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.

Driven to a Healthy Pondering

     The U.S. Supreme Court is hearing arguments regarding the 2010 Patient Protection and Affordable Care Act.  Some call it, "Obamacare."  I cannot--I will not--stoop to that level.
     I have simple questions.  Health insurance.  Auto insurance.
     Tell me.  Drivers must purchase automobile insurance in order to drive an automobile.  Is that correct?
     I am not a licensed automobile driver.  I want to ensure my facts are correct.  If my statements are not correct, I welcome being corrected.  The truth is more important than my ego.
     I have simple questions.  Auto insurance.  Health insurance.
     Much ado is being made regarding the personal mandate portion of the act--the requirement that everyone purchase health insurance.  I confess.  I have stopped listening.  My mental well-being is more important than my civic responsibility to be an informed voter.  Listening to every last argument regarding an issue is no longer my definition of what it means to be a good citizen.
     Tell me.  Is there a parallel to be drawn between the requirement to purchase auto insurance, and the personal mandate requirement that every individual purchase health insurance?
     Tell me.  Is the purpose of auto insurance to provide financial remuneration, and protection to automobile  drivers in the case of an accident?
     Tell me.  Why is no one raising these questions?
     Tell me.  Why is no one offering this parallel in defense of the personal mandate case?
     Tell me.  Why is hyperbole valued more than reason, logic, calm, and integrity?
     Tell me.  When will it be safe to listen without fear of hyperbole hijacking reason?
     Tell me.  Is there a parallel to be drawn between the requirement to purchase auto insurance, and the personal mandate to purchase health insurance?
     Tell me.  Do I understand the basic premise of auto insurance?
     Tell me.  Is there a parallel to be drawn between auto insurance and the personal mandate to buy health insurance?
     Tell me.  I am listening.  Tell me.

Catholic Church Reform: What Is It?

     Catholic Church reform.  What is it?  What should it be?  Who decides?  Who should decide?
     What is it?
     Hot button issues come to mind.  Women's ordination.  Married clergy. Liturgy--lay involvement.  Liturgy--inclusive language.
     These are valid, worthy issues central to Catholic Church reform.  Yet, in defining what it should be, dangers need to be identified--dangers to effecting reform.
     Herd mentality.  Rote support of hot button issues.  Rote support of advocates, who can speak the loudest.
     I write cognizant of time's luxury, which long-term disability affords me.  I write cognizant of my time's responsibility--God's time to me.  I must not squander that precious time--that precious responsibility.  Were I to squander, I would aggravate the problems--the issues--I sought to address.
     Who decides?
     "Church Hierarchy!" is the rallying cry of church reform campaigns.  Yet, hierarchy, to some degree, is necessary for the advancement of any organization's issues.  In the extreme, anarchy is hierarchy's adversary.  Effective Catholic Church reform lies somewhere in the middle.
     Catholic Church Reform.  Who decides?
     I know my place.  I make no submissive cry to avoid responsibility.  No.  I know my place.  I have been asked to help clarify issues.  Research.  Write drafts of recommendations.  Listen.  Heed direction of individuals who will make recommendations based in part upon my research.  Revise. Rewrite.  Submit.  Listen.
     I have tremendous respect for the knowledge, experience, convictions, and beliefs of the individuals I will work with.  I pray that I will nurture and maintain that same level of respect of and for each individual I meet.
    I pray that I will seek a broad understanding of the people, issues, organizations, and perspectives within the catholic church.  I pray not to imprison myself within the popular positions on hot button issues just to do so.  Already I sense myself doing just that.
   Catholic Church Reform.  What is it?
   It is not for me to define in isolation.  For now, I shall act as a squirrel might.  I shall gather nuts--food for thought--for the work ahead--nuts that may sustain me.  Websites.  Blogs.  Publications.  These are but three of the nuts I gather for the exciting, daunting, scary, exhilarating, unknown journey ahead me--ahead of us.

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.

Changes of Worship

     In college, my political science advisor instructed us to begin with the primary source documents, rather than secondary analyses on any given subject.  He was not dismissive of the value secondary sources provide.  Yet, he advised that any quest for information begin with primary source materials.
     Such might be said of the upcoming revisions to the Catholic Mass.   Deafening analysis of the changes is being given before the changes have been implemented.
     Much is being spoken of the changes that will take place in the Catholic liturgy, before we have an experience of how we will live the changes.  Honestly, I do not know what it will mean to live the changes.  I do not have the requisite experience to reflect on how change of the Mass I celebrate will change me.
     Will it damage me?  Will it diminish my spirituality?  Will it destroy me?
     Liberals are quick to say that religious conservatives, who hold on to the words, and practices of the past, are damaging, diminishing, and destroying the Catholic Church by their resistance.  I question that.  Rather, I wonder.  As a liberal, is there any room within the upcoming changes to enrich my spiritual life--to enrich our communal spiritual life?
     I was raised by a father, who experienced rote Catholicism.  I entered a Church far different from the one he left.  Since 1982, I have been blessed by a wide variety of vibrant faith communities.  The closest I came to the Church my father left was my time at a small, traditional Catholic parish several blocks from my home.  Although I did not experience vibrancy in much of my time there, I remember with fondness the gift the Irish priest gave each Sunday.
     Father Philip nurtured in me a personal bond to God.  How?
     Children of God, was his invitation.  I shudder to think of the foundation I had, when I met him each Sunday.  Any intellectual foundation I might have had needed to be instructed--seasoned.
     Father Philip's beaming smile, and his deep faith were his invitations.  His deep faith was his prayer for mercy.
     Forgive us of any skepticism--distrust--of the motives of other people.
     Those were not his precise words.  Yet, that was the message that I heard.
      I did not embrace many of his words.  Most of what he said is lost to my memory.  Yet, I treasure the personal bond he nurtured.
     People of God.
     I needed years of instruction, much seasoning, before I was worthy of being invited to, "People of God."

