Pro-choice

Why I am pro-choice: Being pro-choice allows every woman to make the highly personal decision to terminate or keep a pregnancy. Given the wide variety of situations that individual women are in, I cannot presume to know what is best. Choice should be their right as a person.

Men have the choice to walk away from women they have had sex with. There are no biological consequences to this act. A woman cannot 'walk away' from a pregnancy. She can either choose to try to bring the baby to term or choose not to (note that not every pregnancy produces a live child-- miscarriage, accident, and severe birth defects are all things that are outside of the mother-to-be's control and may result in the loss of the baby).

In short, there is enough about having children that we as humans cannot control, but the choice to continue a pregnancy once it has begun should ultimately be made by the woman who will pay the biological price. There are as many reasons to have children or to not have children as there are women, men, and families. There is no one rule that will cover the the rich diversity of that experience. That is why I believe that choice is of paramount importance.

Wheeling along

Here's a story:

When I was in college I was in a volunteer group that was run by my friends.

Lacking much in the way of practical experience we 'created' several different ways of managing our all-volunteer group, We were trying to meet self-imposed deadlines for a creative project. We spent _literally_ years reinventing basic governance structures-- discarding one and creating something else when we didn't seem to be meeting our goals.

One of our older friends took over running the organization and he put in place some very basic rules and procedures. He had professional experience in the field we were doing volunteer work in. His suggestions stopped us from flailing around and gave us the time and energy for the creative part of our project.

Experience saves time and allows energy to be put into the 'fun' part of an organization.

It was a real light-bulb moment for me to see what basic tools like agendas, standing committees, and planning meetings could do to transform an organization in a positive way.

I'm not saying those tools were a magic bullet-- it is more that a little expertise (from a source we trusted) allowed us to find and focus on the mission of the organization and cut down the amount of time we were spending to figure out _how_ we would do something.

I'm don't see this as a top-down solution, just that re-inventing the wheel is a lot slower than getting the plans and adapting the existing wheel design to your needs.

'Tis the Season on Facebook...

'Tis the Season on Facebook for those "Keep CHRIST in Christmas" memes. These type of copy/paste postings annoy me for two reasons: the inevitable 'repost if you are not ashamed' or '96% of people won't repost' passive-aggressive guilt-tripping that is tagged onto the end of the message; and the lack of thought it takes to re-post them. If a person feels strongly about a topic, I would much rather hear about it in their own words with specific examples from their life than read a canned message that someone didn't even bother to proofread.

In that spirit I was inspired to think about why the "Keep CHRIST in Christmas message" provoked such a strong reaction in me. It was so strong I started writing a fairly rant-laden response to the person that posted originally. I thought the better of that and posted my rant to my own Facebook page. A few hours later I was surprised to find that a number of people had responded in the comments—apparently I wasn't alone in my reaction to the "Keep CHRIST in Christmas" message.
Here is what I wrote (edited for clarity):

"Personally I think the best thing is to live Christmas while at the same time being respectful of other religions. Having a winter holiday celebration is not unique to Christianity and in many cases we (the Christian religion) poached a local religion's holy day when Christianity moved into certain areas.

The Christmas season has become a cultural holiday and many family traditions remain associated with it. I'm not ashamed of being a Christian but the best way I can show that is not by trying to 'defend' Christmas but to live in the way that Christ taught, 365 days a year. I also respect the choices friends and family have made to be atheists, taoists, agnostic, christian, and pagan. Many of them live in ways that are closer to Christ than what I see of 'Christians' in the media. "Christmas" is a holiday (and holy day) that humans made up. We don't know exactly when Christ was born, so now he is 'born' during the darkest time of the year (in the northern hemisphere) when the sun is just about to return.

Christmas is a creation of people and should not be the center of Christian worship. The season has been a secular tradition for a long time now. We co-opted other religions holy days and 'saints,' now it's our turn to have our holy days co-opted by the secular majority. It is perhaps an good exercise in eating humble pie and being reminded of how the first Christians started out with just bread, wine, and the word."

