who took the picture?  You guessed it.  The woman overlooked by many.  I was given the opportunity to express how much I enjoyed the picture.
    I was touched.  In many ways, I was moved.  She was clear.  She knew that people did not like her, per se. She explained that she had been diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome.  Her feelings--her experience of other people--were clarified.  Awkwardness in communication.
     She expressed frustration.  "At least with you, they can see your disability."  She asked me about it.  I explained the umbilical cord wrapped around my neck five times, and the resultant cerebral palsy.  Yet, I conveyed genuine understanding of her frustration.  I explained my epilepsy to her.  We talked.
     She spoke of determination to continue working--the desire of supervisors that she stop working.
     I encouraged her to continue taking pictures.
     I learned a lot this morning.  I have been dismissive of her prayers for the Minnesota Vikings football team, at various points.  I did not view this woman to be someone, who was driven by social justice issues per se.  Fleetingly, I have asked myself, "what draws this woman to Cabrini."
    This morning, the priest, known for being outspoken on controversial issues offered a clue.  He juxtaposed recent objections to his outspokenness with the deaths--the wakes, and burials--of an 11-year-old girl, and an adult.  He needed to leave early to attend to the services for those individuals.  He said the message of this week's events to him was that we needed to be more about love.
     That may sound trite.  Not new, or earth-shaking.  Yet, in those moments this morning, it was clear.  His outspokenness is not pursued for its own sake.  His outspokenness was--is--deeply felt.
     He invited us to pray for a more loving archdioceses.

Where is the Middle???

     I find myself in the middle of a different search for information.  The search is new to me.  I am accustomed to the search for information regarding my epilepsy, and seizures most prominently.  Brain damage and cerebral palsy to  a lesser degree.  Although all four are intertwined.  My search is for how to be of compassionately informed support to someone, who is academically familiar with the medical condition he faces now as he looks in the mirror.
     With some, the temptation is to throw facts, and information--research--at them to help them contain their condition into a manageable form.  With others,, the temptation is to offer pity.  Sometimes, that is manifest in Poster Children to attract justifiable support for individuals with the condition, and for research.  On a personal level, pity well may be uncertainty, and discomfort, as to how to address the situation.  Most tempting, and most frightening to me is the offer to cure or to heal someone by mystical powers.
     Most helpful to me with regard to my seizures, epilepsy, cerebral palsy and brain damage is a balanced approach.
     I don't seek to be cured, or to have never had brain damage, cerebral palsy, epilepsy, and seizures.  I cannot roll back history.  Such is a waste of precious energy.  I prefer to seek insights--to how to live an insightful life--on the basis of my brain damage, cerebral palsy, epilepsy, and seizures.  To some degree, I have known that since eighth grade.
     I don't know how to be of help.  Facts, and information are readily available.  Pity is against my religion--pity that is closed to the possibility that more constructive responses are available.  Healing by means of mystical powers frightens me.
     I do make a distinction between healing by means of magical waving-of-a-wand means--full healing--and prayer.  The distinction is difficult to articulate.  Sometimes, the words may be the same, yet the tone is different--completely different.  I know it when I hear it--when I feel it.  I try to respond, so as to increase the likelihood of more compassion in the future.
    So, where does that leave the man facing a medical condition new to him personally?   We have known one another for a lifetime.  We respond similarly to much of what I have described--research, pity, cures, and healing by mystical powers.  I find it difficult to articulate the nuances in prayer that exist.
    I am leery of the support that consumer organizations can, and do provide.  I am not saying that they serve no useful purpose.  My concern is that the support--their expressed mission--is aimed more at publicizing research, and raising funds for the continuation for that research.  Both, essential.
    Where is the spiritual element of support?  Where is the spirituality of the human body in this discussion?  Often, the triangle, body, mind, and spirit," is discussed.  Of the three, most often, body and mind are linked.  Similarly, mind and spirit are linked.
    Yet, body and spirit seem miles apart.  I don't know precisely how to articulate it.  Maybe if I did--if we were willing to--articulate the relationship between the two, we might get beyond some ghost-in-a-white-sheet mentality of the body and the spirit.