     I remember earlier experiences going to Mass on campus.  I was deeply moved by the weekly exchange, "Peace be with you."

     It took me many years to be comfortable with the fullness of the exchange, "May the peace of Christ be with you."  My faith--my understanding--was not deep enough to extend myself in that manner.  I needed tremendous mercy before I was able to affirm, "May the Peace of Christ be with you."
     A friend, who was a child during the 1950s, and embraces the Catholic Church that Vatican II has nurtured, offered a telling observation.
     "Well, it is back to the 1950s."
     I do not have the credibility that living in the 1950s Catholic Church affords.  I pray her words may be an invitation, rather than a eulogy.
      I do not know what her experiences were.  I was born in 1960.  I was raised as a Universalist, some say Unitarian.
      With that said, I pray.
       May we listen to the words we utter.  May we breathe the changes that will be ushered into the Catholic Mass.  May we exhale the cynicism that some meet the changes.  May we come to the changes attentive to the nuances they might offer to us.
     I am not an apologist for the changes that Advent will bring.  I do not know enough to be so.  I welcome the challenge to discover the nuances--to uncover the pearls of wisdom--that the changes might offer.

Being a Follower

     I have never considered myself to be a mindless follower.  The appointment of a priest new to our parish community last July put that to a test.  I was not familiar with the priest by name, although most everyone else seemed to be.  I did not know what to expect.

     Fears before the appointment were that a very conservative priest would be assigned to our parish community.  I did not engage myself in the fear.  I had a choice.  I vetoed the worship of doom. I feared the tailspin such engagement might engender in me more than I did the appointment of a conservative priest.  Not for any high-minded reason.  I could not afford to do so.

     The tension between fear and physical health is greatly underrated.   Physical calm.  Breathe in.  Breathe out.  Physical calm. 

     With the July, 2011 announcement all fears were allayed.  So would seem the end of the story.  The liberal...no...the spirit of engagement--engagement of the mind, spirit, and Body--would continue.  Case closed.

     Well...not so fast...

     The priest joined the community--the priest became pastor to our community.

     Whew!  We are safe.

     Well...not so fast...

     Symbolic of the affection for the new priest is a woman, who was a member of the previous parish to which our priest pastored.  Some refer to her as a "groupie."  I have not met her.  I know little more than the back of her head.  Yet, she came in hopes of hearing the words, and receiving Holy Communion from this priest.  After she satisfied that hunger, she left.  Or so it seems.

     It is easy to scorn her.  Tempting to say, "Move forward.  Welcome the priest, who pastors your parish now."

     Well....not so fast...

     Hospitality is not closing the door on someone on the basis of geographic boundaries.  Our parish is enriched immeasurably by the geographic diversity that is the fabric of our community.  

     The "groupie" puts a question to me, "Are you listening to all of his words, and attending to all of his pastoral actions?"  Or, "Are you getting up, walking out, and closing your ears and eyes to what you do not want to see or hear?"

    It is tempting to do nothing more than "Like" what he, or anyone else in the Church, or community might say, in order to be in good standing.  Yet, I find myself trying not to end with a Like link click, but, trying to begin with the Like link, and seeing where it leads me.

     Where do I take it?  What do I do with it? 

Stolen Dignity

     WHY ARE THE KIDS TEASING ME?

     This is a question first asked in first grade.  The question remains with me today, not as a fixation on long-forgotten people, tangible pain, or specific places.  No,  the sting of “Why are the kids teasing me?” and specific words, phrases, or actions was removed many years ago by writing about the question, and the insights the question has given me.

     The factual basis of the question was my bent right arm, and wrist, and limping right leg.  My early understanding of the question was centered on the facts.  Yet, although I sought concrete facts from family, dissatisfaction with the answers given to me led me through a journey that I understood only in its necessity.

     My dissatisfaction was not my expression of doubt—doubt of love my family had for me.  I had, nor do I have any doubt.  They loved, and love me.  My dissatisfaction was threefold.   First, the logic of ignoring the teasing.  Second, saying that something was wrong with the bullies was no better than my feeling that something was wrong with me.  No one profited from that approach.  Finally, the cowardice of school administrators not to address specific names involving teasing that I reported is unconscionable to this day.

