Poster Cures

     I do not ask for cures--not for poster cures, at least.
     Poster children may raise money for research.  Research leads to cures.
     Yet, poster children play on other people's guilt.  Poster children are perched on the pinnacle of, "she is worse of than you are."
     Research is very worthwhile--it is a necessary endeavor.
     Yet, how do I reconcile poster children--their pinnacle--with the benefits they bring to research.  How can we reconcile poster children with the benefits they enable through research.
     Cures do nothing to address PAST anguish.  Cures ignore anguish of today.  I cannot seek cures at the cost of other's pain.  I may not hide between emotions of sorrow or pity.  I may not hide behind the pain others feel.
     Maybe...just maybe...if I raze the roadblocks of pity and sorrow each day, I may help another person to alleviate their pain--the pain of this day, of this moment.
     I may not hide behind "underprivileged--behind "those who are worse off than me." 

Mermaid Chronicles: Katy Lyons

     In the 1960s, a woman with graying brown hair wrapped in a bun, and horned-rim glasses came into my life.  Each week, Katy Lyons parked in our driveway, and carried a green and black exercise mat to our basement.  For an hour, she stretched my right leg.  Under the pot lights in the basement, she laid the groundwork for a stronger leg on which I could stand.  Katy flexed my right foot, and my right hand.

    With her firm hands, Katy gave me a gift.  A muscular yawn.  To my foot.  To my right hand.  A gift was given--a muscular yawn.  It felt so good.  The muscular yawn came slowly.  Yet, when it came,  oh, it feel so-o-o-o good.

     As any kid, I wanted little part of Mom's directive, "Do your exercises."  Memorable to me was the exercise to sit on the hearth in our living room, and propel myself up to a standing position using my right hand and arm.  Although the exercise felt good when I did it, I bored of it quickly.

     Where is my hearth? 

     This morning, this Mermaid entered the pool at the Y.  Buoyant bar bells, and hand paddles were beyond  temptations I could resist.  The only resistance I felt was from the water.  Amazing.  Absolutely amazing.  With the bar bells, I could push my right arm straight down in the water.  Feeling my right arm extended straight was amazing.  Absolutely amazing.

     Katy Lyons.

     I thought of Katy this morning.  What would she say?  How fun it would be to share it with Katy.  Yet, Katy died in the 1990s.  An occupational therapist I met with several years ago knew Katy.  The therapist and I spoke with warmth about a woman, who dedicated herself to children.  Katy dedicated her life to helping kids stand tall--to stand proud--to stand with appreciation.

     Thank you, Katy.

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? 

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.

Wheelchair User Has An Urgent Message for Drivers

Patty Thorsen just wants to exercise, go to the library and volunteer in her community.  But every time she leaves home, Thorsen feels like she's taking her life in her hands.  She asked 5 EYEWITNESS NEWS to come along for the ride.

Thorsen may be headed forward, but when we watched her crossing Seventh Street in Saint Paul, her eyes were aimed directly at the cars approaching from her right.

"I try to make eye contact, talk to them," she said.  Her goal, making sure drivers see her when she's in the crosswalk. "I just have to trust them."

But Thorsen's trust is wearing thin.

An illness forced Thorsen to start using a wheelchair last spring so this is brand new to her.  She contacted us, saying she's had many crosswalk close calls over the past six months.  So we went with her, watching her cross street after street.

In less than two hours, we saw several examples of drivers cutting through the crosswalk while Thorsen was still in it.

"It scares me!" Thorsen told us.

At one point, a large box truck accelerated, ducking just behind her.

"Sometimes drivers think that I'm not going fast enough," she said.  She wants to tell them, "Hey!  You've got my life in your hands!  You're a lot heavier than I am!"

"Whether that's a marked crosswalk or a corner or an intersection, a pedestrian has the right of way," said Officer John Keating of Saint Paul Police.  In other words, if there's a person anywhere in the crosswalk, drivers have to stay back.

"Being aware of your surroundings and certainly being as visible as possible is certainly something pedestrians can do to keep themselves safe," added Keating.

But even with an orange flag flying above her chair, we saw, time after time, drivers skirting around Thorsen.

"That does create a safety hazard," said Keating.

It makes Thorsen angry.  "I wanna swear and I do swear at them."

Her patience is wearing thin. She hopes drivers will see this story and give her and the thousands of others like her a little more space.

"I can't just stay inside because I'm afraid of somebody running me over."

Click here for crosswalk laws and safety tips from the Minnesota Safety Council.

Click here for crosswalk laws and safety tips from the Minnesota Safety Council.

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.