Stop Bullying: Speak Up Pledge

We all have the power to stop bullying by getting involved and performing simple actions that can make a difference in others' lives.  Together we can create a community that is committed to ending bullying.  So join me in taking the pledge to Stop Bullying:  Speak Up today.
                          Stop Bullying:  Speak Up pledge
                          http://www.facebook.com/stopbullyingspeakup
     I urge you to take the Stop Bullying:  Speak Up pledge today.
Whether it be with children, teens, adults--whatever the age--our words matter.  It does NOT matter whether  or not we know the individuals.  EVERYONE deserves basic, human respect.  Suicides have resulted, and self-respect damaged over feelings regarding sexual orientation, disabilities, and appearance, to name a few, that have been used as justifications for bullying.  Please take this pledge.
     Expedite necessary action. First, press http://www.facebook.com/stopbullyingspeakup.  Second, press the Take the Pledge icon.  Third, add your name.  Fourth, press the Like button.  Identify yourself as a teen or an adult.  Share the Stop Bullying:  Speak Up pledge with your friends.
     Further action may be taken, if you so choose.  First, you may add a Comment to your Pledge Signature.  You may join groups of others concerned.  Other options are offered on the Stop Bullying:  Speak Up  Facebook page.
     Most powerful are the words you speak--the words you tolerate.   Actions you take--actions you tolerate matter as well.

September 11...1948

     An oft-ask question is, "How will you be commemorating September 11th?"
     I commemorate September 11th with my life.  You see, on September 11, 1948, my parents were married.  While others commemorate the attacks on the World Trade Center, the Pentagon, and on Shanksville, Pennsylvania, the people lost, the first responders--I celebrate the wedding of my parents in 1948--63 years ago.
     I commemorate September 11th--with the pursuit of peace and understanding among people--each day.  How?  A cliche? No.
     Among people is not a nebulous term.  I pursue peace and understanding with each individual I meet, know, and love each day.  I am not a Pollyanna.  Not everyone shares my views and preferences on issues and matters large and small.
     I do not claim myself to be a proud American.  I wave no flags.  I wear no pins.  I parade no routes.  I do get choked up on Election Day--on- and off-year elections just the same.  I do get choked up on Inauguration Day.  Party matters not to me.  I am not a proud American.  I am a committed world citizen.
     By definition, I am no patriot--I am not patriotic.  I devote my energies in search of peace and toward understanding, rather than in defense of America, and seeking vengeance, or being vigilant against acts of terror.  I prefer to be vigilant for acts of peace.      
     I seek peace each day with each individual I meet that day.  I seek not complete agreement.  I seek understanding.  Different views, different preferences--different perspectives--invite me to deeper understanding.
     Seeking peace--seeking understanding--is not grandiose.  Peace and understanding are my daily aspirations--one person, one day at a time.
     I commemorate the peace and understanding that was married on September 11, 1948.  Happy 63rd anniversary, Mom and Dad.  Thank you for your example of love--your commitment to peace.