     “Why are the kids teasing me” was a question that offered me a nascent understanding of “stolen dignity.” 

      The understanding, response, and inaction regarding teasing was my invitation into a lifelong journey.

     “Stolen dignity” is not a word that appears in the Oxford Dictionary, http://oxforddictionaries.com/ .  It is a word that takes a lifetime to understand.  Yet, pursuit of its meaning is worthy of our earnest endeavors.

Comprehending “stolen dignity” must begin with “dignity.”  The Oxford Dictionary defines “dignity” http://oxforddictionaries.com/ as, the state or quality of being worthy of honour or respect:  the dignity of labour;  [count noun] a high rank or position:  he promised dignities to the nobles in return for his rival's murder.  2 a composed or serious manner or style:  he bowed with great dignity.  A sense of pride in oneself; self-respect:  it was beneath his dignity to shout.

     “Stolen” is defined by the Oxford Dictionary http://oxforddictionaries.com/  as an adjective.  The dictionary’s definition speaks of ideas, rather than people, although I think it is plausible to insert “individuals” in the place of “ideas.”  Oxford defined “stolen” as dishonestly pass off (another person‘s ideas) as one’s own.http://oxforddictionaries.com/.

     Dignity is not a human quality that is earned, nor is it possible without life experience.  Dignity is a gift.  Stolen dignity is an experience, which is not earned.   Similarly, it is not possible without life experience.  Yet, while dignity is a lifelong process, stolen dignity may be given in an instant—in a moment shorter than is possible to measure by any mechanism.

     Stolen dignity is not a condition that is outgrown.  Stolen dignity may be inflicted with a piercing knife any time from birth until death do us part.

     Stolen dignity is not an irreversible sentence.  Fervor is the requisite spirit, which must energize all efforts to extinguish the root causes of stolen dignity.  Fervor underlies ever word I write.

Claiming Dreams and Ambitions

    Brian Lamb, the co-founder of C-Span has interviewed many authors.  For a lifetime, I have held writers in high esteem.  I treasure words--the crafting of precise ideas.  Only now am I discovering the opportunity to write.  I have waited to be inspired.  Discipline was not part of that inspiration. No longer working, and physically stronger, I am discovering the opportunity to write more fully.
   Frequent to those interviews are several questions.
   When do you write?
   I craft words during a very special hour.  Between 9AM and 10AM, I stroke and massage the words--the phrases--that bring my ideas to life.  The time is new.  The swimming is well-established in my day's rhythm--incomplete if I miss a beat.  Disciplined in writing, I have yet to be.
Balance between discipline and multitasking I
    How do you write?
    Committing words to a concrete form--be it paper, or computer is changing.  Creation of living, breathing phrases, and ideas flow in the water.  I pray--I threaten--that my short-term memory honor my words--my ideas.  As fleeting as a butterfly--a kite in a March breeze--a pen and pad must be at hand, or at least deposit slips, if paper is nowhere to be found.  As I strengthen my arms, and legs, so too, I sharpen my mind.
    How do you write, in what form?
    Given a choice--long-hand or computer--I take both.  Longhand is my bed's luxury.  A legal pad, a Zebra F-301 black pen.  Perched on my bed, my back against a maroon bedrest.  Longhand before the day has started, as the day ends.  Underneath my cozy mauve blanket, and my white down comforter.  Socks on to warm my cold feet.
   How do you write--in what form?
    At the computer.  After my morning swim, before my daily errands.  To capture the words stroked, and the phrases massaged in pristine, clear pool water.
    An element of writing that I did not understand fully was discipline.  Multi-tasking has never been my long suit.  I want to focus on individuals, rather than a group, when I am at a gathering.  Given a deadline or the opportunity to be with--to share time with--people, I would choose people any day.  I recognize that is a luxury I may afford now.  In the past, that priority may have resulted in my not climbing the corporate ladder.  I will never know.  But, I am not going to lose sleep over it.
    I am inspired by people, situations, and events that incense me.  A reckless driver who cuts in on me and Zoomer.  World conflict.  These are but two of many.  My vocabulary of inspiration has room to grow.  Now I seek to build it.
    Routine.  Discipline.  Rhythm.
    A doctor told me to get up each morning at the same time.  Get dressed as though I was going to a full-time job.  Find something I enjoy--something I can do--and pursue it.  For nearly two years, that is what I have done.  Researching.  Writing.  Corresponding.  Now my wings span opens wider.  Into the water I immerse my creative mind.  What words--what thoughts and ideas--next emerge is beyond my knowing.  I shall swim in the stream, and go with the flow.

Hope...Understanding...

My child seeks hope.
My child seeks understanding.

For a lifetime,
I have sought hope
Hope of understanding
Understanding much.

My child sought understanding.
What is cerebral palsy?
What is epilepsy?
My child sought understanding.

