So I was writing about dreams for a while, and put this on my iphone but never published it (mobile blogging is really only helpful when I can't get to a computer. Otherwise, the kbd on my iphone is so small it's just annoying). Don't know when I wrote this, but it does seem that I'm starting to sleep more deeply -- I'm starting to remember that I have dreams. Like last night I dreamt something. I can almost see/feel it, but can't remember it. So the day I wrote this post, I titled it "more weird dreams." It said "Last night I dreamed that I saved a little puppy. Went to cuddle with it but its bigger sibling or parent sunk her teeth into my hand. she broke skin, but neither one of us was giving up. Turns out I shook the older dog off, and that's all I remember." Which remind me that last night's dream had something to do with disappointment or overcoming adversity or something like that, but I can't remember.
That's old stuff. What I really want to write about today is our kids. I watched the news this morning as I was getting ready for work, and it occurs to me that we Americans simply make pawns of our children. OK, maybe this is an opinion formed from watching Madea's Big Happy Family last night, but that's not what comes to mind. What comes to mind is the woman who committed suicide and killed three of her kids because she was mad at her husband, the same husband who forced the grieving, devastated families (and older son, of whom he was not the father) to have SEPARATE funerals for the mother and the children. As if that weren't bad enough, the idiot wouldn't let some members of the woman's family attend the funeral of the kids. The surviving child, from what I understand, attended his mother's funeral but not that of his siblings. In life, in death, and even in their funerals, these poor children were simply pawns in the arguments between a stupid man and a stupid woman. May God have mercy on all of them.
God never blessed me with kids. I'm thinking that I may do an Elton as I get older and adopt a kid, but thankfully as soon as the thought enters my head it is chased away. I like kids -- I love kids when I get to play with them for a while and they get to go home to somebody else. They are adorable and fascinating, but they're also a tremendous responsibility and a whole lot of work. I don't understand how people go around having babies at 16 and another at 18 and another at 23, and I sure as heck don't understand why I should pay to support those kids. No, you shouldn't make the kids suffer, but you also shouldn't allow people to continue to reproduce when they have no reasonable expectation of being able to take care of their progeny. Really. We don't let people borrow money if they aren't likely to be able to pay it back, and they have to have some sort of collateral. Why, then, do we allow people to continue to have children without any reasonable expectation of being able to take care of them?
That's an aside, but I'm not talking about just physically caring for them. What about the psychological wellbeing of our children? Really, folks. Yes, I think bullying is horrible. But kids are knuckleheads, and it's human nature to be divisive. I remember being not so much bullied as ostracized -- well, not really ostracized, but everyone thought I was weird -- I was a geek, I hung out with white folks and didn't hate them, I didn't have a dad at home, I lived with my grandparents, I was a "goody-two shoes," -- and I DIDN'T CARE what other people thought. That's what gets me about our kids today. So WHAT if they think you're too ugly or too smart or too fat or too gay or too this or too that -- why aren't we raising kids with enough self-knowledge, self-confidence, self-awareness, self-assurance that they can deflect that criticism and go on with their lives? I'm not saying you need to live with the bullies. I'm not even saying you need to fight back (although the fat kid who got bullied, held his peace as long as he could, finally got fed up and body-slammed the little bully -- that kid will always be my hero) -- I'm not saying you need to go to that extreme. But I'm saying that the answer is not suicide. When bullies do their dirty and kids commit suicide, yes, there's an atrocity committed by the bullies, but there's also an atrocity committed by the kids who committed suicide! I'm reminded of the song: " I know who I am. I know my identity. I know who I am. My name is VICTORY."
If there was ever an indicator that we need to raise our kids up with Jesus, I think now would be that indicator. We've clearly lost our direction as a nation -- we've so diluted our thinking that we have no moral standards, and no moral strength or character to pass on to our kids. We rear them in this falsely idyllic, non-confrontational, pseudo-utopian cloistered lie, and then when the harshness of reality sets in and they're not able to cope, we want to blame other folks. Life's hard, people. Wear a helmet. Mean people are idiots. Killing yourself because people are mean doesn't stop them from being mean and it sure as heck doesn't improve your situation. We need for our kids to understand that. We need for them to understand that perfect love casts out fear. We need them to understand that there's a greater Power than the one that would accuse, berate, steal, kill, and destroy. Our kids are too precious to hand them over to that false power, yet whenever we fail to teach them about the True Source of Power, we offer them up, tender innocents on a silver platter, to be devoured by the ever-present evil ones.