This still sums up my feelings on the matter. Since the time I wrote this response there have been other, more pithy and more humorous takes on the situation. Jon Stewart riffed on it (and on what religious freedom really means) on the Dec 6th edition of the Daily Show and counter-memes have sprung up on facebook.
I love Christmas. I set up my nativities starting the first Sunday of Advent (and move the holy family, shepherds, and wise men around as the events of Christmas play out in the readings). This year I'm breaking into my son's legos to make a protestant nativity < http://staff.science.uva.nl/~leo/lego/nativity.html> . This is my way of living into the story of Christ. My pagan housemate loves setting up our 'Christmas' tree every year. She picks the tree, lights it, and pick the color scheme for our holiday decorations (she is a designer and it comes through in everything she does). I would never tell her she couldn't set up a tree and enjoy the holiday because she is not a Christian. Not only would it be the height of rudeness, but it does not do anything to share the message of Christ.

Back in 2005, I went to Norway to visit my relatives and practice my Norwegian (which I had spent the previous 3 years learning). I knew going in that they were religious and that the branch of the family I would be staying with were active missionaries. I was thrilled to have the chance to stay with them, but also nervous that they would not find me 'Christian' enough and would try to convert me to their specific dogma. Within the first 24 hours of my visit, I was relieved of that fear completely. They were religious, but they lived it rather than tried to tell me what to believe. We did have some discussions about religion but they were interesting and stimulating, not off-putting or conversion-oriented. I still remember a conversation about grace that their college-age daughter and I had, partly because it was in Norwegian and I was so pleased that I mostly understood a complex discussion that taxed the limits of my vocabulary. The visit was wonderful and they were lovely hosts and very supportive of me and my attempts to keep conversing in Norwegian even when I was struggling.

A year or so later, they were in Seattle for a day at the end of a visit to the US and I got to take them around and show off a bit of my home to them. I took them to the last day of Folklife (a huge, free, festival at Seattle Center). We toured around, listening to music and watching some dancing, before we stumbled across a Christian protest group. I don't remember what they were on about, but they had signs and were of the 'you're all going to hell if you don't convert' variety. Intrigued, my relatives went over to talk to them. I hung back and watched. A fairly animated conversation ensued (my relatives are fluent English speakers). When we got back together, my relative shook his head and said that he had explained to the leader of the group that their methods would likely not be an effective way to spread the gospel.

I found it fascinating—particularly since I had originally thought that my relatives would be much more like the protestors than they turned out to be.

From this encounter I learned the difference between living the gospel, and shouting about it. My calm, quiet, faithful family caused me think about Christ much more than any protestor every has (or will). My little nativity scenes (or Christian action figures) allow me to show the story of the birth of Christ to anyone who is interested. My son and I have had more conversations about religion as a result of him asking about why I hide the baby Jesus until December 25th, than from any sermon he has heard at church.

Sharing the story of Christ is something that should happen every day in the way a Christian lives. Telling people they 'should' do something in order to be saved, in order to celebrate a season 'correctly', or in order not to go to hell is never going to be as effective as living your life in the open and letting others see Christ in you 365 days a year.

(This was originally posted at the Episcopal Cafe on Dec 13, 2010)

Follow-up

Recently, I was asked if my essay "Powerful Birthdays" could be republished at the Episcopal Cafe. I agreed, and am pleased that more people will get to see it.

I wrote it a few weeks after the hijackings on 11 September that lead to the destruction of the twin towers in New York City, the Pentagon, and the crash of Flight 93.

It is both odd and sad that I have a "where I was" memory of this event. I am old enough to remember where I was during the loss of the space shuttle Challenger, but that memory is fading over time-- party because I was in High School, and, other than the loss of the shuttle, it was an unremarkable day.

On the day of the hijackings, I woke up before dawn and couldn't get back to sleep. This is not a normal thing for me. I'm a night person and usually only see the dawn if I have been up all night.

I don't remember when I learned about the attacks. I can't remember if I heard about them before leaving the house and deciding that it would be best to go into work and be as normal as possible, or if it was after I got into work.

