Yes, I Want To Erase History

In the current debate over statues of confederate leaders one of the objections has been, “You just want to erase history.” I’ve not heard the most obvious answer to that.

Which is, yes.

Erasing is what we do when we’ve made a mistake. In this case erasing doesn’t mean pretending that the Civil War never happened, as if the battlefields of Gettysburg would let us do such a thing. In this case, erasing means acknowledging that an interpretation of history was incorrect.

More properly said, it is erasing mythology. It’s a mythology so beautifully displayed in Gone With the Wind – the noble Lost Cause, the valiant fight for states’ rights.

And not a word about slavery.

It is erasing a mythology that says that white people are better than black, that white people should be in charge and make the decisions and keep themselves separate from blacks. Separate and truly not equal.

Lest you doubt that this is the mythology supporting these monuments, consider that many if not most of them were erected in times of civil rights struggles, both at the turn of the century and in the 1950’s. They celebrated not the sacrifice of war dead but the worldview for which they died: whites are better than blacks and should be able to determine where those black folks went to school and where they sat and where they ate and where they relieved themselves.

Look, we are erasing and revising all of the time. Sometimes it’s because our knowledge is always incomplete and as we learn more, we have to erase as fact what we once thought to be true. For example, I was taught in school that by a certain age our brains were fixed. We could lost brain cells but could not add to them. That’s what everyone thought.

And it wasn’t true. With new imaging possibilities, we’ve learned that our brains are capable of making new connections throughout our lives.

Sometimes we revise as act of repentance, realizing that what we once held not only wasn’t true, it wasn’t right. It wasn’t right to deny black children the same educational opportunities as white children. It wasn’t right to treat black folks as less than human because they are just as much beloved children of God as the whitest Daughter of the Confederacy. It wasn’t right, even though preachers of the time argued that it was what God intended.

And it isn’t right to put upon a pedestal people who fought to keep another people enslaved. Move the statues to the museums where they can be put into a context. Erect statues of people who fought injustice, not those who perpetuated it.

Lest you think this is just another knee jerk liberal writing this, let me tell you a little bit of my history. As a proud Virginian, my grandmother had two portraits on the wall of her house: George Washington and Robert E. Lee. I grew up seeing Gone With the Wind every year when it came around to our movie house. As a teenager I loved going to the Salem College bookstore because there  I could buy books about the Civil War, including a biography of Lee. I have lived my entire life south of the Mason-Dixon line.

My ancestor was wounded at Gettysburg, fighting for the Confederacy. And my ancestors owned slaves. In a surviving will provision is made for one of those slaves.  I own that part of my family history but do not celebrate it.

Let us declare the mythology for what it is. And let us continue to write a true history.

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Free preview: When You Can’t Find Your Way Home

Free preview: When You Can’t Find Your Way Home

(Today I’m giving you a peek into my free Heart Callings group on Facebook. Each week I share a reflection. You can join us here.)

“God told Abram: ‘Leave your country, your family, and your father’s home for a land that I will show you.’” (Genesis 12:1, The Message)

Many years ago I was working in my home office when I noticed the dog trotting up the street. And then down the street. And then up the street. Looking from one side to the other. Always staying in my portion of the block.

I could almost hear him thinking, “I know it’s around here somewhere.”

I stepped outside and called to him. Without hesitation he came dashing over to me, tail wagging. Without a word, he curled up gratefully on my welcome mat.

It didn’t take me long to find his home. He was a rescue, newly adopted by my next door neighbor. He’d gotten out but didn’t yet recognize his new home.

Joan Chittester writes that in order to have creativity we must first have confusion. We must have the confusion of the old structures no longer standing, no longer serving their purpose. Like Abram, we must leave the home of all that is familiar in order to receive God’s promise of all that is being made new.

The structures and beliefs that once served us may have brought huge blessings to our lives. I grew up as a Southern Baptist. Although now I don’t claim them (and they sure wouldn’t claim me), I recognize that I received many blessings from that structure (not the least of which was a top notch seminary education that cost next to nothing.) Over time, however, they changed and my beliefs changed and we no longer fit together. I can bless what was without having to cling to it.

Lest our structures – and even our beliefs – become our idols we must be willing to let go of what was and what no longer serves.

Sometimes Christians get nervous when they hear someone talking about changing their beliefs. The person in question is branded as less than faithful and possibly heretical. But it is more heretical to make a god of our beliefs and to forget that we always know in part. This much that we know now – it may be exactly the faith we need at this time in our lives. But God always calls us forward. Sometimes that means traveling to a new place in our lives. Sometimes that means traveling to a new place in our hearts and souls… and minds.

We don’t embrace change for the sake of change. We (sometimes grudgingly) face change because God is not done with us. We have to endure the confusion of not being certain in order to allow the space for Spirit to do her creative work.