I know I sound like a nut job, but really: aren't the good kids worth saving? Why should their power, value, and worth be subordinated to that of the bad kids? Isn't part of rearing kids helping them to understand and realize their value and worth?
I just think the recent rash of suicide-as-response-to-bullying is a sign that we as a society have failed our children. (There were two middle school girls who had a sleepover and hanged themselves in what appears to be a suicide pact, likely their response to bullying. OK, but one of them was being treated for depression. Where was the supervision? Why is that suicide solely the fault and responsiblity of the bully? What responsibility did the parents have to supervise and protect their children?) I think that atrocity with the mother killing her kids to get back at the boyfriend and him using attendance at the funeral as a weapon against the family is further evidence that we, as a people, have lost any concept of civility and morality. It may not be completely lost, but this kind of crap goes on and "good people" do nothing. We're not outraged, we're not going to stand up and say it's wrong -- and that's how evil flourishes.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Sunday, April 24, 2011
My First Pilgrimage To Israel
I wrote the below in 2009, right after my first trip to the Holy Lands. I submitted it to my church magazine, but the church was busy in the process of preparing to elect bishops, so there was not a lot of time (or print space) available for my fairly long article.
As I read it, I still feel an urgency to speak out about what I saw and about the plight of the Palestinians. So I post here my paper, "A Pilgrimage to Israel."
A Pilgrimage to Israel
Submitted by Rev. Cassandra G. Perry,
Williams Institutional CME Church, New York, NY
On February 8, 2009, I left New York City for a Pilgrimage to Israel. “The Holy Land, The Holy People” seemed like the trip I’d always longed to take. Although it had been advertised as a “pilgrimage,” I regarded it just as an opportunity to take a trip to the Holy Land. I didn’t understand the nature of pilgrimage, and was about to be surprised when this turned out to be much more than just a vacation trip.
The trip was sponsored by SBS, the Society for Biblical Studies, a Massachusetts-based non-profit organization. I’d heard about SBS for some time. As I checked them out, I discovered that our seminary had planned a pilgrimage with them for January 2009. The January trip didn’t fit my schedule, but a February trip was available. I joined with 21 other pilgrims, most of whom were members of the Holsten Conference of the United Methodist Church.
SBS’s stated mission is to:
- inform biblical scholarship,
- redeem pilgrimage, and
- renew the mission of the Church.
Our Biblical Scholarship was informed as we got a grasp of the geographical, social, historical, archaeological and cultural settings of the Bible. We got a good overview of modern Biblical scholarship, including a very basic introduction to archaeology and its importance for both clergy and laypeople. We were also introduced to some key issues in the study of Christian origins.
The idea of Pilgrimage was revisited (or redeemed) as we, individually and collectively, found our spiritual growth enhanced. We became personally familiar with Christianity in the Holy Land and had the opportunity to look with new eyes at the role of the church today. On this Pilgrimage we also had an opportunity to gain first-hand understanding of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, its impact on neighboring countries, and to see some possibilities for peacemaking.
In one of his lectures to the group, the Rev. Peter J. Miano, Executive Director of SBS, spoke about renewing the Mission of the Church. First, he defined mission as:
1) Productive Mission is Visionary. What is the vision? Does it inspire?
2) Productive Mission is Pragmatic. Does it work? What does or doesn’t work? What could work?
3) Effective Mission is Adaptable and Innovative.
4) Effective mission is Relational. It requires community.
5) Effective mission occurs on the ground, not in the sky. Mission is not institutional.
6) Effective mission is Biblically based. It must be delineated and self-consciously identified as Christian.
7) Effective Mission is empowering.
8) Effective mission is accountable (and as a corollary, that’s why being in community requires accountability).
9) Effective mission is contextual. One must be mindful of the world in which one lives and works.
10) Finally, before we can be involved in any kind of mission, we must understand the context. For us, as pilgrims in Israel, it was important to understand how the social context is distorted by the political context.
What I took away from the lecture was that the popular triumphalist view of mission may merit some reconsideration. Rather than (or ideally, in addition to) triumphalism, effective, relational mission is imperative for the future of the Church. Triumphally preaching the Word is important, but it’s not enough; it’s only the beginning. If the Word is successfully preached, it will call us to action. It will leave us wondering “so what?” In my mind, that “so what” is the beginning of mission.