I do remember the strange, jittery sensation of experiencing something unfold around me. It didn't help that my office was on a major thoroughfare and that, on a normal day it was not unusual to hear the sirens of police, ambulance, and fire services multiple times in one day, and this was not a normal day. Every time a siren shrilled its way past our building it made me jump.

I remember my Mom calling me to let me know that my brother was okay. He not only worked in Washington D.C. but on those days that he took mass transit in to the city, one of his stops was the Pentagon station. That day he had driven in to work and he spent hours in the car trying to get our of the city and home again.

I don't remember anything else about that day. The feeling I remember from that day is one of trying to carry on in the face of something too large to comprehend. I also remember a feeling in the air that the best thing we could do was carry on as if nothing had happened. That there was nothing we could do to help, other than hold down the fort, as it were. Everything that could be done on the east coast was being done by the people there-- the best thing for us to do was to stay out of the way (and off the phone lines).

A few weeks later I wrote my essay and it is still what I believe, but I won't be surprised if several years from now, my son (who is 10) looks up around this time of year, rolls his eyes, and says 'this again'-- meaning TV specials marking the event, the NFL marking it on game days that fall on or near the date, and people like me saying "I remember where I was when..."

That moment will likely not be relevant to him and will feel like we are just tearing open old wounds the same time every year, because that is how I felt every year around November 22 when all of the "Where were you when Kennedy was shot?" memorial moments would replay in our national consciousness.

When I was much younger, I used to think that there should be an expiration date on such memorials. (I was rather callous when I was younger.) I thought that five or ten years were enough, that lowering the flag for every national tragedy in perpetuity would only lead to having our flag at half-mast year-round.

One of the things that changed my mind was a movie. Several years after the attacks, I was taking Norwegian classes and we watched the movie "Cool and Crazy" which is about a Norwegian male chorus from a small town in northern Norway. Not long after we watched the sequel, Cool and Crazy: On the Road. I was warned in advance to bring tissues.

It turned out that the choir had come to New York in October 2001. After deciding to go ahead and come on their tour, they took the opportunity to talk to people in New York about their feelings after the attack. That section of the movie made me realize how devastating the attack had felt to people living there in a way that no American news coverage had. It also shows the contrast between the physical and emotional devastation of the attack sites and the relative normality of much of the rest of the country.

It is a very jarring film to watch because the viewer emerges from the intense atmosphere of New York after 9/11 to the wide open spaces of a beautiful fall in the Dakotas and on to California. One moment a man who survived being bombed as a child in Norway during World War II is comforting a woman who could see the towers fall from her apartment and the next that man is on a bus to a harvest festival in the mid-west.

But that is the way life is-- jarring and full of contrast. There is no one right way to experience the aftermath of such an event. I just hope the children of my son's generation will give us time for our memories but that we will not force them to carry our memories into their futures.

Erratic Orbit

Today I got up, dressed for church, left on time, arrived early only to find...

...that today there were no 1030 services-- today was the day of the Church picnic.

Now I don't go to church regularly, but the priest had called us to see if we were thinking of becoming regular members of the parish and we'd said yes. Have we received any other information from them? No.

Does their web-site say that there are no services today? No. (There is a listing for "Church picnic" under events but no time, date, or location is given.)

Do I feel bad that it is currently pouring down rain and I am indoors with a nice cup of coffee and my computer? No.

However, I have a new description of my status as a church-goer-- I'm a comet in a highly erratic orbit and you never know when my path will cross with an actual church service.

Faith Formation Through Fic Reading

I'm the type of person who can find deep meaning in a bowl of cereal and I love reading, so its not surprising that much of my thinking about religion comes in the form of the books I read and how I respond to them. This time around I've been reading a mix of fiction and non-fiction.

Non-fiction

“Meditations on Violence: a comparison of martial arts training and real world violence" by Rory Miller
I had the opportunity of watching a presentation the author gave on how police are trained to handle potentially violent situations while balancing competing needs. I found him to be a compelling speaker, so when I found he had a book out, I bought a copy. It is a quick read and packed with useful information and interesting insights. In fact, I would recommend this book most highly because so much of it comes from the author's personal experience-- as he says in the introduction: “This book is about violence, especially about the difference between violence as it exists 'in the wild' and violence as it is taught in martial arts classes and absorbed through our culture.” As someone who does not have much experience with violence first hand, I found his book to be engaging and thoughtful. He explores the difference between the structured violence of sport and the wild violence of an ambush as well as talking about the effects of both short-term and long-term exposure to violence. I really appreciated that the author seemed to stick to what he personally knows--whenever he would touch on aspects of violence where he did not have first-hand knowledge he was up front about it.


