RSS

Category Archives: Public Topic, Personal Thought

Dear Grandfather, About Your Statue…

Image result for william moultrie statueI am the great, great, great, great, great, great granddaughter of Revolutionary War hero, Major General William Moultrie (the last man appointed by Congress to that rank).

Dear G6Grandfather,

We still talk of you. How you and your 400 men fought off 2,000 British soldiers to keep Sullivan’s Island from falling under their control. It’s a point of family pride that your victory in South Carolina encouraged and emboldened the men in Philadelphia who were penning the Declaration of Independence. You let them see that we could win our independence. We could fight and win. You did that.

I wonder if you know about the statue of you? It’s in White Point Garden in Charleston. Erected in June of 2007. You’re 8 feet tall and standing on a 7 foot pedestal. You’re hard to miss!

Yes, we remember you aloud.

But it’s harder to talk about other days of yours.

You enslaved people, G6Grandfather. How could you?

And don’t even start with all the excuses. Did you know we’re still saying them today? We are! We talk about how it was the culture then, and the necessary thing for the economy. We tell people that slavery wasn’t just a Southern thing and we spew out millions of words, thousands of deflections – many true –  even while we cringe inside. I hate this part of being a Southern woman.

You know what I’ve wondered?

I’ve often thought about your time before you were Major General William Moultrie of Washington’s great Continental Army. You know what I’m talking about. Yes. That time. That year before your heroic defense of Sullivan’s Island – I’m talking about the raid you led as colonel of the 2nd South Carolina Regiment.

Are you ashamed of that now?

No, that’s not what I want to ask you.

What I really want to ask is harder. It’s harder because as soon as I ask it, I answer for you with the words I desperately want to be true – an answer that could be true. It could.

G6Grandfather, when you killed those 50 runaway slaves and when you imprisoned the rest of the slaves you captured on that island – slaves who had run from plantations like yours to fight for the British on the promise that Britain would grant them freedom – did you see before you a British soldier or a black slave?

You know, every man on both sides of the family in the last generation served in a branch of this nation’s military. You’d be proud. The family dedication to the nation has stayed strong. We don’t talk much about the fighting they’ve done, either.

But I wish I could talk with you about yours. Were you killing enemies to the nation’s independence…or runaway slaves? What were they in your mind?

A year later, you killed British soldiers. White men, most likely. In doing so, you won a decisive victory that helped lead to American independence. Was your intent then the same as the day you killed the slaves?

Oh, Grandfather.

We’re taking down statues of men like you now. A white woman was killed by a white man who thought he was somehow “better” just because he’s white. Others of many ethnicities were seriously injured.

Do you agree that this is insane?

Do you fold in upon yourself, broken by the idea that this thought even exists? That you helped perpetuate it? How did you live in the dissonance of fighting for liberty while removing it from black men? How?

Oh, I want to scream at you! Why couldn’t you and those other men – good God, you were smart enough to start a nation! You thumbed your nose at a monarchy! – how could you not figure out a way to end slavery, too?! You all said how awful it was. You said it was an offense to God. You said it was breaking with natural law. And yet you were so scared to break the economy – so worried that it would cripple the nation and we’d lose our independence – that you let slavery continue.

You kicked that evil ball down the field for another generation to handle.

Why could you not be brave enough to end it no matter the consequences?

Don’t we say in our family to do good and let God handle the result? Couldn’t you trust that?

For Mother’s Day this year, my sweet Hubs surprised me with something I’d long wanted: a kit from 23andme. (It’s a DNA test that reveals your ancestry. Yeah, you’re not going to understand “DNA” either.)

Anyway, scattered within the expected British, Irish, French, Scandinavian and “Broadly Northwestern European” lay two surprises: 0.2% Native American (apologies, Aunt Ruth, you were right)…

…and there…

…the eyebrow-raiser…

…just a tiny little 0.1%…

Sub-Saharan African – West Africa.