Against that theological backdrop, we toured Israel. Some of my reactions are chronicled at http://cassandraperry.blogspot.com (in the February 2009 and November 2010 postings), so I won’t repeat them all here. We left NYC at 10:30 pm on the evening of February 8, on a 12-hour flight to Amman, Jordan. Because of the time change, we arrived in Amman at 4:30 on Monday afternoon, February 9. We cleared immigration, met our driver, and got to our hotel in time for dinner and some after-dinner relaxation.
The next day, we started out early, headed for the Zarqa River. Today we know the Zarqa River as the Jabbok, the place Jacob crossed just before he wrestled with God and didn’t let go until he got his blessing (Gen 32:22-26). We stopped there and had Bible study, then continued on to Jericho, to look at the very tree Zacchaeus climbed up to see Jesus! The following day, we went up Mount Nebo, where Moses looked out onto the Promised Land. We also went to Jerash, the site of ancient Roman ruins. Although I teach Church History, I’d never delved deeply into the history of the Roman Empire (even though the two subjects are almost inextricably intertwined). As I saw the Roman ruins in the midst of this Arab country, the cultural juxtaposition made the past come alive. The status of the land’s original residents living under foreign occupation became clearer to me. I didn’t know that it would become even more real.
We continued our journey, seeing evidence of Roman occupation, learning the history of the land, learning about Jesus’ people. As we traveled and studied and looked and learned, we became aware of the fact that many of the places where Jesus lived – Bethlehem, Nazareth, Capernaum, Jerusalem – are situated in present-day Palestine. As we traveled through Palestine, we continually saw present-day Israeli occupation. It made a tremendous impact on us. By the time we entered Israel on the 4th day, we had come to understand that Jordan, Israel, and Palestine are all among the Holy Lands. As we crossed from Jordan to Israel, we realized that we were entering a Holy Land still occupied by an oppressive government.
Despite the unfortunate political realities, when we entered Israel and Palestine there was something indescribable about walking where Jesus walked. We went to Nazareth, to the Basilica of the Annunciation, to the Shepherd’s Fields, and to various places throughout Galilee. Capernaum is on the north shore of the Galilee, and there we visited the remains of the very synagogue where Jesus preached (Mark 1:21-22). We even had a praise party on the Sea of Galilee! From Nazareth, we went to the Mount of the Beatitudes, and then finally on to Jerusalem. From the Mount of Olives, we looked out over the entire city of Jerusalem, while vendors offered to sell us rides on camels and donkeys. We finally came down from the Mount of Olives, walked through Jerusalem, then went up into a private site in the Garden of Gethsemane where we celebrated Communion.
Our first walk through Jerusalem was on Saturday, February 14, and included a visit to the Western Wall. As we walked, we visited the Convent of the Sisters of Zion. Underneath the Convent are pieces of pavement called the Lithostratos – the pavement of justice. In the pavement, one can see the grooves made by the Roman chariots, and one can also see the remains of a game the Roman soldiers played with the lives of condemned prisoners. Among the things they did to demean the prisoners was dressing them in purple robes, adorning them with a crown of thorns, beating them, and forcing them to carry their own crosses to their crucifixion. As the guide explained these things to us, the air became electric as we remembered our Scriptures and visualized the guards doing these same things to Jesus before His death. After the tour, we assembled in a chapel adjacent to the holy sites, and there, in Jerusalem, I was privileged to share a word about Our Savior’s Love.
Because that first trip was on the Jewish Sabbath (no pictures are allowed at Jewish holy sites on the Sabbath) and because so many of us wanted pictures at the Western Wall, we returned there the following day. This afforded us two opportunities to pray at the Western Wall. We also had the opportunity to walk parts of the Via Dolorosa, the route Christ journeyed during his trial and execution. We ended up in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, which contains the slab upon which Jesus’ body was laid and anointed with oil; the Empty Tomb and Golgotha, the site many believe is the actual Calvary, are also in this church.
As Jerusalem is home to three Abrahamic faiths, we also visited the Dome of the Rock, built on the site where Muhammad is said to have ascended into heaven, talked with Moses and Jesus, and then returned to earth.