The Year of Living Biblically by A.J. Jacobs.

I bought this book on spec at Powell's books during one of our pilgrimages there. Especially given the bro-ha-ha in the Episcopal Church over biblical literalism and inclusiveness, this looked like it might be a light-hearted take on subject. I was not disappointed. The author has a lively writing style and is perfectly willing to poke fun at himself and some of the situations he gets himself into as a result of trying to follow the bible's 'rules' as literally as possible. However, this book surprised me with its depth. It is one man's spiritual journey-- all the more interesting because he starts from a secular understanding of 'faith'.

Fiction

Castle Waiting written and illustrated by Linda Medley

This story of Sleeping Beauty's castle re-imagined as a refuge for those with no other home and populated with classic fairy-tale elements is a lovely story about community and all the little acts it takes to make a house (or in this case a castle) a home. A series of linked stories introduces the reader to both the castle and the people who call it home. The stories range across the characters lives, showing little bits and pieces of the roads travelled to arrive at Castle Waiting. The detailed artwork makes it worth several close reads as more details emerge as one knows to look for them. My brother gave me this as a gift and I greatly enjoyed reading it. One of the characters that I found the most interesting is a nun with a strange sense of humor and a knack for telling stories. Her story of life in the circus and then in an unusual order of bearded sisters is a light-hearted but meaningful look at what it means to be a person of faith.

Hair for Life

I was watching a keynote speech Bill Gates gave where he talked about two problems: malaria eradication and creating good teachers. During his talk he mentioned that more money is spent every year on hair loss products than on malaria research. I found that shocking (but I watch enough late-night TV not to find it surprising).

I understand that our society has stereotypes about baldness that can undermine a persons sense of self worth. However, it occurred to me that if we could divert even a fraction of the money that goes to the hair restoration industry into malaria research it would make a real difference in the lives of millions of people.

My own husband has a dome devoid of hair-- he had to grapple with what hair loss would mean to him at a young age. He decided not to worry about it and, quite frankly, it made him even more attractive as far as I am concerned (but then I am biased).

What if we could divert some of the money that goes to the cosmetics industry to disease research and prevention?

I'm not trying to single out just folks facing hair loss. There are many people (myself included) who spend money on products and services to make us look better (and thus feel better and more confident). Is there a way for those of us who are fundamentally healthy to pull back from our focus on 'curing' our imperfections and, instead, focus our money and an attention on those who could be saved from debilitating illnesses with proper research into the medical and logistic ways to halt the spread of disease?

Some facts about malaria (from Episcopal Relief and Development):

--a child dies from malaria every 30 seconds.
--malaria infects 500 million people a year.
--malaria kills over 1 million (mostly children and pregnant women).

--a one month supply of Rogaine, a tube of brand name lipstick, a jar of anti-aging cream all cost more than one mosquito net and the training to use it to help prevent mosquitoes from infecting a family with malaria.

And malaria is not the only disease out there whose eradication efforts could use a boost. So the next time I consider plunking down money for a new cosmetic I am, at the very least, going to match the funds with a donation to Nets for Life or some other group working to prevent malaria.

How much more beautiful or handsome will we be if we can walk through the world knowing we laid our vanity down on the altar of sacrifice and gave another person a chance at life?

In God we Trust

I was visiting a lovely church in Manzanita, Oregon for services one Sunday. One of the bible passages appointed for the day was the parable of the hired hands from Matthew 20:1-16 in which a landowner hires workers throughout the day. At the end of the day he settles up with all of the workers, paying them all the same amount, regardless of how long they worked.