My child sought understanding.
How do I stop the teasing?
If you give me just the right words,
I know I can stop the teasing.
My child sought hope.

My child seeks understanding.
What can I say?
What can I do?
Give me the magic words.
My child seeks hope.

My child seeks understanding.
This was given for some reason.

Don't tell me to ignore this.
Don't tell me I must ignore a part of myself.
Don't tell me to sacrifice myself.
Is that really the secret to understanding?
I do not understand.


Is the price of your love
That other people must be wrong?
Is the cost of my love that other people are wrong?  


This day, may we love  freely.
In our diversity, may we all be worthy.

The Good Short Life

     Dudley Clendinen, a former New York Times national correspondent and editorial writer, chronicled his experience with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis.  Many call it ALS. Others Lou Gehrig's disease, in honor of a New York Yankee who died of the disease in 1938.
     Dudley offers a first-person perspective of Lou, as he calls it.  Reading his chronicle, it is clear, the it is really he.  Dudley's intimacy with Lou is worthy of our embrace.
    Some are choked up to read of the final curtain call, which befalls the individuals intimate with him.  Three people come to mind, known to me, who live with or have died at Lou's hands.  I would lie to exclude myself from being choked up about Lou.
     Yet, reading Dudley's commentary in today's New York Times calls me to reflect.  I am aware of life's realities.  Dudley says, "I sometimes call it Lou, in its honor, and because the familiar feels less threatening."  I understand.  Whether it be confronting a condition personally, or facing the condition in relations with other human beings, familiarity with--intimacy with--the condition is vital.
     I have lived with cerebral palsy since my first breath.  I have known no other intimate companion.  Epilepsy seizes me at times, when I abstain from my anticonvulsants' commands for me to take.  Yet, when I awaken from the seizing moments of my life, I am left to humor my cerebral palsy.  I must not abbreviate her presence in my life by calling her CP as a means of escaping the realities she presents to me daily.  I respect the abbreviation of--the calling of--her as CP by her other intimates.
   Yet,  I am challenged enough to maintain my own balance, without taking on responsibility of another individual, however similarly conditioned they may be.  Two years ago, chemical imbalances seized my clarity of thought.  While navigating my life through the clouds, I was informed of a stunning reality.  Cerebral palsy accelerates the aging process.
    My lifelong understanding was that cerebral palsy was not a degenerative condition.  Yet, accelerates the aging process was not synonymous with degenerative condition.  I confess, I am not faced with the prospect of being choked by my cerebral palsy.  Yet,  I do endeavor to understand the distinction between accelerate and degenerative.  
     Accelerate is derived from  accelerare "to hasten, to quicken," from ad- "to"  + celerare"hasten," from celer "swift."  Whereas, degenerative is derived from de + genus (gen. generis) "birth, descent."  Figurative sense of "to fall off, decline."
     During the nine days when my anticonvulsant imbalances were addressed, my understanding of degenerative in its figurative sense was accelerated at lightning speed.  As contrary as it may seem, striving to compete with the speed of others differently conditioned than I was no longer the point of my life.  It couldn't be.  The price to do so would have been too great--it would have driven me to my immediate demise.  If I strive to exceed the boundaries of who I am meant to be--who I will myself to co-operate with God to be--then I am avoiding what is available for me to live.
   As I say this, I recognize that this is far easier said than done.  I have yet to accomplish living what is within my boundaries to live.  For this reason, and to achieve this goal, I must return to two people's wisdom.  Let me be clear, I am not speaking of imminent death for myself, that is not my point.
    ...we don't talk about how to die.  We act as if facing death weren't one of life's greatest, most absorbing thrills and challenges.  Believe me, it is.  This is not dull.  But we have to be able to see doctors and machines, medical and insurance systems, family and friends and religions as informative--not governing--to be free. 
     And that's the point.  This is not about one particular disease or even about Death.  It's about Life, when you know there's not much left.  That is the weird blessing of Lou.  There is no escape, and nothing much to do.   It's liberating.
     Reading Dudley's commentary, I am transported back to the words of my maternal grandfather--a mentor to me.  He lived with us during the last few years of his life.  While still quite lucid, he spoke words that guide my living yet today.
   "When I die, don't be sad.  I have made amends with everyone I have had differences with."
    Returning to Dudley Clendinen, "the familiar seems less threatening," is essential to how I must live--to how I may thrive.  On April 14, 2011, I took ownership of an Invacare FDX-MCG power wheelchair.  Yet, that was not the first step toward my liberating mobility.  Familiarity.  Less threatening.  These two qualities were essential to moving forward in my life.  Thus, Zoomer was born.  Zoomer moves me closer to other people, and other people closer to me.  Mechanical parts take a back seat to the persona of a more active way of living--not faster than other people, rather, different from others.
    I pray to be defined--guided--by blessing, making amends, familiar and less threatening.  May we be attuned to--listen to--the sages in our lives--in our world.

How Do You Say Hello???