Yep. I’m not all “white” (what does that even mean?). And, since I don’t know when or how that little 0.1% came to be, you may not have been either.

I love this part of me.

Would you have?

What would you say about the idea of taking down your statue? (Let’s assume you’re humble enough to not have wanted it in the first place. Work with me here, G6.)

If you knew that your statue makes citizens fold in on themselves, broken and hurt by the reminder that their family worked your land for your gain…what would you say?

I’m one of a lot of your granddaughters. Am I supposed to say something? Would you want me to?

You know, the best part of our family came from your line. Retta Moultrie. I’m named after her mama, Rebecca Hayes (your great granddaughter). Aunt Retta. Born in 1894. Oh my heavens, a better woman has never walked this earth. She helped raise me. Lived to be 102! I can still feel her little, wrinkled hand on top of mine as we sat on her velour couch, singing hymns together. I can hear her humming as I played with her white hair. I have three pillows on my bed that she sewed by hand. They’ve lost the smell of her but, every great long while, I can close my eyes and nearly catch the scent by memory.

She taught me to love people, G6Grandfather. All people. To be kind. Patient. Generous even when I didn’t have plenty. Lord knows she didn’t. If you were anything like Aunt Retta, you’d care deeply about the hurt that comes from the racial divide of today. A divide you helped cause.

I hope you’d also be relieved to see that slavery has been eradicated. We’ve found a way to be economically strong without it. We are a fully free nation. No monarchy. No ruler. The government by, of, and for the people that you and others created is still going.

The descendants of your slaves? They’re no doubt leaders today! Business owners. Doctors. Elected officials. Engineers. Scientists. Writers. Do you see how powerful freedom is? Look where we are! The last governor of South Carolina – the very state where you were governor for two terms – was a woman – an Indian woman! And now she’s the Ambassador to the United Nations!

Oh, G6Grandfather, we’ve come so far.

Thank you for fighting to create an independent nation. A nation conceived in liberty, still struggling to fully live in it.

Maybe your statue isn’t just a reminder of your Sullivan’s Island victory on behalf of the United States and its fight for independence.

It is also a reminder of that year before.

I need to remember you were both a hero and a horror.

 

 

 

 

 

Advertisements
 
1 Comment

Posted by on August 23, 2017 in Public Topic, Personal Thought

 

I didn’t “let you do anything,” sir (a declaration)

I am one of the many women you brushed up against in line. One whose waist felt your arm slither around and hold a bit too closely as you helped me into a vehicle. A female whose body you leaned into for a hug instead of a handshake, pressing your hand into my back so that my chest came into harder contact with yours. Those are my legs you ogled in a meeting because I dared to wear a pencil skirt. It’s my laugh you heard when you told me the racy joke. My big brown eyes that looked away over a lip-sticked smile when you made the flirtatious suggestion.

None of what you did was wanted.

None of it appreciated or invited.

But, like the Republican presidential candidate, I’m sure you believed one of two things: (1) she’s giving me cues that she wants this or (2) I can do this because I’m me and she’s her.

And did I kick up about it? Did I slap your face? Go to HR? Write a blog post, even? No. So that must mean I wanted it, right? Must mean I enjoyed it? Must mean you’re allowed to be this way.

No. Here’s what really happened:

You stared at my legs. I asked myself why I didn’t put on the slacks because I knew I had a meeting with men today. Then I berated myself for the idea of changing a completely acceptable wardrobe just because you can’t focus on business in a business meeting. Then I thought about moving to another seat, one that wouldn’t give you such a good view of my knees. Then I berated myself again for thinking of how to accommodate your ridiculous actions and how un-Sheryl Sandberg that is of me. Then I thought about just taking the bull by the horns and interrupting the entire meeting to say, “If you could stop staring at my legs, I’d appreciate it,” but then all the other men in the room would either think I was an ice queen or suddenly also become aware of my legs and the other women would withdraw from me, grateful it wasn’t them but eager to not be put in the ice queen territory, too. And then I needed to stop allowing myself to care that you were ogling me because I had valid contributions to make to this meeting that would be helpful to the project, so I turned away and worked.