Honor

     Honor.  Family honor.  Physical honor.  Personal honor.  Honor.
     Mere mention of the word "honor" elicits a call to have good posture--to stand at attention.  To limit our understanding of "honor" does a grave disservice to the word--to everyone involved in Honor's Service.
     I confess, I am guilty of affirming that limited definition.  Yet, recent events and life stages bring honor into question.
     Family crests.  Monuments.  Physical stature.
     None of these words engenders a spirit of forgiveness.  Yet, forgiveness is perquisite.
     Personal honor, and family honor are intertwined.  My counsel of a young man struggling to find his way in the world surprised me.
     How many of us, who are adults, yearned for something our parents did not give us?  Usually, that something is not material, although it well may be.  The form of something is not important.  The revelation of forgiveness is.
    My necessary forgiveness regarded questions that only I could answer by my own life experience.  Why did my peers not understand my disabilities?  Why did they bully me?  How could I stop it?  Those are impossible questions for anyone to answer satisfactorily.
     By nature, I am very hesitant to assert my views--however urgent I feel they are needed--face to face.  I am a coward--a coward's face.  Yet, I feel emboldened by the written word.  Writing allows the reader to absorb my words "in the structure of time," as the young man I speak of might say.
     I am learning to appreciate a different dimension--physical honor.  Never have I heard others mention it.
     Physical honor.  Graceful aging calls us to it.  As babies, we are born with a set of physical capabilities.  Whatever that set may be, it is our starting point.  We take no notice of what those capabilities are.  Why should we?  We have known no other way of living than with that particular set.  We learn our limits by testing them.  All-nighters, weight-lifting--childbirth, perhaps.  Depending on our life circumstances, aging alters that set.  Our permission is NOT required.
     I was born with the set of capabilities, which were described in part as being cerebral palsy, and epilepsy.  That was my starting point.  Seen as having limits, just as any other child, I tested them--believe me, I tested them.  Just ask my therapists.
     I did not understand my limits.  Aging has changed those limits.  Age forty.  Morning stiffness.  Age forty-five. Painful hips.  Strained walking.
     Each new limit called me to respond.  Before I could accept the somethings that were given to me--to my aging body--I had to take a very different action.  To my left hip, and my right ankle, I needed to forgive  them for the service they could not give to me.  I needed to forgive myself for yearning--for demanding--that  my left hip and right ankle could give me no more.
   Cognition of my body parts' service to me was and remains essential.  Acknowledgment.  I abused my body, such that some of my body parts are wearing out.  Vigilance.  Ever I must re-cognize  my body's service.  Ever, I must acknowledge--confess--to any abuse I may be inflicting on my body for selfish reasons--for vanity.
     A brace.  An electric wheelchair--Zoomer.  Forgiveness of my parents for being human--forgiveness by my temperamental child self.
    My counsel to the young man was a question.  Have you ever considered that you need to forgive your parents for not giving you what you yearned for-for what they could not give you?  Have you ever considered honoring what they have given you?  Have you considered honoring that they have given is everything that they know to give you?
    Honor.  Standing at attention?  No, not physically.  Honor.  Attending to the gifts that have been given.  Forgiving what has not been--what could not be--given to you by your parents?
    Honor.  Family honor.  Physical honor.  Personal honor.  Honor.

Epilepsy Chronicles: The Other Face

     Some coworkers feared I might have a seizure on command.  Others feared it happening in their presence.  I understand.  Being out of control of my body in my mind's eye.  I understand.  Yet, not moreso than when I happened upon a seizure of a man awaiting a bus. 
     "Focus on the positive, and ignore negative behavior,"  Mom chants in the deep reaches of my memory.  From my earliest memory, "Focus on the positive, and ignore negative behavior."
     I understood what he needed.  Not medically.  Yet, I knew what help he needed from the many helpless people who surrounded him.  I knew the helpless individuals, who surrounded him, were far from helpless.  While others surrounding me were viewing their first seizure, I was on the other end of the seizure.  I understood what he needed.
     I had never met the seizing man before witnessing his seizure.  I have not seen him since that day.
    Yet, I was given a voice--words to speak---for a reason.  I am not committed to vengeance against other individuals.  Yet, I can and must commit myself to positive vengeance against the excessive electrical energy in my brain, the root of my disabilities.  I can and must be the human irritant--the nacre--that contributes to pearls of understanding.  