     Today is Pentacost Sunday.  I find the celebration of Pentacost--at least at Cabrini--to be quite exhilarating.  I confess I missed this celebration.  All dressed in red, ready to celebrate, my body had other ideas--sleep.  Yet, nonetheless, Pentacost, and how we communicate it is alive in me tonight.
     How Pentacost is celebrated in my life, how it was celebrated in a friend's life?  By what means do we communicate today?  First.  Pentacost.  A celebration of the descent of the Holy Spirit on the disciples of Jesus after his Ascension. That is a definition of the day.  Yet, definition is meaningless without context within our own lives, be it our own, someone we know, or a combination.  [Interesting.  I hadn't thought about that until this very moment.]
    The context of Pentacost in my life is twofold.  I was told of the Pentacostal celebration involving speaking in tongues.  That celebration was meaningless because it was not shared with any context in his life.  I do not know the spirituality--the spiritual context--in which my friend's mother celebrated Pentacost.  So, to comment further would be a grave injustice--unforgivable disrespect.
    My experience of Pentacost comes within the context of a Catholic faith community.  Cabrini celebrates life and death with intense passion.
     Fast forward 70 years. My experience of Pentacost?  Different--not better, just different.
     Pentacost.  Cabrini--a faith community that celebrates life and death with the same passion.  Pentacost, as I have experienced it is a celebration of our communal diversity.  In the stead of spontaneous expressions of need and thanksgiving, Pentacost welcomes different intentions.  Individuals fluent in various world tongues offer intentions in those foreign languages.  But, the offering of intentions does not stop there.  Cabrini is a community of passionate context.  Following intentional expressions in foreign tongues, the individuals repeat the intentions in English.  We are offered context.  We celebrate that context.
    How do you say hello???

Honesty. Humility. Integrity.

     Personal indignation and corporate humility intersected today.
     I believe firmly that experiences I share in my writing are by no means my sole province.  My hope is to illuminate what is common within us, that we might be comfortable to explore what we have been unknown to us, or too threatening to confront.  I use the pronoun we intentionally.  When I begin writing any post to this blog, I do not know what my conclusion will be.  What I do know is that I am called to be reflective.  I endeavor to heed that call with a keen ear--I listen for unresolved issues.
    Today I told the medical vendor I have been working with for three and a half months that he WOULD tell me the delivery time of my wheelchair within the next 24 hours.  I was not saying that I wanted to know when the delivery time would be.  As uncharacteristic as it is of me, I did not equivocate.  I declared my needs.  My threshold for delay had been surpassed.  My patience for a wheelchair was spent.  My heart raced.  Yet, my ankle received her due advocacy today.
     I am a peaceful person.  I live my days in reason, logic, and compassion.   Often, I put on a happy face on less than happy realities.  Some of my happy face is important to a positive outlook--mental health.  Yet, when I overdue happy face, I deserve the moniker given to many in the State of Minnesota, where I live.  Overdone happy face makes me eligible for Minnesota Nice.
    Today's events--today's interactions--were as far from Minnesota Nice as I get.  Within four hours of my first phone call with the medical vendor, I had two messages from him confirming that delivery will take place tomorrow.  As uncustomary as my assertions were, I achieved my goal.
     I learned about corporate humility today.  The medical manufacturer is sending a letter of apology to the vendor for all of the mixups--the omission of a joystick on my wheelchair.  I do not know that I can take any credit for inspiring the corporate letter of apology.  Without having too inflated a sense of myself, I did convey on numerous occasions the seriousness of my need.
    I well may never know the precise contribution I may have had in the communications regarding the acquisition of my wheelchair.  None of us may know the precise contribution we make in our daily communications.  Yet, what we can control is to communicate with integrity.  We must communicate our needs honestly--without exaggeration of content.  We must not affirm our needs with increased decibel levels.    The higher the decibel level of our speech, the more likely it is that our affirmations are false.
     May each of us, and all of us speak with honesty, humility, and integrity.  May we ever be cognizant of the fragility of making amends within our daily lives.
     This is easy to say.  I know that whatever the degree of commitment to these beliefs, I will fall short of sustaining them.

Hope...Fragile Hope...

What's wrong? she writes in a note.
The running leg's a pipe dream.
She slips the note back.
So was walking....
Don't look so far ahead....
Looking ahead is what's been giving me hope.  I've wanted to believe we'll be able to gather twenty thousand dollars.  I've wanted to believe that I'll run again.
But hope now feels so fragile.  Too fragile to touch.
                 The Running Dream by Wendelin Van Draanen, p. 203.

     My aspiration is not running.  It never was.  I am not a 50-year-old trying to run back to a past job.  A younger body perhaps--a body that propelled me out of my cocoon.  I have been told that expecting to have my wheelchair in my home within a week is realistic.  Odd.  Three months ago, I wanted no part of such a future.
     Yet, I listen to my body.  My ankle is inflamed with deafening screams, "Do something NOW.  I can't carry you.  You are breaking me." 
     I look at my body--my stomach is bigger than it should be.  I know why.  I know what I need--laps in a pool, a buoyed spirit.  Yet, my body cries out.  She demands my attention.
     "Listen.  Rest.  Do not break me."
      Looking ahead.  Hoping.  Yet, what is it that I am running to do.  Swimming.  Yes.  What else?
     But hope now feels so fragile.  Too fragile to touch.