Or let’s talk about how you do business hugs instead of handshakes – only with the women, of course, because you’re “a hugger.” So, you throw your big arm around my shoulders and pull me in, pressing my breasts against your chest and holding me there until you’ve gotten your fill, talking the whole time about how good it is to see me and how you’re looking forward to being a part of this project, blah blah. Since I didn’t slap your face, I must have “let” you, right?

“…they let you do it,” Trump told Billy Bush. “You can do anything.”

While you were busy getting your cheap feel, here’s what I was thinking: If I say something right here, right now, will I lose my job? Will this project go south if I embarrass him and he quits? He matters more to this than me because he’s the one with the money/prestige. If he leaves, his funding leaves, too and then we’re back to square one on this. Does it really matter if he feels my breasts for a few seconds if, in the end, we get the project done and it makes a positive difference in the world? My comfort level isn’t as important as getting the job done. This is just part of it. Part of working in a male-dominated industry. You don’t want to be “that” woman who can’t work with men and get along or you’re done in this industry, Rebeca. Be a grown-up. Smile. Overlook it. Stay focused on the mission. Laugh.

I did.

I smiled. I laughed.

You took that as acceptance and possibly even encouragement.

It’s no wonder you are confused by the female outrage over that Trump video. You’ve been hugging and ogling for years and you know dang well that women are fine with it because none of them has ever objected and most of the time we smile and laugh right along with you, right?

Let me clear things up here.

I fake smile and fake laugh so I can do my job.

I fake smile and fake laugh so that I can be effective in my role.

I fake smile and fake laugh so that I don’t get fired.

I fake smile and fake laugh so that I have relationship capital.

I fake smile and fake laugh so that you’ll keep working on the task.

I fake smile and fake laugh so that I don’t slap you.

I fake smile and fake laugh so that I can be a team player.

I fake smile and fake laugh so that the situation will end and I can get back to business.

I fake smile and fake laugh.

And you see and hear acceptance, even invitation.

 

If Donald Trump becomes president, your belief system on this will be exemplified by the leader of the free world. Suddenly, the sexual innuendo, flirting, hugs, touches, and ogling will be even more acceptable because, hey, that’s how the president gets things done and it worked for him, right? Married to a topless model, living in the White House, millions in the bank – the guy is the epitome of Man of the World and what man doesn’t want to be that?

So I wanted to be clear right here, today. Make a declaration, even.

You touch me, you flirt with me, you treat me as a sexual being that you are entitled to access, you’re getting called out on it. It shouldn’t require me to sacrifice my career, but that’s a length to which I will go now. Why now? Because the threat level has risen with every defense of Trump’s behavior that I have read on Facebook and Twitter or listened to on the radio or watched on television since that video came out.

I don’t walk in a room and stare at your penis. I don’t crack jokes about its size or call it by derogatory names because I’m not thinking about it at all. I don’t picture how you would be in bed. I don’t try to determine if you want me. I do not even care that you are capable of sex. I’m not interested. At all. Ever. Even a little bit. No, not even that much. The door is closed. There is no crack in it. No window for you to climb through.

Your sexual nature is not wanted.

Not even if you’re famous.

Not even if you’re rich.

Not even if you’re the Republican party’s nominee for President of the United States.

You want to work together like two adults who are talented, intelligent, resourceful, and can get the job done? Bring it. Let’s do this thing. I am all over that like white on rice. You wanna joke and kid while we work? Absolutely. I love a fun workplace. You wanna explore ideas and brainstorm about how we can do this job better, how we can enrich the culture of this country with the stories we bring them? Holy heaven and hottest hell, yes, I am down for that.

But check the rest of it at the door. I’m not going to quit genuinely smiling just because you walk in the room and mistake it for sexual invitation. I’m not going to quit genuinely laughing because you find it sexually attractive. I like to smile. I like to laugh. That’s for me, not you. That’s me enjoying the amazing life I get to lead and the adventurous career I have – it isn’t an invitation for you to be a part of it in any way but a colleague.

