Mercy

CNN has about wrecked me.

I have cried more over the news in the last 6 months than I have in the last several years combined. Images of planes shot down, of towns torn up over unarmed young men being shot dead, of evil in the form of knife-wielding executioners, of mamas desperate enough to send their babies alone over hundreds of miles to a country where they might, they just might, survive. And then those babies being jeered at and harassed and condemned as criminals and threats because they don't have a piece of paper declaring them "legal," the kids' harassers often being people who identify as Christians, as those whose aim is to model their life around the example of one called the "Prince of Peace?"

This all could kill me.

During one of my early years of teaching high school, when I was overwhelmed by the unmet needs around me, frustrated with the overarching attitude of apathy, and ground down by the lack of pretty much everything, I came upon the book of Micah. At the end of the prophet's rant against the Israelites, he asks this question: What does God want from us? To a people who have been very religious, sacrificing animals in order to "please God," the prophet says this: He wants you to act justly. He wants you love mercy. And he wants you to walk through life with a spirit of humility. All else is religious garbage.

So I watch the news and then ask: What does justice look like? Where can I show mercy? What issues do I need to address with humility?

Sometimes I need to speak up; Often, I need to shut up.

*************

One day my kindergarten teacher passed around foreign currency, naming the countries in which she'd traveled and acquired those coins. She placed coins in my five year old hands, and God placed wanderlust into my heart. He opened up my eyes to see that the world was big: so much bigger than Waterloo, Iowa or the good old U. S. of A.

So I traveled, and in traveling I saw God: In the field of sunflowers that stretched for miles as I discovered the French countryside on the back of a motorcycle. In the blue glaciers of Alaska, and in those military kids who had lived in 3 or 4 places before landing at Elmendorf Air Force Base, those kids who showed love freely and quickly. In the curiosity of kids in Sibenik, Croatia, whose classroom became a place of healing after the horrors of war. I saw God in the vastness of the ocean and in the confines of a rotting dump where Filipino kids live and scavenge, scrounging for their next meal.

And I met God: In the midst of a mess of tears and brokenness, on the hallway floor of my St. Paul apartment. I was a 25 year old almost-divorcee at the end of herself, and God was there.

And God showed me mercy.

To whom much is given, much is required.

So when I see those Honduran and Salvadoran kids, their eyes big and fear-filled, their bodies small and scared, and I watch grown men with signs in hand protesting the immigrant children's arrival, their faces twisted in anger and hatred yelling "Illegals get out!," my heart wrenches. I imagine my girls, 8 and 9 years old, I imagine them on that bus. I imagine that the tables are turned, that they had to flee, and that this was their welcome. And my mama heart has to shut it down, because I just. can't. go there. THERE.

And so I speak up. I sign petitions, I email lawmakers, I join advocacy groups. I google "foster parents/unaccompanied minors," but I close the computer screen in frustration with the bureaucratic bullshit that one must battle in order to do some small good, something that might help just one child.

So I do what little I can, and then I do what I must: I pray.

I pray for those kids, that they would feel secure. That someone would reach out and love them. That God would answer the prayers of their mamas back in Honduras and El Salvador and Mexico, that those kids would be safe, that they would have a hope and a future. That mamas in the United States would shut off their TVs, silence the voices of the talking heads who have made their livings by fomenting fear, and listen to the truth of their childhoods: Jesus loves the little children, all the children of the world, red and yellow, black and white, they are precious in his sight.

Jesus doesn't care about a line marked on a map, he cares about whether we followed his lead: loving the least of these, looking through eyes of compassion, living to love and serve those on our path, those characters who make their way into our story.

**********

And then there's Ferguson. It exploded last night, figuratively and literally, and immediately, Facebook was inundated with posts responding to the grand jury's decision. I read them with a heavy heart, because of the despair that so many were feeling and because of the callousness that caused some not to feel at all. I remembered seeing a tweet a few months back that said this: The next time a national tragedy happens, rather than spout off on social media, everyone who calls themselves a Christian should sit in silence and pray for 7 days.