I've Got to Hand It to You

    Until relatively recently, I have given my left hand little due attention--little credit--for her service to me.  Some were amazed at what I could do with the use of just my left hand--with little to no help from my right hand.  I felt no amazement--I was born this way--never have I had full use of both hands.  So amazement was not worthy of my energy's expense.  My occupational therapists were frustrated, if not angry.  I kept finding ways to do tasks they conceived to be two-handed tasks without calling on my right hand.
     My views toward my left hand have changed since July, 2009.  No longer working--living on long-term disability--I was called to a different view of my left hand.  She was shaky.  No longer was indomitable strength in hand.  Nor was it at arm's reach.
     My left hand still has some strength.  Yet, she has put me on notice.  She will not stand for any further abuse for my ego's sake.  Boxers may fear a right jab.  I fear my left's fist in my face.
     So, do I duck?  No. What do I do?  Wake up.  Look.  Listen.  Feel.  Accommodate.
     Habits are hard to break.  Yet, too much is at stake not to act.  Now.
     I am not alone.  We do not want to admit it, yet, we are aging.  Each of us is called to different accommodations.
     Outstretched hands.  Figuratively, I pray I have outstretched hands that welcome others into my life.  Yet, literally, I need to give care not to try to stretch my fingers so wide that they are strained by going beyond their natural limits.  I recognize when I try to grab too much weight, and in such a way that I compromise the palm of my hand--where my hand and thumb meet.
     I am further along in recognizing that I need to care for my right ankle.  She needs my loving care, so that she does not give out completely.  The temptation to be angry with her is present.  She has failed me.  Yet, will anger bring her strength back to me?  Will resignation to her disintegration make her strong?
     There must be a middle point between anger, and resignation.  The ballerina tries not to fall off her balance beam.  Am I alone on the beam?  Where are you?

International Atomic Energy Agency

     Fifty individuals in Japan are working to ensure that one of the nuclear reactors is contained.  At least, that is my understanding.  Tonight, a commentator familiar with nuclear power issues, which I am not, asked where the International Atomic Energy Association was in managing this situation--this dire problem.
     My question is different.  If you are familiar with my thinking, that is of no surprise:)  Yet, what is my question.
     Who makes up the International Atomic Energy Association?  When was the IAEA created?  Where is it headquartered?
    There are 151 member nations that comprise the IAEA.  It was created in 1957.  It is headquartered in Vienna, Austria.  The organization is guided by a 35-member nation Board of Governors.  The Board of Governors include countries from each occupied continent.
     Proceeding alphabetically, the member nations from Asia from 2010-2011 are: Ajerbijan, China, India, Japan, South Korea, Mongolia, Pakistan, the Russian Federation, and Singapore.
     Australia is serving on the Board of Governors currently.  It has been a member of the IAEA since its founding in 1957.     
     For the 2010-2011 period, the European Board of Governors members are:   Belgium, Czech Republic, Denmark, France, Germany, Italy, Netherlands, Portugal, United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland.  
     Finally, Canada, and the United States are serving on the Board of Governors.  Both Canada and the United States were founding members of the IAEA.
      This may seem to be boring information.  It may not be exciting.  But, it is essential if we are to have anywhere approaching a full understanding of world affairs, and global relationships.
     My sense has been to think that the IAEA was one monolith, rather than a global consortium.
     Of concern should be the status of North Korea.  Although it was one of the founding members in 1957, North Korea withdrew its membership in the IAEA in 1994.  It is highly unlikely that under the current leadership in North Korea, that their view toward toward the IAEA will change.  Yet, when Kim Jong-il is no longer in power, will his successor take a different stance?  When a successor comes to governance, then working toward that goal seems worthy of consideration.
     It is worthy of note that Libya, Bahrain, the Ivory Coast, and Saudi Arabia are all members of the IAEA.  There is 
Similarly, both India and Pakistan are members of the IAEA.  These two countries have vast differences in their relations with one another.  Yet, those differences have not prevented them from joining forces with the IAEA.
     The price of not being aware of the other countries in our world is steep.  Afghanistan, Egypt, lran, Iraq, Libya, and Tunisia are examples of a lack of understanding the nuances of the countries--their people, ideologies, and cultures.  
     In addition to being aware of the International Atomic Energy Agency, there are other consortia worthy of our understanding.  I will explore them in future postings.  My aim is to identify what countries are members of multiple world partnerships, so as to understand how world peace may be furthered in our time.