Thanks for letting me set the record straight here. Whew, I feel lighter already, knowing I won’t have to have those internal debates anymore.

Now, let’s get to work.

 

 

 

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

The Hillary Outcome: Use Your Words

 

Setting aside that a female will finally be in the White House (YAY! – not that I’m thrilled Hillary is the standard bearer), I’ve at last put my finger on what I dread about four years of a Clinton presidency. And, in naming it, I’ve realized it’s not altogether a bad thing.

Photo credit: HillaryClinton.com

Photo credit: HillaryClinton.com

The entire nation will be forced to pay attention to word choice again. Remember the hours that were given to debating the meaning of the word “is” when the Clinton/Lewinsky stuff went down? It’s already starting with Hilary. Every time she has referred to herself as the “first female presidential nominee” she has been careful to include the phrase “from a major party” as well. That makes it true. Those who ignore the tacked on phrase raise all kinds of hullabaloo on social media about how this is yet another lie from Hillary. But, well, it isn’t – not the way she said it.

And this is how it’s going to be for four more years. She’s going to say something. Everyone will lose their minds talking about how it isn’t true. Everyone else will scream back the exact words she said and how they are, indeed, true. And no one will come any closer to speaking about and working on things that matter.

We’re going to spend four years dickering over semantics.

Four years.

Discussing word choice.

Parsing terms.

I’m a word lover, which makes the coming reality a not entirely bad scenario. I’m thrilled we will pay attention to our language and (hopefully) say what we mean or (at the very least) realize that SHE said exactly what she meant.

But I’m sad that we’re going to lose sight (if we ever had it) of poverty, income disparity, racial tensions, sexual harassment in the workplace, terrorism, human trafficking, hunger, and other serious issues rampant in our nation. That will be the loss of the Clinton presidency: ability to have a truly national conversation regarding situations that matter.

And that leaves me sad because one thing women in the workplace are known for is an ability to get everybody to the table, talking, working together despite differences.

How ironic that the first female presidential nominee from a major party lacks the one characteristic necessary to govern modern-day America.

 
 

Tags: , ,

Language, people!

“Evil.”

“Liar.”

“Ugly.”

“Stupid.”

“Moron.”

“Terrorist.”

“Traitor.”

That’s a small sampling of the descriptive words I’ve seen used by people who describe themselves as Jesus-loving folks. When did it become okay to be so mean? To be clear, I’m aware that there’s always been meanness – I’m asking when did it become socially acceptable? Specifically, when did it become acceptable for Christians?

Does the anonymity of a screen really give us the right to go there?

Y’all, Jesus loves Barack Obama. He died for Barack Obama. And Hilary Clinton. And Bernie Sanders. And Donald Trump. Just what do you think God thinks of us – of me, of you – when we speak of people He loves as if they are evil themselves? Unworthy? Do you feel high and holy when you feel hate for these people? When you feel better than them? Smarter than them? Somehow more sanctified or more loved by God than them?

You aren’t.

God doesn’t love you more than He loves Barack Obama.

Yeah, Obama is making some decisions that are hurtful and harmful to people – decisions like creating an atmosphere easily taken advantage of by sexual predators. Please note I’m not saying people whose brains don’t jive with the physical reality of their bodies are predators. I’m saying a predator will pretend to be one of those people and can achieve his/her hurtful aim because of the situation created by Obama’s public school bathroom decree.  And Brian Cornell, the CEO of Target is in the same boat, sure.

But God loves Barack Obama. And Barack Obama has said, more than once, that He is a Christian. So has Hilary Clinton. I don’t know if Brian Cornell has, but…

…maybe we can start with just loving the people who say they love Jesus and are His followers. Maybe if we decided to act like we love people – the way our God loves them – we could be known for the ONLY thing the Bible says we are to be known for: how we love each other. (John 13:34-35)

Please sit in that truth, y’all. Please. The Bible gives us ONE THING to be known for in the world: how we love other people who say they love Him, too. “Love one another,” was said BY JESUS to John as a COMMANDMENT.