I can only list some of the places we saw; there is no way to adequately describe the experiences we had, the love we shared, or the transformation we experienced during our 10 days in the Holy Lands. We were a group of 21 people, mostly clergy, and we wondered to each other how we could ever find ways to adequately share this event with our congregations back home. All of us took loads of pictures, but we agreed that neither pictures nor words could begin to convey the experience we had. We decided it would be like trying to describe a sunset to a blind person – we simply did not possess the tools necessary to relate this experience to others. As soon as I got back, I busied myself organizing another trip. If God allows it, I’ll be returning with a group of friends and fellow CMEs on a similar trip from February 7-17, 2010. (If you’re interested or want more information about the 2010 trip, please send an email to cgperry@att.net)
For me, the highlights of the trip were our Praise party on the Sea of Galilee, celebrating Communion in the Garden of Gethsemane, preaching in Jerusalem, and the opportunity to worship in Bethlehem with Palestinian Christians. There were many transformative points in the trip, but some of the most moving had to do with the Palestinian people. We studied our Bibles and our history, and as we did, it slowly became apparent to us that Palestine was the land where Jesus lived. We continually saw remnants of ancient Roman oppression, but we also saw how today’s Palestinian people live under Israeli oppression. When we visited Palestinian “refugee” camps, I couldn’t help but call them “concentration” camps. The differences in the standard of living inside and outside the camps was noticeable; the barbed wire, armed guards, and concrete barriers that separated the people was noticeable; and the lack of freedom of movement was noticeable.
We met with members of various groups dedicated to promoting improved relations between Palestinians and Israelis. Our experiences were perhaps one-sided, as we met Palestinians who longed for peace, and Israelis who wanted to take claim to all the land in the area, and who used Scripture to justify the killing of Palestinian children.
There is a 35-foot high wall surrounding Bethlehem and Jerusalem. Palestinians who live inside the walled area have to pass through security checkpoints every time they want to go into our out of the cities. As tourists, we only had to stop at the checkpoints, at which time armed guards mounted our bus, walked through it, and checked all our passports before we could continue on. This happened on a daily basis, every time we entered or left the city, and we were told that ours was actually preferential treatment. One of my students was in the January seminary group, and she told me they had to get off the bus, go inside the checkpoint area, and go through an inspection before being allowed to get back on the bus and continue their journey. Every time we entered or left Jerusalem or Bethlehem, we were made aware that we were visiting a Holy Land occupied by an oppressive government.
Still, I am grateful for the experience. According to the Rev. Miano’s definitions of mission, the trip was an effective mission trip. It left me wondering “what’s next?” It left me hungering to take a next step, to advocate for social justice in the Holy Lands.
For me, the first step is another pilgrimage -- not just a sight-seeing trip to Israel, but an opportunity to go and get a glimpse of what life must have been like for people in occupied Palestine. I’ve told people about my experience, and now I’d like to help make that experience available to others. When I first mentioned the idea of mission work in Israel, some people suggested that Africa or the Caribbean would be more appropriate places for a person of African descent to engage in mission work. While I have done mission work in both Africa and the Caribbean, I think that mission work should not be limited to people who look like me. As Christians, we seek a closer relationship with God through Jesus of Nazareth, the same Jesus who preached a transformative Gospel message. It seems appropriate to visit the lands where He lived, and continue to carry that transformative Gospel message. Glaring social injustice is a way of life for Palestinians living in Israel and the occupied territories. There is an opportunity for Christian people to become involved in the circumstances of the Palestinian people – or, as I call them, Jesus’ cousins.
The next step is raising awareness. When we visited the Palestinian refugee camps, our Palestinian hosts expressed concern that Americans are not helping them. Palestine represents and opportunity for the Christian church to become active and engaged. The whole world is watching, and wondering why American Christians aren’t doing more. As our guide said, “How can you say you don’t know? Why don’t you know?” Though I consider myself fairly well-informed, until this trip I had no idea how bad things were. I was aware of the issues, but somewhere in my heart, I probably believed the hype I hear on the news. (For instance, when our Royal Jordanian Air pilot started speaking in Arabic at the beginning of our flight home, I heard the phrase “Allahu Akhbar”. For a moment, my stomach flipped as I remembered this to be the last phrase uttered by many suicide bombers. While that may be true, “Allahu Akhbar” simply means “God is Great.” Our pilot was saying it because he, like every pilot on every observant Muslim airline, publicly prays to God before starting any trip). While Muslim fundamentalists and terrorists dominate the news we see and hear, the plight of Palestinian Christians goes largely ignored. Early in 2009, a few Palestinians launched Qassam rockets into Israel. This is a heinous act, designed to spread fear and chaos. Ultimately, three Israeli civilians were killed. Qassam Rockets are about the size of large model rockets that Western teenagers can buy in hobby stores. In response to these childlike (yet lethal) rocket attacks, the Israelis responded with the full strength of the Israeli military, killing over 2,000 Palestinians, many of whom were women and children. The taking of human life is never to be condoned, and the cause of peace is not furthered by the massacre of innocents.