Global Information's Starting Point

     I am fascinated by the many sources of information.  Discerning the veracity of that information intrigues me.  I was raised in a democracy.  Within that democracy, my family, friends, and culture instilled in me the belief that there are channels of government--channels within the community--to address problems.  I witnessed civil service close to home.
     Cynicism about government is not a part of my composition.  Any cynicism I might have is channeled into my votes for candidates with more positive--more constructive organizations.
     Any endorsements I give to voting against a candidate, rather than for a candidate with a more constructive view, only serve to delay resolution of the problems at hand.  Time is precious.  We may ill afford such delays.  That is not to say that decisions should be made hastily.  Quite to the contrary, decisions need to be made with due deliberation.

Information's Integrity

     The veracity of information is assessed in different ways, depending on the individual, or group receiving the information.  In journalism, a rule of three independent sources prevails in order for information to be considered "verified"--to be worthy of the word "integrity."  When evaluating information dealing with world politics, veracity is assessed on the basis of independence from government.  Evaluating information on the World Wide Web, the type of website on which the information appears is a basis on which integrity is assessed.
     When assessing world politics--global affairs--several questions need to be posed.  First, does the government limit what may be covered.  A cynic might say, "Of course, they do.  What do you expect?"
     I prefer further exploration.  My questions are these.  Does the government have an information ministry?  Does the government have a culture ministry?
     Are there institutions within the government that allow for appeal of limitations imposed on sharing informations?  These institutions do not guarantee the availability of trustworthy information.  But, they do improve the chances.
     What sources of information does the government deem trustworthy, as evidenced by links on their websites? For example, are foreign governments, or foreign press organizations included among the hypertext links on the website?
     Currently, I must confess, I am intoxicated by trying to identify information sources with integrity--websites that represent a wide variety of viewpoints.  I am a long way from being up to date with the content of each of these websites.  Yet, I do believe it is a starting point.
    I am reminded of elementary school grammar lessons.  In the 1960s, the emphasis was on composing a cogent paragraph, which is built upon a topic sentence.  That instruction was given simultaneous with the development of the Internet--the structure upon which the World Wide Web flourishes today.
    We are sloppy in our use of several words--Internet, and the World Wide Web.  The Internet is not the content--the information--we consume online.  Rather, the Internet is the structure that the Department of Defense was instrumental in developing.  In contrast to the Internet, the World Wide Web refers to the free exchange of information globally.  There is a second generation of the World Wide Web.
   Social media is at the heart of the World Wide Web's second generation.  Blogs, wikis, Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn, and YouTube are among the examples of social media that are in our midst.  I must confess that I had disdain for social media.  Given time, I recognize that my gut reaction to social media has been rooted in how it is used, rather than at its existence.  My disdain needs to be replaced with discernment.  I think the reverse is true as well.  Social media enthusiasts are called to be discerning.  How may I use social media most responsibly?  Leisure is a responsible use.  I don't mean to cast a dark shadow over social media.  My concern about social media use centers more around uses that violate the character and integrity of any human being, or idea.
     Hopefully, we may choose topic sentences, rather than sound bites.  May we be selective, and deliberate in the information we consume.  May we listen keenly, rather than settle for white noise in our environs.

One Voice

     Today I learned that my words have traveled around the world, without my ever leaving St. Paul, Minnesota in the United States.  I reached out, and my words reside with one person in Canada, Croatia, Denmark, France, Ghana, Hong Kong, Russia, Singapore, Sweden, and Vietnam.
     That is humbling.  Not so much because of any grand message I offer, but, more because technology has enabled us to touch one another beyond our physical reach--that is humbling.
     Without being embraced, technology is no spectacle worth celebrating.  Yet, when we stop....look around, and listen to our own hearts, we may learn what we believe--what we wonder.  Technology welcomes our beliefs' wonderings--our curiosity's questions.
     I do not know by name the world citizens my words have touched.  I never may know the depth of the impressions that I left.  Yet, to leave any impression is a beginning.  More often than not, we hear of peoples--of countries--who do not listen to one another.  It may be they do listen to one another, but, if they do, they do not discover a way to co-exist.
     Croatia?  I confess that my one-time sharp ear to world events has dulled to conflict.  I do not know how to
     What do I know of Denmark?  One short stop through Copenhagen's airport many years ago...one week hosting a Danish social worker during his visit to Minnesota....these are the bird's eye views I have had of Denmark.
     What of France do I know?  A bratty teenager's short visit is my limited view.
     Of Ghana?  To my chagrin, I know only that she is located in Africa.  Ghana joined the United Nations in 1957.  But, of people, of the culture, I know nothing.
      What do I know of Hong Kong?  A distant relative lived in Hong Kong at one time.  Yet, all that his experience left me to believe was that its pace is fast.  That is telling of little--at least little of depth.
       Sweden.  Of Sweden, I know little.  She is a Scandanavian country.  As such, my Norwegian roots fill me with a fondness for the progressive perspectives toward living that Swedes share.  Yet, I am chagrin to say I know little.
       Russia.  Ah, Russia.  I have come close to losing a family member to Russia several times.  No, I am speaking of no threat to bodily safety.  Quite to the contrary.  In 1967, Russia was just beyond Alaska on the map.  I swear.  Long before we had heard of Sarah Palin, Russia captured the imagination of  family members.  Five trips have ensued over forty years.  Russian love remains a family passion.