…(34) A new commandment I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so also you must love one another. (35) By this all men will know that you are My disciples, if you love one another.”

Now, I know a lot of us are motivated by love when we moan and groan about the bathroom thing. We love people, we see a very real opportunity for people to be harmed, and we want to do something about it. At least, I do. I’m a sex abuse survivor. You bet your balloons I’m fired up about that situation. The very idea that my precious little boy or girl could be harmed by a predator taking advantage of an opportunity created – well, my heart speeds up and I get all mad just considering it.

But Barack Obama isn’t trying to hurt people. Target is not trying to hurt people. The irony is that they’re trying to NOT hurt people – the people whose brains don’t agree with their physical bodies. Can we acknowledge that? Can we recognize that someone whose actions we vehemently disagree with can still be motivated from a good place?

Because, when we do that – when we act like the loving people we are supposed to be – then an opportunity for discussion blooms. Hackles lower. No one is “evil” or “stupid” or whatever. Everyone comes in the room wanting the best thing, the kindest thing, for everybody.

That’s how we roll, y’all. Those of us who love Jesus, anyway. That’s how we roll. We see someone as worthy of us dying for. Every someone. Someones named Barack Obama or Hilary Clinton or Donald Trump or Brian Cornell. And we say, “Okay, look, I think I may understand what you’re trying to do here. Let’s see if we can come up with a way to do that, but not cause the unintended consequence of giving predators opportunities to take advantage…”

Because the checker on the frontlines at Target is probably a Jesus-lover, too. (There are millions of us, so chances are pretty good.) Or maybe the checker knows nothing of Jesus other than His folks are boycotting Target. And she is just trying to make enough money to buy groceries and enough kibble for the little Yorkie back at the apartment. Or he’s just scraping together enough to take a girl out on a date this weekend and not have the car run out of gas in the process. THOSE are the unintended consequences of your decision to boycott. You hurt them. And surely nobody involved in that boycott signed it because they want to hurt people. They signed it because they’re scared people in bathrooms will get hurt.

We’re all trying to do something good – how about we stand on that common ground, be kind to each other, and figure out a way to achieve both ends?

How about we see people as God does – worthy of dying for – and speak to them and about them from that place?

 

Tags: , , , , , , ,

Sex and Self-Righteousness at the Superbowl

There is great wisdom in accepting that we are made in the image of a God who created with words. He spoke, things happened. We do that, too. We speak, things happen. We alter mindsets, outcomes, personalities, and people when we open our mouths and let words come out.

If you’re a parent, you know the power your words have over the formation of your child. If I tell my child he is unkind, unworthy, a failure, and ugly then he will believe these things about himself. The words I spoke over him become his truth and he feeds that into the world. But I also have the power to call him creative, strong, kind, gentle, and loyal – and watch as those become the bedrock of his identity and are poured out into the world.

So, when I consider what 118 million people had chanted over them by a beloved American celebrity – I cringe. I fear the outcome of individuals waking up this morning and humming these lyrics as they go about their work. This wasn’t a small concert somewhere. Not something that a tiny portion of the nation did or did not elect to hear. This was performed at the largest sports event in the nation, a part of the fabric of the culture here. Do you know the lyrics of the Beyonce song “Formation” that she performed last night? Here’s a sampling [warning: foul language]:

courtesy HollywoodLife.com

courtesy HollywoodLife.com

Oh yeah baby, oh yeah I, ohhhhh, oh yes I like that
I did not come to play with you hoes
I came to slay, bitch
I like cornbreads and collard greens, bitch
Oh yes, you best to believe it