Boredom. Deny. Fear. Befriend. Boredom

     Boredom.  Boredom? Yes, boredom.  Well, that doesn't sound very interesting.  Humor me.  Tell me whether hours of sleeplessness regarding a family member was the breeding ground for worthwhile insight.
     I know three people who are at different stages of their careers, who are facing boredom's reality.
     Two years ago--a lifetime ago now--my health ended a 24-year career, which was boredom's intimate. Not a constant intimate, but, an intimate, nonetheless. 
     When my career ended, my family doctor gave me excellent advice.  Get up at the same time every day.  Find something that you are interested in, and go to it as though it was your full-time job.  Though my doctor had not known me long, he did know that I was reasonably intelligent--he knew that I thrived on  intellectual stimulation.
     Of the three individuals, my influence over them varies.  I am not a confrontational person.  My default behaviors are compassion, and empathy.  I am uncomfortable being over in relation to anyone in my life, so, by that standard, I do not have influence over anyone.  I might strive to be the compassionate, yet, straightforward friend a mentor of mine is.  He does not volunteer his opinions--his judgments--readily, or with any fanfare.  Yet, if I seek out his counsel, he is honest with me, not polite and proper, but, straightforward and caring.
     The young man needs the most guidance.  He yearns for excitement.  He goes one step beyond fearing boredom in potential jobs he might secure.  He denies that boredom is a possibility.  If he denies boredom's possibility, then it will not be.  I would make a lousy mother.  I am too wishy-washy.  I want to offer the example of my life, rather than risking the rejection that a more confrontational approach might render.
     The second individual--a woman--is in the middle of her working career.  She understands the realities of the work world.  She has worked in jobs that were boring--jobs that did a grave injustice to her gifts.  Yet, she understood the basic need to be self-supporting.  Or, so I thought.  Extended unemployment has nurtured an idealism that, at other times might be healthy.  Yet, there is a time in one's career--when seeking employment--when serving as an outraged citizen advocate usurps the energy necessary to find employment.  This woman fears boredom.  She remembers its omnipresence in her work life.  She has discovered social justice--advocacy--as a realm within her reach.  Yet, her fear of boredom has the opposite effect that she wants.  She wants to pursue advocacy.  Yet, her resistance to the necessary boredom in aspects of gainful employment will distance her from the social justice she yearns to pursue.  Her eroding self-confidence is the price she is paying for her fear.
     The third individual--a woman--is in the late stages of her working career.  She is boredom's intimate.  Not a constant intimate, but, an intimate nonetheless.  She does not fear boredom.  She does not deny boredom out of fear.  She befriends boredom.  She has a tremendous threshold for boredom that many overlook--she is not a woman of fanfare.  She has flair.  She has creativity.  But, she is not someone who draws attention to herself as being some poor soul.  She lives life fully.  She pursues her passions.  She treasures people.  She is a loyal friend, and is marvelous to her family. 
     Were I more courageous, I would shake the young man, and the first woman, so that I might rid them of their fear, and denial.  Of the second woman, I need little courage to offer my support.  Yet, I fall short.  I know that I am not faced with the work world.  No longer do I need to worry about finding a job, or changing a job.  During the many years I was in the work world, I denied boredom.  I feared boredom.  I befriended boredom.  Never did I surmount boredom as I want to chastise the young man, and two women for not surmounting.  So, I find it difficult to chastise the three individuals for a standard I could not uphold.
     No longer am I in the work world.  I am working in a different world--creating a post-work world life.  Funny.  You might think that being freed of imposed boredom would be replaced by days of constant excitement.  I don't know what that is.
   Gradually, I am trying to put together elements of what I enjoy, what is necessary, and what I may do to serve other people.
    What do I enjoy?  
    Writing.  Online research.  American history--New England, specifically.  Genealogy.  Letter writing.
    What is necessary?  
    Physical exercise.  Swimming.  Being outside.  People--being in circulation with other people.  Being in community with a worshipping community that celebrates life, death, and all that is possible with the same exuberance.
    What may I do to serve?
    Identify organizations needing the skills, abilities, talents, and gifts I have been given to share with those in need.  Challenge people I know to live up to their potential.  Offer my life--my discoveries--with friends, family, neighbors, and worshipping community--fellow believers.  Be open to the lives of my friends, family, neighbors, and worshipping community--fellow believers.
     This is the structure of a new life.  Much remains to be identified.  I don't think I am alone in striving to create this new life--to recognize boredom, acknowledge denial, confess to fear, and befriend boredom, all in the hope of surmounting boredom.  I confess I have a long way to go.  I have forgotten what it is I want to do.  I am not sure if that it is denial, fear, or both.
     Boredom.  Deny.  Fear.  Befriend.  Boredom.