In the meantime, however, we can feel like my canine friend. The old home is no longer here. But we don’t recognize the new one yet. We dash from one end of the block to the other, hoping to hear Someone call our name.

The testimony of faith isn’t that we never leave one place for another. Just ask Abraham and Sarah about that. The testimony is that we never journey alone. God always goes ahead, preparing a place for us.

Catching up

Catching up

A couple of quick notes:

I have another blog over at heartcallings.com. I invite you to check out (and share if you like) my Good Friday poem.

This morning I ventured into the world of Facebook live. For some reason the saved video is full of trembling, but hopefully we’ll have the issue fixed tomorrow. You’re invited to join me at 7:30 am on Holy Saturday.

And if you can stand the shaking, check out my thoughts about Good Friday and grief from this morning.

 

 

 

One Person. A Hundred Monkeys.

One Person. A Hundred Monkeys.

I got the sad word today. My friend and mentor Sharon had died.

I met her many years ago when I arrived for her five day workshop for abuse survivors.  (She’d staffed and trained staff for Elisabeth Kubler-Ross’ Life, Death and Transition workshops.)

Sharon scared me that week. And yet also made me feel safe. She pushed me to go to places I wanted to avoid and pushed me to do work I didn’t want to do. And when I survived all of it I began to hope that healing was possible.

So I kept going  back to workshops.

I was convinced that telling parts of my story would be the end of me. She pushed, and I told and far from being the end of me, it was the beginning. When I needed to wail with the grief deep in my bones, it was Sharon’s hand on my shoulder keeping me grounded, reminded me that I wasn’t alone.

At the close of one workshop Sharon said, “Perhaps one day after you’ve finished your school (I was getting my graduate degree in counseling) you’ll get the training and work on staff.”

Of course, I didi just that. I did my training and then started working as an apprentice in workshops. What an honor it was to be working with that staff. And what an amazing learning experience. It is no exaggeration to say that at least 75% of what I do as therapist I learned from working with them: Sharon, Shannon, Connie, Nancy and David. They were all brilliant and they taught me things about working with wounded people that can’t be learned in a classroom.

Sharon had a masterful intuitive sense and an absolute commitment to what it took to hold a space safe enough for people to do such deep work. As staff, we could do what we did because we knew Sharon was there. She held the safe space for all of us.

She insisted that being on staff meant taking care of your own stuff first. And it meant taking care of any issue that arose between the staff. We had to be clear with each other before we could work clearly with participants. She also taught me about knowing when to say goodbye, retiring her Safe Harbor Workshops long before anyone wanted her to, but also before she grew tired of doing the work.

She was smart and wise and most of all, loving. She (along with the rest of the staff) changed my life. I’m in private practice today because when I finished grad school, I didn’t want some boss saying I couldn’t take a week of vacation to staff a workshop. She made me an infinitely better therapist and a healthier person.

Staffing was hard and demanding work, but such rich work. Being able to share in it along with that staff is one of the greatest blessings of my life. The gift of it still fills me with wonder.

I know Sharon touched hundreds of lives. Through the work that I do now, both as a therapist and as staff of a similar grief workshop, her influence and her work flows on to many more people.

At the close of each workshop Sharon told a story. It was about the hundredth monkey.

The government started studying animal life on a group of Pacific Islands. They noticed on one island monkeys started washing their food. It spread one to another – monkey see, monkey do. That wasn’t so remarkable, except when the number of monkeys reached a critical mass (for simplicity, we call it the hundredth money), monkeys on another island began washing their food.

“We never know,” Sharon said as we stood in our goodbye circle, “who will be the hundredth monkey, who will be the one to be the tipping point.”

On days when I feel discouraged by the amount of need I see and the seemingly impossible mountains before us, I think of that story. And I press on, for who knows who will be that person to be the hundredth monkey, the one voice that begins to tip the scales in favor of love.

I’ve seen it happen, you know.

I’ve seen a stranger step into my life and tip it in ways beyond my ability to dream or to imagine. For such a life, and that it touched my life,  I am grateful

 

 

 

For the love of God, put the screen down

For the love of God, put the screen down

I was safely ensconced in an easy chair by the fireplace, headphones blocking out most of the chatter around me. On Friday mornings I like to go to places like Panera to take care of tasks like writing, email and yes, blogging.

A different kind of sound that filtered through my headphones caught my attention.

At a nearby table a dad was reading a book to his preschool age boy. The kid’s face shone with the wonder of the story and the anticipation of what was going to happen next.

And maybe with the delight of a bagel and book with his dad.
Maybe such a thing shouldn’t be considered the stuff of heroes but don’t ask his son that. For myself, I’d like to nominate him just for the rarity of the sighting. Far too often  when I’m out and about I see parents and kids and sometimes entire families sitting at tables in silence, heads bowed before their individual screens.

What could be more important than the people you love?

For God’s sake, for the sake of the God who created us to be in community “(it was not good that man should be alone”) put down your phones and shut off your tablets.