I see it, I want it
I stunt, yeah, little hornet
I dream it, I work hard
I grind ‘til I own it
I twirl all my haters
Albino alligators
El Camino with the ceiling low
Sippin’ Cuervo with no chaser
Sometimes I go off, I go off
I go hard, I go hard
Get what’s mine, take what’s mine
I’m a star, I’m a star
Cause I slay, slay
I slay, hey, I slay, okay
I slay, okay, all day, okay
I slay, okay, I slay okay
We gon’ slay, slay
Gon’ slay, okay
We slay, okay
I slay, okay
I slay, okay
Okay, okay, I slay, okay
Okay, okay, okay, okay
Okay, okay, ladies now let’s get in formation, cause I slay
Okay ladies, now let’s get in formation, cause I slay
Prove to me you got some coordination
Slay trick, or you get eliminated

Verse 1:

When he fuck me good I take his ass to Red Lobster, cause I slay
When he fuck me good, I take his ass to Red Lobster, cause I slay
If he hit it right, I might take him on a flight on my chopper, cause I slay
Drop him off at the mall, let him buy some J’s, let him shop up, cause I slay

Cosmopolitan called this “the most perfect song since the Paleozoic Era…”

This is how we, as women, use incredible gifts like music and television? This is how we better the world? This is how we use the equal voice we have? By singing about sex and what we do to reward a man if he’s good at it? By encouraging people to, Get what’s mine, take what’s mine?

“Whoever hits you on the cheek, offer him the other also; and whoever takes away your coat, do not withhold your shirt from him either. Give to everyone who asks of you, and whoever takes away what is yours, do not demand it back. Treat others the same way you want them to treat you…”(Mark 6:29-31)

There is no power in selfishness.

No joy in being stingy.

No strength in taking.

No actualization of the mature self is found in demand.

Your best self doesn’t take; it gives.

Thankfully, the halftime show ended with Coldplay’s “Fix You” with slightly adjusted lyrics.

We gonna get it, get it together right now
We gonna get it, get it together somehow

The crowd held up signs that read, “Believe in love.”

“Love is patient. Love is kind. It does not envy. It does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking…” (I Cor. 13:4-5)

I wonder if Beyonce read those cards in the crowd? Did she feel a twinge – even a tiny one – that she’d just spewed self-righteous ugliness all over a crowd now encouraging millions to focus on the opposite of her diatribe? Did anyone at CBS pause and wonder if maybe this wasn’t the highest use of their ability to reach millions?

 

 

Win the Holidays? Really?

WBestBuy_WinTheHolidays_120hen I first saw the ad, I thought I must have misunderstood. Between the kitten being in his nightly Pyscho Cat mode (read: running all over the living room climbing lamps and curtains), the dog barking to go outside (he’s a basset hound mix with the deep bark to show for it), The Hubs banging pots and pans around in the kitchen behind me (thank God he can cook or we’d all starve), Firstborn practicing his trombone upstairs (man, that sound carries) and Darling Daughter watching an iPad at top volume in the chair beside me (headphones, gotta get her some headphones), it’s conceivable that I mistook the gist of the commercial.

“Everybody hush for one minute!” I yelled and pushed the rewind button. Darling Daughter pulled her headphones off to see what caught Mommy’s attention. Hubs paused. Even the kitten and dog calmed down for a second.


“….because when you give tech,” the voiceover intoned, “people won’t just love it, they’ll love you. Win the holidays at Best Buy.”

Oh. Okay. Guess I heard it right the first time.

“They don’t know what Christmas is about,” Darling Daughter said, and put her headphones back on.

“Wow. Talk about crass materialism,” Hubs said. “It’s not even tongue-in-cheek. They mean it.” He went back to food prep.

I shook my head. I may not get all up in arms about whether someone says, “Merry Christmas” or “Happy Holidays” but this is a bit much. Christmas is NOT about the presents, Best Buy and Aban Commercials. What a sad, isolating concept you’ve put into the world: buying love.

Christmas is about the human birth of One who would perform a selfless act for undeserving people that will stand forever as the Greatest Gift of All. It’s the only Gift that sets us free from selfish traps like materialism and competition to outdo each other.