What Do You Want To Be When You Grow Up???

     Last night, a friend reminded me of the ever-present quest for a perfect job--a perfect life--abundant in fulfillment, and accomplishment, and free of frustration.  Oh, and could you give me meaningful days free of boredom, and monotony.
     To some degree, I live a life of luxury. Well...I could eat bon bons, if I wanted.  I have the time.  But, truth be told, that is not the life I want to live.  I do not have the responsibilities of a full-time, or a part-time employee, for that matter.  So, it is easy for me to make pronouncements about a perfect job---a perfect life.
     My struggle with finding the perfect job were put to an end with the failure of my body.  My mind-filled wish for the perfect job was no matter for my consideration.
     A perfect life???
     Hmmmm....I am still working on that one.
     Any delusion of keen listening--of being able to offer constructive suggestions solely by virtue of listening with a keen ear--were dispelled, when my conversation with my friend ended.
     What are my job responsibilities today?
I have tended to apologize for my current life, as compared to when I was employed by a large corporation.  I am not providing any quantifiable product or service to my "customers," in the lingo of corporate America.  So, what contribution am I offering?
     What are my job responsibilities today?  Who are my customers? What contributions am I offering. 
     Tending to the needs of my body.  Exercising it to make sure that I take the actions within my power to preserve this vessel I was given 51 years ago in the best condition possible.  I cannot take on responsibilities beyond my real or intended capacities.
     For many years, I have had a mutual understanding--offering--with a different friend.  Both of us serve one another as ceiling therapists.  This service is not daily, per se.  As a ceiling therapist, I have agreed to lend an ear, when the need arises.  My friend and I have committed a willingness to be available to do nothing more than listen, while my friend gets off her chest whatever problems, or situations are out of control.  As a ceiling therapist, I agree to pull my friend off of the ceiling after such overwhelming problems, or situations occur.
    At other times, I have served as a control panel specialist, when the need arises.  What? A control panel specialist.  I provide my friend with basic understanding of how to make the computer, most oftentimes the basic software applications sing as they are designed to sing.  Once again, my service as a control panel specialist is provided on an on-call, as needed, basis.
     I feel I am falling short of another job I have undertaken--a prison correspondent.
     I set high expectations.  I fail to give myself credit for what I am doing.  The same is true for volunteering that I am doing.  Yet, with my volunteering, I know that the sheer contact with people is tremendous.  That is the part of my job commitment to myself.
     So, does any of that contain a pearl of wisdom that I could have offered my friend last night?  I do not intend to present myself as some sage--some sole source of wisdom to my friend.  I knew most of what I expressed here last night.
     Yet, as much as I value words, I could not find the words to convey an oftentimes unattractive truth:  Life isn't perfect.  I couldn't bring myself to say, "The party's what you make it," as a travel acquaintance once said.  Both truths seemed to trivialize the desire of my friend to create for herself a life of service--grand service.
     For many years, I resisted sage advice my mother offered over and over and over.  "Focus on the positive, and ignore the negative."  I resisted her advice.  Though the first part, "Focus on the positive," made complete sense to me, I could not reconcile, "ignore the negative."  The "negative" that I was fighting was hurtful reality hurled at me repeatedly.
     It took me many years to understand a difficult, yet extremely valuable truth that I try to live by today.    
     Each problem--each situation--whatever it may be, has some lesson that it offers me to learn from.
     I have a choice.  Do I want to attend to the lesson--seek answers--or do I want to wallow in life's imperfections?
    My choice may be warped by the many years I have been in formal classrooms, be they pre-school, special education, the regular classroom, college, or graduate school.  Yet, again and again, I come back to my choice--I must attend to the lessons.  I must seek answers.
     Yet, who among us live lives of grand service--or grandiose service?
      Do we lose track of the gifts we have been given to offer, when we try to pursue grandiose service?
      Do we lose track of what good there may be in grandiose service, when we try to create it for ourselves?
      I don't know the answers.  Yet, I commit to seek the answers as a friend, as a daughter, as an aunt, as a sister, as a neighbhor, and as a seeker of truth, who has been blessed with an amazing worship community.