As Christians, we have an opportunity to become aware, to become informed, and to take meaningful action. Compared to the rest of the world, we have an abundance of means and of economic and political power – but we are silent on issues that affect the world. We cannot change everything, but we can change something. We have seen a miraculous new beginning with the election of the 44th President of the US, who ran on an agenda of hope and change. Perhaps this new administration can become a self-fulfilling prophecy – the door to change has been opened; now let each of us walk through it. On the other side of the door to change, it does not yet appear WHAT could be! The fact that the US, through Secretary of State Clinton, is finally advocating a two-state solution in Israel leads to the guarded hope that perhaps, during our lifetimes, there can be peace in all the earth.
It has been decades since I wrote poetry, but I was moved to try during the flight back to the US. As stated before, it’s impossible to put this experience into words, and the following is just an awkward attempt to express a glorious experience.
Reflections About My Trip
We stood on the banks of Jordan,
Held crosses of olive wood.
We even went to that Biblical stream and
Stood on the rock where Moses stood.
We sailed on the Sea of Galilee
Took bread and wine at Gethsemane.
We saw Biblical places, mighty and small,
Feeling the Lord’s presence among them all.
This wasn’t a journey for personal pleasure –
It wasn’t about buying trinkets and treasures.
God’s people are hurting – they must be set free.
I’m joining the effort – will you join with me?
To preach and to pray, glorifying God’s Son,
Telling the world there’s much more to be done.
We can’t be complacent – there’s too much at stake.
The Lion prowls, with destruction in his wake.
God’s people have needs and we have the means
To heal, to build up – to do so many things.
To show through our actions, our words and our power
That Jesus is with us, even still in this hour.
They’re from Southern Israel: Nazareth, Galilee –
Yes, some could be terrorists; they’re Jesus’ cousins to me.
Daring to stand and to fight for their homes
Has left them appearing and feeling alone.
Guards. Checkpoints. A 35-foot wall.
Systematic, racist oppression. But wait, that’s not all!
Displaced from their homelands to this refugee mess –
Generations now live there, ignored by the West.
So now let us be ready and willing to go.
Let’s spread the news so the whole world will know
That Jesus, Our Savior, is Lord above ALL.
Let’s carry this message and not drop the ball.
Written between Amman and Chicago.
2/18/09
As I read it, I still feel an urgency to speak out about what I saw and about the plight of the Palestinians. So I post here my paper, "A Pilgrimage to Israel."
A Pilgrimage to Israel
Submitted by Rev. Cassandra G. Perry,
Williams Institutional CME Church, New York, NY
On February 8, 2009, I left New York City for a Pilgrimage to Israel. “The Holy Land, The Holy People” seemed like the trip I’d always longed to take. Although it had been advertised as a “pilgrimage,” I regarded it just as an opportunity to take a trip to the Holy Land. I didn’t understand the nature of pilgrimage, and was about to be surprised when this turned out to be much more than just a vacation trip.
The trip was sponsored by SBS, the Society for Biblical Studies, a Massachusetts-based non-profit organization. I’d heard about SBS for some time. As I checked them out, I discovered that our seminary had planned a pilgrimage with them for January 2009. The January trip didn’t fit my schedule, but a February trip was available. I joined with 21 other pilgrims, most of whom were members of the Holsten Conference of the United Methodist Church.
SBS’s stated mission is to:
- inform biblical scholarship,
- redeem pilgrimage, and
- renew the mission of the Church.
Our Biblical Scholarship was informed as we got a grasp of the geographical, social, historical, archaeological and cultural settings of the Bible. We got a good overview of modern Biblical scholarship, including a very basic introduction to archaeology and its importance for both clergy and laypeople. We were also introduced to some key issues in the study of Christian origins.