This has always been one of the difficult passages of the New Testament for me. Every time I came back to this story I would be on the side of workers who had been hired first thing who were asking why they were only being paid the wages agreed upon at the beginning of the day while all the other latecomers were getting, essentially, a bonus for working a shorter day. Not only that, but the landowner has the latest workers paid first. The early workers see that those workers are getting a full day's pay and think they might get more than originally agreed upon. When they are only give the day's wage they are disappointed.

While I was listening to the sermon, I reread the passage printed in the church bulletin. When the first workers are hired the passage says “After agreeing with the laborers for the usual daily wage, he sent them into his vineyard.” When the later workers are hired the passage reads: “'You also go into the vineyard, and I will pay you whatever is right.' So they went.” What struck me is that the first workers bargain with the landowner and make a contract, which the landowner later fulfills, while the later workers take the landowner's offer that he will pay 'whatever is right' on faith. He could have paid them anything-- prorated the day's wage, paid them piecework, whatever he felt was right-- they were leaving it in his hands.

When the early workers grumble that the later workers have been made equal to them without having put in the same amount of work the land owner makes two replies. First he says: “'Friend I am doing you no wrong; did you not agree with me for the usual daily wage?” The contract is fulfilled. He goes on to ask the early workers, who are feeling wronged: “Am I not allowed to do what I choose with what belongs to me? Or are you envious because I am generous?”

Usually the focus of this passage it on the last line-- the summary of the parable “So the last will be first, and the first will be last.” However, I found that the last question “are you envious because I am generous” is what leapt out at me. The early workers made a contract and were paid accordingly. The later workers, some of whom had been waiting to be chosen for work all day, were grateful for anything they could get. They made no contract. They gave their work and trusted to the promise of the landowner that he would pay what was right at the end of the day. When the end of the day came their trust was rewarded by the generosity of the landlord. All were paid for a day's labor.

Now, with a human landlord, a contract is a very good idea but in the the beginning this parable is introduced in the following way: “For the kingdom of heaven is like a landowner who went out early in the morning to hire laborers for his vineyard.”

The parable is describing heaven. Those who trust in God to do what is right will see that promise fulfilled. Those who make a contract with God will see their contract met. God keeps faith with both.

All are equal through God's grace but some of his workers feel betrayed by his generosity. Even in the kingdom of heaven, it seems, people will still be people and feel envy, greed, despair, and disappointment. The landowner levels the playing field by providing all of his laborers with a day's wage but that does not magically transform people into generous, loving souls.

Those who are confronted with the question: “are you envious because I am generous?” are left to reflect on how it could possibly hurt them for others to be raised up in grace when they have already received full payment for their work. While those who trusted in the promise of 'whatever is right' are left astonished by the generous payment of the landowner.

And so I ask myself, who would I rather be-- the laborer who feels slighted at being paid in full for a day's labor? or the worker who was picked last, who despaired of finding work, and who ends the day showered in the joy of unexpected generosity?

Contracts are fulfilled but faith is rewarded.

Halloween Rising

Halloween has been central to my life since before I can remember. I was born within a few days of October 31^st and have had an affinity for the holiday ever since. It is one of the most creative times of the year for me and it holds a special place in my heart.

In kindergarten I took to wearing my queen cape (a ratty piece of blue fabric) and tinfoil crowns to school every day. I was Queen Kristin and apparently was not going to let anyone forget it. (I apparently skipped over the whole 'princess' stage-- going right for the throne. My mom still has one of my first legible writing samples-- I was Queen Kristin there also.)

I remember several of my Halloween-themed birthday parties when I was a kid. I don't know if they were annual events or if the one or two I can remember just stand out in my mind.

By the time I got to Junior High School I was making my own costumes. My sewing skills were always out stripped by my imagination, but that never stopped me. The one time I branched out and helped a friend make her costume was much more successful-- not only was she recognizable as a nun, she won third place at the costume contest at the school dance. My own costume-- Guinevere from the King Aurthur legends did not fare as well.