As a middle-class white woman, I think this is good advice for white people right now. Let's all just shut up. Because I can't speak to the experiences of black people. I don't know what racial profiling feels like. I don't know the humiliation of being suspect. all. the. time. I don't know the fears of black mamas, worrying that their kids, the sons they birthed and raised and loved beyond love might be mistaken as a threat, that the slightest twitch or move might justify a bullet. I don't know that kind of pain, and I have no business minimizing it.

Instead, I sit and cry and pray.

And I realize this: We are still paying for the sins of our fathers. Families that were torn apart and sold as chattel to the highest bidder, that weren't allowed to marry because that would mean that they were human beings with rights, that watched as the women--mothers, daughters, grandmothers--were dragged off and raped--those families? Their residual brokenness has been passed on from generation to generation to generation. Some have been able to rise above that brokenness, but many have not.

And we are responsible. White people are responsible. I am responsible.

"No justice, no peace," they chant, but there will be no justice, because no punishment would suffice, and really, who do you punish? The perpetrators are long dead, leaving their legacy behind.

No reparations would be enough. No amount of money could buy back decades of slavery, no monetary value can be placed on the lives of those who were enslaved.

So, Ferguson? I'm going to shut up, because I just. don't. know.  I don't, and I can admit that.

All I can say, in humility, is "I'm sorry." Again and again and again, "I'm sorry."

And I pray for peace.

To My Mama: Who Rocks Yellow Pumps While Handing Out a Smack Down

For some, it's the yellow pumps, the heels the first thing they notice, the thing that sticks out in their minds.

For others, the red lips, the touch of animal print, the cuffed boyfriend jean that's cooler than what you'd see on your average grandma. For that matter, on your average mom.

But, you see, she's more than those details, she's much more than a beautiful facade, my mama. 

In no particular order, 60 reasons I love my mama:

1. She is a reader--of the most important book, at least. And she's a doer of what she reads.

2. She can rock yellow heels while detailing my van (ask the neighbors if you don't believe me).

3. She would always put on makeup and lipstick and change out of sweats before dad came home from work. She taught us the importance of not letting ourselves go.

4. She showed love in little ways. She bought me Mary Kay eye shadow and Lancôme mascara when I was a teenager, even though I'm sure they were a splurge.

5. She prays without ceasing. She is often found in her corner chair reading her Bible and praying.

6. She showed me the value of female friendships. I remember countless days and nights when she caught up with girlfriends over cups of coffee at the kitchen table.

7. She let me start drinking coffee in 5th grade.

8. She adores dad.

 

9. She adores her daughters, even when we gave/give? her reasons not to.

10. She worked her butt off when we were kids. Between babysitting, working at a daycare, working the concession stands at football games, and selling mini-donuts at humid, sweaty, exhausting fairs, my mama showed us the value of work.

11. She had/has our backs. . .and every now and then her "Pippy" side still comes out .

12. She was "granola" before it was cool. She fed us healthy food, made us homemade bread, didn't let us drink pop. She tried to make us brush our teeth with baking soda.

13. She forgave us when we flubbed up Mother's Day. Every year.

14. She wanted more for us than we wanted for ourselves. Especially in the boyfriends we chose (or were those just the boyfriends I chose?)

15. She lives out grace. When I called home to tell her that I was separating from my 1st husband just a year after she and dad spent thousands of dollars on a big wedding, she never said "I told you so." Instead, she drove to Minneapolis and helped me move.

16. She has amazing mother's intuition.  . .which I think is great now, but I didn't appreciate quite as much when I was a teenager.

17. She tracked me down when I was places I shouldn't have been.

18. She disciplined me. She spanked me, she grounded me, she knocked me upside the head a few times, and she threw me across the bed at age 19. . .all because she loved me and I needed it.

19. She took me to Hy-Vee the day before my 16th birthday and waited while I interviewed, she celebrated with me when I got a call and a job offer the next morning, and she shuttled me back and forth from work for months until I got a drivers' license.

20. While she's never understood my wanderlust, many times she has funded it.

21. She flew to Saipan when I had my first baby. She stayed with me after dad and Amy flew home, even though it meant flying halfway around the world alone. She didn't panic when a typhoon extended her stay even longer.