The idea of Pilgrimage was revisited (or redeemed) as we, individually and collectively, found our spiritual growth enhanced. We became personally familiar with Christianity in the Holy Land and had the opportunity to look with new eyes at the role of the church today. On this Pilgrimage we also had an opportunity to gain first-hand understanding of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, its impact on neighboring countries, and to see some possibilities for peacemaking.
In one of his lectures to the group, the Rev. Peter J. Miano, Executive Director of SBS, spoke about renewing the Mission of the Church. First, he defined mission as:
1) Productive Mission is Visionary. What is the vision? Does it inspire?
2) Productive Mission is Pragmatic. Does it work? What does or doesn’t work? What could work?
3) Effective Mission is Adaptable and Innovative.
4) Effective mission is Relational. It requires community.
5) Effective mission occurs on the ground, not in the sky. Mission is not institutional.
6) Effective mission is Biblically based. It must be delineated and self-consciously identified as Christian.
7) Effective Mission is empowering.
8) Effective mission is accountable (and as a corollary, that’s why being in community requires accountability).
9) Effective mission is contextual. One must be mindful of the world in which one lives and works.
10) Finally, before we can be involved in any kind of mission, we must understand the context. For us, as pilgrims in Israel, it was important to understand how the social context is distorted by the political context.
What I took away from the lecture was that the popular triumphalist view of mission may merit some reconsideration. Rather than (or ideally, in addition to) triumphalism, effective, relational mission is imperative for the future of the Church. Triumphally preaching the Word is important, but it’s not enough; it’s only the beginning. If the Word is successfully preached, it will call us to action. It will leave us wondering “so what?” In my mind, that “so what” is the beginning of mission.
Against that theological backdrop, we toured Israel. Some of my reactions are chronicled at http://cassandraperry.blogspot.com (in the February 2009 and November 2010 postings), so I won’t repeat them all here. We left NYC at 10:30 pm on the evening of February 8, on a 12-hour flight to Amman, Jordan. Because of the time change, we arrived in Amman at 4:30 on Monday afternoon, February 9. We cleared immigration, met our driver, and got to our hotel in time for dinner and some after-dinner relaxation.
The next day, we started out early, headed for the Zarqa River. Today we know the Zarqa River as the Jabbok, the place Jacob crossed just before he wrestled with God and didn’t let go until he got his blessing (Gen 32:22-26). We stopped there and had Bible study, then continued on to Jericho, to look at the very tree Zacchaeus climbed up to see Jesus! The following day, we went up Mount Nebo, where Moses looked out onto the Promised Land. We also went to Jerash, the site of ancient Roman ruins. Although I teach Church History, I’d never delved deeply into the history of the Roman Empire (even though the two subjects are almost inextricably intertwined). As I saw the Roman ruins in the midst of this Arab country, the cultural juxtaposition made the past come alive. The status of the land’s original residents living under foreign occupation became clearer to me. I didn’t know that it would become even more real.
We continued our journey, seeing evidence of Roman occupation, learning the history of the land, learning about Jesus’ people. As we traveled and studied and looked and learned, we became aware of the fact that many of the places where Jesus lived – Bethlehem, Nazareth, Capernaum, Jerusalem – are situated in present-day Palestine. As we traveled through Palestine, we continually saw present-day Israeli occupation. It made a tremendous impact on us. By the time we entered Israel on the 4th day, we had come to understand that Jordan, Israel, and Palestine are all among the Holy Lands. As we crossed from Jordan to Israel, we realized that we were entering a Holy Land still occupied by an oppressive government.
Despite the unfortunate political realities, when we entered Israel and Palestine there was something indescribable about walking where Jesus walked. We went to Nazareth, to the Basilica of the Annunciation, to the Shepherd’s Fields, and to various places throughout Galilee. Capernaum is on the north shore of the Galilee, and there we visited the remains of the very synagogue where Jesus preached (Mark 1:21-22). We even had a praise party on the Sea of Galilee! From Nazareth, we went to the Mount of the Beatitudes, and then finally on to Jerusalem. From the Mount of Olives, we looked out over the entire city of Jerusalem, while vendors offered to sell us rides on camels and donkeys. We finally came down from the Mount of Olives, walked through Jerusalem, then went up into a private site in the Garden of Gethsemane where we celebrated Communion.