Where in the World Are They?

     World events--2011's current affairs--call for a new vocabulary.  Recently, a fun test was sent to me.  The test? A blank map of Africa with country borders was accompanied by a list of corresponding country names.  The object? To drag the names of the appropriate country, so as to assess geographical knowledge.
     I offer you an entertaining, insightful challenge.  Try the test for yourself.  http://www.rethinkingschools.org/just_fun/games/mapgame.html
Don't worry about being wrong.  Keep trying.  I did.  I did not get the countries correct without making mistakes.  Yet, the test heightened--heightens--my desire to be more attentive than I have been.
    Beyond current affairs that demand our attention are longer-term--more subtle--news.  The daily stock exchanges provide barometers of confidence in world affairs.  State and national monthly unemployment statistics represent additional barometers.  Barometers of what?  Outsourcing.  International trade imbalances.
     Outsourcing and trade imbalances should direct our attention to India, and China.  Cheaper labor, and the form of government.  India is a democracy.  The Republic of China is a communist state.  The Chinese government has firm control of the direction of the country's economy.  I confess to knowing less of India's economy.  I do know that significant outsourcing of computer work has been outsourced to India--keying of data into electronic form, and software   But, I don't know how or why it is that India plays the role it does.  The Philippines is another player in the outsourcing jigsaw puzzle.  The Philippines provides large U.S. corporations with a source of cheap labor to achieve data entry of print data into digital form.
   Our questions will be ever-present.  If we are to have any hope of developing an understanding of other countries, it is essential to have a foundation of primary sources upon which we may refer for information.  Whatever U.S. media is our daily white noise may alert us to pressing issues facing the world in which we live.  Yet, if we do not have reliable native sources of information, we are at the whim of U.S. media, who have bureaus in other countries.

Dependence's Reconciliation

     What will dependence demand of me to reconcile?
     I have never been good at reconciliation--my bank account--my physical needs.  Neither have been my strengths.  I had a strong inner sense of both balances.  My bank balance has been more stable than my physical balance.  I knew the limits of both--or so I thought--so, I did not waste my anxiety on balance--on those balances.  I lived within my means--or so I thought.
     Ray--I am too young to be called "Grandpa"--spoke treasured words to me in the last years of his life.  My grandmother having died, Ray lived with us.  Listening to this beloved storyteller share his life experiences, I knew the younger alterego of this shy man had quite a temper.  He had deeply ingrained stereotypes not softened by age.  So, his words are all the more treasured.  "When I die, don't feel sad.  I have made amends with everyone I had differences with.  Ray was no scholar.  But, Ray was brilliant in his understanding of reconciliation.  I try to live by Ray's words.  Yet, I do better in reconciling with others than I do in reconciling with my self--with my body.
      My physical balance is changing.  My stamina long gone, my physical balance demands my attention.  I am called to reconcile my life's accounting--my balance of independence at one end of the teeter totter and dependence at the other end.  I have tried to brace myself for the radical changes that lay ahead.  Literally, I brace myself from my foot to my calf--you could say that I am on the right side of bracing myself.  I am physically.  Time will tell whether I am on the right side of bracing myself fully for the future.
    Physical balance demands putting one foot in front of the other.  Physical balance demands deliberation of movement.  Balanced living demands of me now deliberation of mind.
    Yesterday's step toward balance was to answer the second of three questions. "What will dependence demand of me to reconcile?"  
    My question's posing was to an independent contractor, whose product and services I was seeking.  I accepted that he had the mechanical knowledge I needed.  I presumed that to be enough to meet our mutual needs.  Yet, I was surprised to be told that I did not need to do a certain task.  He  seemed to dismiss my need.  Would the electric wheelchair enable me to open doors, get through my bedroom door, most notably?  I know my weakness for defensiveness.  I tried to disrobe myself of any defensiveness.
     I am willing to hear that I may not be able to accomplish a given task--perform a given maneuver--with this machine--with this alien entering my life.  I may not like the answer I am given.  But, I must ask the question if I am to be able to accommodate my life to a changing body.  I must receive answers.
     I may not be able to be independent as I have known myself to be for 50 years.  Yet, if I am to proceed with any semblance of independence, even if I am not, I need to know.  If all independence is taken from me, I need to know so that I make other arrangements to live differently.  For now, all of my independence is not being taken from me.  Yet, I do need to have as much information as possible to allow me to do a different form of life planning than I ever imagined.  I did not have a full appreciation of the partnership--the co-conspiratorial relationship between cerebral palsy and aging.  I could put my head in the sand.  I could ignore--deny---the issues, considerations, and questions that my future may call me to address.  But, I cannot fixate myself--every day's breath--with anxiety regarding what is to come.  I am called to acknowledge what I may not like now, while I have such a deep sense of love and support from family, friends, a worshiping community surrounding me.
      What will dependence demand of me to reconcile?