 

23. She adores her grandkids.

24. She disciplines her grandkids.

25. She feeds her grandkids really healthy food.

26. She supports my dreams. When I wanted to teach overseas, she said "go." When I wanted to stay, she said "stay." When I wanted to stay "just one more year," she replied "Don't say 'just one more year.' Just tell me when you're coming home."

27. When I came home 8 years later, husband and 2 children in tow and no job, she said "stay as long as you need."

28. She worries about (and then prays for) all of us. The image of her, counting our passports over and over again, making sure none were missing, as we traveled through Croatia to Italy and back again will forever be engrained in my memory.  I believe she spent that trip in perpetual prayer.

29.  She encouraged my love of the written word. She let me spend Saturday mornings lying in bed, poring over the newest "Sweet Valley High" or Danielle Steele book.

30. She sacrificed and saved and made a way for me to take voice lessons and ballet lessons, to go to summer camp, on missions trips, and to college.

31. She watches TBN like it's CNN and puts up with me teasing her about it.

32. She is generous and thoughtful. If she is given something nice, she wants me and the sisters to have it, too. Thus, the Burberry scarf and Louis bag and countless other things over the years.

33. She sacrifices to be generous. I still remember her putting my pink suede homecoming outfit (really) on layaway and paying it off little by little until we took it home.

34. She puts the smack down when the smack needs to be put down (see aforementioned throwing across the bed at age 19).

35. She goes above and beyond to be an amazing grandma and mama. For years she drove two hours to Des Moines every Wednesday to take care of her grandsons. In spite of being more of a homebody, she flew half way around the world three times to see me. She and dad have been known to get up before the crack of dawn to drive 5 hours to see one of the girls' early morning soccer games.

36. She has helped me scour almost every home I've ever lived in, including spending hours scraping grease off of cupboard doors (no kidding) when we bought our first home.

37. She's my go-to person for fashion advice (you've all seen her, right?)

38. She and dad taught me and my sisters how to paint. . .walls, houses, fences. . . at an early age when we "helped" out at their rental properties.

39. She has a great laugh and a beautiful smile, which she gives freely. 

40. She has taught each of my three children who's boss.

41. She is elegant and scrappy at the same time.

42. She has spent 41 years making me believe that I can do anything I put my mind to. . .even becoming the president. Hey, if Sarah Palin had a shot at VP, I could, too.  Right, Mama?

43. She is nice to everyone. . .until they cross her husband or kids. Then out comes Pippi.

44. She sat through hours of what must have been painful band concerts, choir concerts, and talent shows. She didn't cringe when I played the oboe (at least not outwardly).

45. She invested her time into the lives of teenagers. She let all of our friends hang out at our house, along with dad taught the high school Sunday school class, and showed us by her attention that we were valuable. Her example may be why I love teenagers so much today.

46. She has great perspective and can very quickly cut an issue to its core.

47. She lives out what is important: Her faith, her marriage, her family and friends. In that order.

48. She forgives readily.

49.  My friends all want to be her friend.

50.  She is an example to me and the sisters of how to love our husbands well.

51. She is living a great chapter in God's story. Through hard work, an amazing attitude, and the grace and favor of God she has lived beyond the brokenness of her upbringing.

52. She is faithful. . .to God, to dad, to her kids and friends.

53. Years of her life were spent knee high in the laundry of three daughters; I only remember her throwing said laundry at us one time.  

54.  She can make anyone look good, but more importantly, she makes others feel good about themselves.

55. For 43 years she has been dad's cheerleading section. Her daughters and the world around her have noticed. Dad wouldn't be who he is without her.

56. She rocks high heels (hot heels, according to my girls) like they're flats.

57. She has great discernment. She can always tell if something is wrong or if someone is not who they appear to be.

58. When life gets messy, she keeps on walking, keeps on loving. She makes everyone around her stronger.

59. She makes me want to be a better mom, wife, friend and woman. She has set the bar high.

60. She is the epitome of the woman described in Proverbs 31: "Her children rise up and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praises her: 'Many women have done great things, but you surpass them all!'"