Our first walk through Jerusalem was on Saturday, February 14, and included a visit to the Western Wall. As we walked, we visited the Convent of the Sisters of Zion. Underneath the Convent are pieces of pavement called the Lithostratos – the pavement of justice. In the pavement, one can see the grooves made by the Roman chariots, and one can also see the remains of a game the Roman soldiers played with the lives of condemned prisoners. Among the things they did to demean the prisoners was dressing them in purple robes, adorning them with a crown of thorns, beating them, and forcing them to carry their own crosses to their crucifixion. As the guide explained these things to us, the air became electric as we remembered our Scriptures and visualized the guards doing these same things to Jesus before His death. After the tour, we assembled in a chapel adjacent to the holy sites, and there, in Jerusalem, I was privileged to share a word about Our Savior’s Love.
Because that first trip was on the Jewish Sabbath (no pictures are allowed at Jewish holy sites on the Sabbath) and because so many of us wanted pictures at the Western Wall, we returned there the following day. This afforded us two opportunities to pray at the Western Wall. We also had the opportunity to walk parts of the Via Dolorosa, the route Christ journeyed during his trial and execution. We ended up in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, which contains the slab upon which Jesus’ body was laid and anointed with oil; the Empty Tomb and Golgotha, the site many believe is the actual Calvary, are also in this church.
As Jerusalem is home to three Abrahamic faiths, we also visited the Dome of the Rock, built on the site where Muhammad is said to have ascended into heaven, talked with Moses and Jesus, and then returned to earth.
I can only list some of the places we saw; there is no way to adequately describe the experiences we had, the love we shared, or the transformation we experienced during our 10 days in the Holy Lands. We were a group of 21 people, mostly clergy, and we wondered to each other how we could ever find ways to adequately share this event with our congregations back home. All of us took loads of pictures, but we agreed that neither pictures nor words could begin to convey the experience we had. We decided it would be like trying to describe a sunset to a blind person – we simply did not possess the tools necessary to relate this experience to others. As soon as I got back, I busied myself organizing another trip. If God allows it, I’ll be returning with a group of friends and fellow CMEs on a similar trip from February 7-17, 2010. (If you’re interested or want more information about the 2010 trip, please send an email to cgperry@att.net)
For me, the highlights of the trip were our Praise party on the Sea of Galilee, celebrating Communion in the Garden of Gethsemane, preaching in Jerusalem, and the opportunity to worship in Bethlehem with Palestinian Christians. There were many transformative points in the trip, but some of the most moving had to do with the Palestinian people. We studied our Bibles and our history, and as we did, it slowly became apparent to us that Palestine was the land where Jesus lived. We continually saw remnants of ancient Roman oppression, but we also saw how today’s Palestinian people live under Israeli oppression. When we visited Palestinian “refugee” camps, I couldn’t help but call them “concentration” camps. The differences in the standard of living inside and outside the camps was noticeable; the barbed wire, armed guards, and concrete barriers that separated the people was noticeable; and the lack of freedom of movement was noticeable.
We met with members of various groups dedicated to promoting improved relations between Palestinians and Israelis. Our experiences were perhaps one-sided, as we met Palestinians who longed for peace, and Israelis who wanted to take claim to all the land in the area, and who used Scripture to justify the killing of Palestinian children.
There is a 35-foot high wall surrounding Bethlehem and Jerusalem. Palestinians who live inside the walled area have to pass through security checkpoints every time they want to go into our out of the cities. As tourists, we only had to stop at the checkpoints, at which time armed guards mounted our bus, walked through it, and checked all our passports before we could continue on. This happened on a daily basis, every time we entered or left the city, and we were told that ours was actually preferential treatment. One of my students was in the January seminary group, and she told me they had to get off the bus, go inside the checkpoint area, and go through an inspection before being allowed to get back on the bus and continue their journey. Every time we entered or left Jerusalem or Bethlehem, we were made aware that we were visiting a Holy Land occupied by an oppressive government.
Still, I am grateful for the experience. According to the Rev. Miano’s definitions of mission, the trip was an effective mission trip. It left me wondering “what’s next?” It left me hungering to take a next step, to advocate for social justice in the Holy Lands.