Not all of the time. But when we’re with each other.

Because the cat video is probably going to be there later.

Because our time together, while seeming long while we’re living it, in truth passes as fast as a minute. Friends move away and family members die and the presence we took for granted becomes absence.

Because we cannot know each other if we do not tend to each other, and if we do not know each other our connections will always be stunted, falling short of the depth and richness they could bring.

Because that person on the other side of your screen is created in the image of God and may have something to teach you, something to give you, something that encourages you or something that surprises you.

For the love of God and the love of God’s children, put the screen down. There’s a little boy who needs you to read that puppy story again. There’s a spouse who needs you to see them, really see them. There’s a friend who has chosen to spend their precious time with you.

For the love of God, put the screen down.

 

 

 

 

Traveling together through Lent

Traveling together through Lent

Growing up Southern Baptist, Lent wasn’t a really big deal. For us, the holy action didn’t start until Maundy Thursday of Easter week.

As I got older, we got a little more ecumenical and a lot wiser.We started observing Ash Wednesday and having events like lunchtime lenten services. What I’ve learned is that the more I am faithful in this season of preparation, the more meaningful Easter is for me.

There is scholarly disagreement on the actual origins of Lent. A quick Google search will bring up articles as diverse as directions for fasting to explanations as to why it’s a pagan observance shunned by true Christians.

For many of us, Lent is a time when we call ourselves back. We call ourselves back to putting spiritual practice at the top of our to-do lists, instead of in the “if there’s time” section. For some that means more times in prayer or meditation or scripture reading. For some it means reading books that challenge, uplift and encourage their faith. For other is means taking specific actions, whether it’s doing something for someone or making a change in how we live our lives. For some people it means letting go of something… sweets, TV, Facebook or gossip.

For all of us, Lent is an invitation to let ourselves rest in the lap of the God who loves us more than than we can say. It is brushing away the cobwebs to see ourselves again as children of God – flawed and struggling and sometimes falling down on our faces… but beloved children nonetheless.

This year I’m offering a Facebook group, Heart Callings through Lent. Each day I’ll post a brief reflection and you’ll be free to respond, if you so choose. (It will be a closed group so that your posts won’t be public.)

Come and join us. You can read more and find the link here.

 

The most embarrassing thing I’ve done… this week… so far

The most embarrassing thing I’ve done… this week… so far

Monday morning.

I’m rather proud that I’m getting an early start on my lengthy one mile commute to the office.

Briefcase packed, cell phone in my purse, jacket on – I’m ready to go.

Except I can’t find my keys.

keysI usually put them on a coat rack just inside the door. They’re not there. They didn’t fall to the floor beneath the rack. I check my pants pockets. I paw through the dirty clothes to check the pockets of the clothes I was wearing the previous night.

I check the kitchen counters. The dresser in the bedroom. I check in every room of the house and then I do it all over again. No keys.

By now it’s time for my first client who, thankfully, is running behind herself.

As I try to figure out the mystery of the missing keys (thank you, Nancy Drew) my hand brushes against the vest I’m wearing. It’s a cute vest, and being as it’s from Eddie Bauer, it has lots of pockets.

One of which holds my keys.

I still beat my client to the office and all is well.

Later I thought about what a great life parable that was. We search high and low for something while in reality, it’s been with us all along.

We read a hundred self help books. We talk endlessly with friends and family and coaches and therapists, all in a quest to find that missing something.

Direction. Peace. Hope.

The great family therapist Virginia Satir was completely flummoxed after World War II. She began seeing people who’d survived Hitler’s camps. She was overwhelmed by their stories and felt completely helpless to help them. She thought about it and meditated on it and even prayed about it.

What could she offer to them?

One day she realized that she’d gotten it all wrong. She felt helpless in helping the victims of those camps but in truth, they were survivors. If they didn’t have some kernel of strength inside they wouldn’t have made it through, much less making it to her office.

Her job was to help them reconnect to that strength. Her job was to reconnect them with what they already had inside but had just forgotten.

(If there is a single story that guides my work as a therapist, it’s this one. If you’re able to make an appointment and make it into my office, you have more strength inside you than you know)

We run hither and yon looking for answers but never take the time to stop, be still and listen to our own voice of wisdom. We’ve gotten disconnected from that voice through the years, or maybe we never had a chance to connect in the first place.

If you want to start listening, journaling is a great way to start. Ask that wisdom to write a letter to you, and see what it says.

You may need someone else to help you listen, whether a wise friend or good therapist. We learn early on to discount our own wisdom so it helps to have someone who can provide a different perspective. Or tell us if we really are full of it.

What keys have you tucked away in your pocket? 


Need some inspiration for your reflection? I’ve just launched a Kindle version of my devotional book, Strugglers, Stragglers and seekers: daily devotions for the rest of us.

If you order by February 14, you can save $3.00. Find out more here.