Wyoming weather offered an additional stumbling block to the would-be costumer. It invariably snowed or dropped to 20 degrees below zero on Halloween. It is very difficult to float about in the diaphanous robes of Aphrodite while wearing snow boots and a heavy coat. I remember leaving my coat with my mom walking up the drive to show off my handiwork to a bewildered neighbor (“Now what are you, dear?”) and scampering back to wrap myself up for the walk to the next house down the block.

During that time in my life, the candy was just a bonus, what I really craved was the connection I felt when someone guessed what my costume was.

When I went off to college I was lucky enough to meet and become fast friends with a fellow costume fiend. While I still favored obscure themes and characters, she helped me learn how to sew (I bought my first and only sewing machine while in college-- it still runs to this day) and more importantly she taught me how to research an idea and refine it-- a skill that can be applied to other creative endeavors.

It was also in college that another Halloween/birthday tradition got started. Another friend, on a whim, made a piñata and brought it to my birthday party. The man who was to become my husband figured out how to rig it between our balcony and a tree so we could take turns swinging at it blindfolded-- eventually cracking it open, without too much damage to the local flora.

Now I have a nearly-10-year-old son who has had a Halloween costume every year (he was a frog when he was 10 months old (a green sweat suit with 'Kermit' style ping-pong eyes sewn to the hood of the sweatshirt). By the time he was going-on-three he was giving “Aunite” (my college-costume-friend and now housemate) detailed instructions on what his costume should look like. Kitties ruled for several years, then dinosaurs, last year he was a preying mantis and this year he will be the Lorax who speaks for the trees.

The penchant for dressing up never left me. For all that I sometimes felt stupid, insecure, or awkward when I would go out Trick or Treating as a child (and particularly as a young woman) the impulse to create always overwhelmed those other, more negative feelings. Each Halloween was a clean slate, a chance to try again and see if I could do better. When I got to college and found like-minded friends I blossomed.

My birthday party has evolved into a Halloween party for family, friends, and neighbors. And while the theme changes every year we always have a piñata. Auntie and I consult on the design, I build the armature and do the mache work. Auntie paints it (frequently with help from my son) using her theater background to bring flour and newsprint to life. My husband rigs the piñata for hanging in our carport and once the party is underway, gives the annual safety lecture before we blindfold our guest and let them swing like mad at our joint creation.

Prudence

I am on the Island of Iona with my mother. We are midway through a trip that started in the south of England in Torquay and will end with our return to London to fly home.

One of the subjects under discussion at we amble about has been stupid things we have done over the years. My most recent memorable stupid moment was about two years ago when I decided that I could manage to roll my mini-van down the driveway in the dark after the battery had died. However, once I put the van in neutral and gave an initial shove it gathered momentum much faster than I expected and rolled into a tree.

Now all along, there had been a little voice in the back of my head saying, in a somewhat sing-song voice "don't do this, it's not safe." I ignored that voice and ended up having to replace parts on the bike rack that was mounted on the back of the van as it had cushioned the van when it backed into the tree.

I did start listening to that voice when the van rolled away and I did not try to leap into the open door and steer.

Today we decided to climb to the highest point on Iona. Yesterday I had nearly had a spill when I tripped on a pothole in Tobermory and my ankle got a bit twisted. Nothing too bad and it didn't hurt at all this morning, but as we climbed-- scrambled really--it started to complain a bit. So when we reached a wide flatish spot not quite at the top of the hill I decided that I had come far enough.

Mom decided to climb a bit higher but stayed where I could see her-- so she didn't get to go all the way to the cairn at the top either. As she climbed, I felt bad about coming all this way and not reaching the summit (such as it is), but I had a clear vision of other times I had not listened to the prudent voice in my head and suffered near-disaster as a result. I thought about risk and pushing one's limits-- was I being overly cautious? How would I find out unless I pushed on? What if I pushed on and then found out I had over done it? In short, I began to doubt my decision. Still, I stuck to it.

Mom climbed back down to where I waited and we descended together. I voiced my concern that I had held her up and she reassured me that each person on a hike has to be aware of their own limitations and not overdo it so that everyone travels safely.

I found that comforting.

In this case, while I did not make it to the summit of the hill, I did make it safely back down again and me and my ankle are free to continue having further adventures, thanks to the still small voice of prudence.