“. . .but God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” (Romans 5:8)

That “Christ” is the One whose birth we celebrate at Christmas. We give gifts to each other as we remember the good gifts that were brought to Him upon His birth, and the best gift He gave the world.

Take a breath, Best Buy. Step out of the rat race, Aban Commercials. I think your soul took a detour a few miles back.

Things aren’t the thing. Why use your precious marketing dollars and broadcast time to promote such a sad concept? Your brand is (was) better than that.

 

Tags: , , ,

How Do We Respond to Confederate Flag Fighting and Other Brouhaha?

Okay, y’all, this flag debate has gotten past a momentary foolish distraction from a very real tragedy to dangerous levels of cultural cleansing of an entire people. Apple, Sears, Wal-mart…the rebel flag is even being removed from the car made famous in “Dukes of Hazzard”, the General Lee!

Girl with a laptop on the table

Is anybody else feeling as scared and undone and confused and exhausted as I am? Anybody spending way too much time in mental debate about whether to post something on FB or just let it go?

Ignorance is ruling the day because, in our media-obsessed culture, the loudest voice is granted “truth” status. Bandwagons increase exponentially when just enough lemmings hop on. Tipping points come early if the speaker knows algorithm tricks. The illusion of “rightness” is granted when the “views” or “comments” or “likes” numbers go up … which creates truth by perceived public opinion.

Seriously. Think about that. We’re determining truth about history – hard facts – by how many people agree with them.

We’re determining truth by people.

People who we truly love, but who don’t believe this if we disagree with them. On anything. Agh! So frustrating!

Consider yourself for just a second. Do you know everything about everything? (Me, neither.) Have an eternal view of existence so that all your judgment calls have proper perspective? (Don’t I wish.) Know what’s coming tomorrow, next week, next year, two generations from now? (If I did, this blog would be $2.99/minute to read.)

And yet we’re relying on each other to decide who gets a presence in the public square and who doesn’t? To “officially” determine what happened in history and why? We’re okay that opinions, screamed and repeated enough, become the “true” story of an entire people?

Are you kidding me?!

We don’t do this here. This is America, where we lay down our lives for the right of our fellow citizen to voice an opinion we do not agree with. An opinion we may even hate. Here, the standard is to talk and listen. We are not a country that silences with force those with whom we disagree.

Or, we weren’t a few days ago.

But there is comfort and it is this: Real Truth, lived one life at a time, one day at a time, one relationship at a time, speaks for itself. It cannot be silenced.

Truth, lived, cannot be silenced.

I’m not a consistent living example of it – only Jesus can claim that – but I am a consistent believer in it and a consistent get-back-up-and-try-again walker in it. And I truly believe that this is more powerful than screaming back at an angry mob.

So, I’m going to follow a quote I put on Facebook just a couple of weeks ago before the current cultural chaos began:

“There’s no spirituality in opposing a fool. We need only spend enough time on the matter to discern that [the individual]…is a fool and then get on with what God is doing.” (Eugene Peterson, Leap Over A Wall)

I’m putting the screamers in my rearview and continuing to be about what I’m about.

Acting justly.

Loving mercy.

And doing my dead-level best to walk humbly with my God.

I’m supposed to ask you at this point to “share” this or comment on it or link back to it on your own blog if you agree or have a reaction. That’s what I teach to writers, so they can amass a tribe and be able to get their viewpoint into the world. Put an ask at the end of your post. Because that’s the way of the world in which you’ve been placed. It’s being wise as a serpent yet innocent as a dove.

But I don’t want you to share or like or comment or link this post to get people to agree with me or you so that it’ll appear we have the loudest voice.

I only write this today because I needed to give myself permission to let the swirling arguments alone in favor of living in the real world. I needed to say out loud that my silence online isn’t a reflection that I don’t care about what happened to my believing brothers and sisters in Charleston.

I care too much to do anything but keep living.

And I thought maybe somebody else might need permission, too.

 

Tags: , , , , , ,