Personal Disclosure

Praying as Self-discovery 
 Prayer is not, first and foremost, saying prayers. It is opening the most intimate part of ourselves to God. It is discovering that in the deepest part of our body and our being there is a source, and that source is God. God is the power that unites the universe and gives everything meaning.

- Jean Vanier, Our Journey Home, p. 215   

   Personal disclosure.  Several instances this week have brought personal disclosure to mind.  Most recently, learning about a new search engine—Blekko—that I wanted to try.  I am a research geek mind you.  Logging on to Blekko called for me to reveal information about me, my life, and my values.  I am not embarrassed about myself, my life, or my values.  It has taken me many years to arrive at that point.  Personal disclosure is the price to be paid for learning, and exploring.

   Personal disclosure.  Facebook.  This week, a number of friends, family members, and organizations made me aware of the degree to which I am comfortable in sharing about myself with other people.   Looking at the Facebook pages of friends, and younger relatives, who are at varying degrees of involvement with Facebook reveal what my boundaries are.  Some question the privacy concerns of being involved on Facebook.  My view is that it is not the medium, but, how I or others use it that establish its value in my life.  

     Personal disclosure.  My threshold for personal disclosure are being tested currently.  How?  PrisonTalk would allow me to gain insight I need to understand prison life, so that I may be more supportive.  I am drawn to PrisonTalk by the opportunities to learn about and gain insight into prison life.  Trust is clashing with personal disclosure.  I find personal disclosure regarding my own life, and values to be fairly easy.  Yet, I do not want to make disclosures about someone else in hopes of gaining the information I am seeking that would endanger them in any way.

  Personal disclosure.  Delusions I had that I was very comfortable with what other people think of me--of my capabilities--were shattered to smithereens.  I began volunteering.  Good grief.  I am working with delightful people.  I know how to do what they want, at least the essence of what they want.  Yet, my nervousness--my personal need to be impressive on the first day made for a disaster, from my eyes, not from other people's judgments of me.  I think I have purged myself of the nervousness, so I am hoping that I will be able to go in on Friday to offer help....

     [Friday evening] I succeeded.  Fears of having lost my capacities to work in the work world again were for naught--the fear of revealing my human imperfection.

    Personal disclosure.  In conversations we have had about sympathy versus empathy, Mom said that we could never understand what another person experiences.  To some degree that is true.  Yet, I believe understanding another person's experiences--truly understanding someone else's experiences is possible, if we are willing to invest our experiences in communion with other individuals.

    Personal disclosure.  I consider myself to have principles.  Or, I have considered myself to be a woman of principles.  Yet, Jean Vanier, Blekko, Facebook, and PrisonTalk challenge my principles.  Jean Vanier leads me to question whether I want to be a woman of principle, or am I willing to be a woman of personal disclosure.

Osama bin Laden???

     Osama bin Laden.
     What do we know of the man named Osama bin Laden?  What do we know of the human being named, "Osama bin Laden?"
     Can you tell me, who were bin Laden's parents?  How old was Osama bin Laden?  How many years older or younger than you was Osama bin Laden?  Did Osama bin Laden have siblings? If so, how many?
     Osama bin Laden was born in 1957--three years before I was born.  Bin Laden was the seventh son of 50 sons, and daughters born to a Syrian mother, and a father from Saudi Arabia.  His father was a strict disciplinarian.  He died when Osama was only 13 years old?
     Did you know that Osama bin Laden graduated from college in 1981 with a degree in public administration?
     These questions simply scratch the surface of understanding the man named Osama bin Laden, who lived for 57 years.  I offer these questions for your reflection.
     Bin Laden's early life did not justify the actions he took during his life.  That is true of each of us.  Our early life may not be a justification for our adult lives.  Yet, our early life does inform our adult actions.
     How do we view individuals, who are labeled as "terrorists."  Do we go beyond scary pictures, frightening recordings, and haunting threats?  Are we held captive not by terrorists, but, by our own fears, and broad generalities regarding a group of individuals who act in the same way?
     My intent is not to place judgment, or minimize the effects of Osama bin Laden's actions.  My intent is straightforward.  Do we view terrorists as individuals?  How would our relationship to the threats made be if we viewed terrorists as human beings, not as evil enemies?  Is it possible to render peace, if we have labeled people as "terrorists," before we know them to be human beings?
    We have much to reflect upon.  Satisfaction, and jubilation are not within the feelings in my heart tonight.
    How may we be instruments of peace?

Geography of Respect for Life

     I am perplexed by the geography of "respect for life."
     Affirmation seems to come too easily--what is one's positions on abortion, the death penalty, commitment of military forces to quell upheaval, and wars against humanity, as well as support for killing a despot, who orchestrated those wars?  Less immediate, although no less important are those who engage in the birther movement, and political rancor over so many issues--health care, and the federal budget, most notable to me.
     Cries for support of "respect for life" are usually singular proclamations, "I am pro-life," or "I am pro-choice."  Little more needs to be said, or so it seems.  I have never been faced with that question in my own life.  I have not known anyone closely, who has been faced with that situation.
     The death penalty.  I have known no one, who has confronted the death penalty.
     Most poignant to me seems to be the unabashed affirmation of killing despots--Osama Bin Laden, and Gadhafi come to mind.  There seemed to be great satisfaction, and accomplishment felt, when Saddam Hussein was killed.  I may be wrong, but in each of these cases, the satisfaction felt is an affirmation, "By the death of this individual, we have rooted out all evil from our lives.  We shall live in paradise from this day forward," or something to that effect.  This unabashed affirmation is the plateau of Respect for Life's Geography.
    Was there a birther movement prior to the presidency of Barack Obama?  If so, when?  Who was, or were the individual(s) targeted? If birthers were to prove their accusations, how would their priorities regarding the future of our society be changed--advanced?  I am of two minds.
   I have my own beliefs regarding the birther movement.  I shall share them shortly.  Yet, before I do so, I must be clear.  My questions are meant to imply no cynicism.  Are there more constructive means by which to address the doubts as to whether Barack Obama was born in the United States?  Is anyone, who is in the birther movement, proclaiming "respect for life" as one of their values?  Do they offer their thoughts as to how these two are reconciled within their value system?  With all due respect, I have not heard the juxtaposition of these beliefs expounded upon, or explored.
     The health care debate is one that I hope has ended.  I believe essential issues, and questions were at stake.  Yet, the tenor of the debate was not conducive to thoughtful, deliberative discourse.  The decibel level of the debate exceeded my tolerance level.  Guilty though I felt as someone who values my citizenship, my mental health was more important.  I needed to value my own mental health, if I expected anyone else do so. I needed to respect my own life, if I had any hopeful expectation that others might respect their own lives, and the lives of other human beings.
     I do not look forward to the Medicare debate.  Discourse regarding its future--how to strengthen it--is essential.  Yet, I fear that the decibel level will rival that of the health care debate.
     I shudder to use "respect for life," for fear that I am corrupting the phrase to bring integrity to my beliefs.
I pray that my affirmation, "I have a commitment to "respect for life," is understood with the full complexity with which it is lived.
     If profiled in traditional terms, I would be identified as a woman raised as a Universalist, who is now a Catholic.  I am a pro-choice woman, who opposes the death penalty in regard to any criminal offense.  I am a pacifist.  I take no satisfaction in, nor do I understand why it is thought that killing any despot will eliminate evil.  Yet, that profile of my beliefs does not reflect the texture---the complexity--of my commitment to "respect for life."
     I pray each of us who utters, "respect for life" does so with thoughtfulness--with reverence.  May we respect the convictions of others', whose convictions differ from our own.