For me, the first step is another pilgrimage -- not just a sight-seeing trip to Israel, but an opportunity to go and get a glimpse of what life must have been like for people in occupied Palestine. I’ve told people about my experience, and now I’d like to help make that experience available to others. When I first mentioned the idea of mission work in Israel, some people suggested that Africa or the Caribbean would be more appropriate places for a person of African descent to engage in mission work. While I have done mission work in both Africa and the Caribbean, I think that mission work should not be limited to people who look like me. As Christians, we seek a closer relationship with God through Jesus of Nazareth, the same Jesus who preached a transformative Gospel message. It seems appropriate to visit the lands where He lived, and continue to carry that transformative Gospel message. Glaring social injustice is a way of life for Palestinians living in Israel and the occupied territories. There is an opportunity for Christian people to become involved in the circumstances of the Palestinian people – or, as I call them, Jesus’ cousins.
The next step is raising awareness. When we visited the Palestinian refugee camps, our Palestinian hosts expressed concern that Americans are not helping them. Palestine represents and opportunity for the Christian church to become active and engaged. The whole world is watching, and wondering why American Christians aren’t doing more. As our guide said, “How can you say you don’t know? Why don’t you know?” Though I consider myself fairly well-informed, until this trip I had no idea how bad things were. I was aware of the issues, but somewhere in my heart, I probably believed the hype I hear on the news. (For instance, when our Royal Jordanian Air pilot started speaking in Arabic at the beginning of our flight home, I heard the phrase “Allahu Akhbar”. For a moment, my stomach flipped as I remembered this to be the last phrase uttered by many suicide bombers. While that may be true, “Allahu Akhbar” simply means “God is Great.” Our pilot was saying it because he, like every pilot on every observant Muslim airline, publicly prays to God before starting any trip). While Muslim fundamentalists and terrorists dominate the news we see and hear, the plight of Palestinian Christians goes largely ignored. Early in 2009, a few Palestinians launched Qassam rockets into Israel. This is a heinous act, designed to spread fear and chaos. Ultimately, three Israeli civilians were killed. Qassam Rockets are about the size of large model rockets that Western teenagers can buy in hobby stores. In response to these childlike (yet lethal) rocket attacks, the Israelis responded with the full strength of the Israeli military, killing over 2,000 Palestinians, many of whom were women and children. The taking of human life is never to be condoned, and the cause of peace is not furthered by the massacre of innocents.
As Christians, we have an opportunity to become aware, to become informed, and to take meaningful action. Compared to the rest of the world, we have an abundance of means and of economic and political power – but we are silent on issues that affect the world. We cannot change everything, but we can change something. We have seen a miraculous new beginning with the election of the 44th President of the US, who ran on an agenda of hope and change. Perhaps this new administration can become a self-fulfilling prophecy – the door to change has been opened; now let each of us walk through it. On the other side of the door to change, it does not yet appear WHAT could be! The fact that the US, through Secretary of State Clinton, is finally advocating a two-state solution in Israel leads to the guarded hope that perhaps, during our lifetimes, there can be peace in all the earth.
It has been decades since I wrote poetry, but I was moved to try during the flight back to the US. As stated before, it’s impossible to put this experience into words, and the following is just an awkward attempt to express a glorious experience.
Reflections About My Trip
We stood on the banks of Jordan,
Held crosses of olive wood.
We even went to that Biblical stream and
Stood on the rock where Moses stood.
We sailed on the Sea of Galilee
Took bread and wine at Gethsemane.
We saw Biblical places, mighty and small,
Feeling the Lord’s presence among them all.
This wasn’t a journey for personal pleasure –
It wasn’t about buying trinkets and treasures.
God’s people are hurting – they must be set free.
I’m joining the effort – will you join with me?
To preach and to pray, glorifying God’s Son,
Telling the world there’s much more to be done.
We can’t be complacent – there’s too much at stake.
The Lion prowls, with destruction in his wake.
God’s people have needs and we have the means
To heal, to build up – to do so many things.
To show through our actions, our words and our power
That Jesus is with us, even still in this hour.
They’re from Southern Israel: Nazareth, Galilee –
Yes, some could be terrorists; they’re Jesus’ cousins to me.
Daring to stand and to fight for their homes
Has left them appearing and feeling alone.
Guards. Checkpoints. A 35-foot wall.
Systematic, racist oppression. But wait, that’s not all!
Displaced from their homelands to this refugee mess –
Generations now live there, ignored by the West.
So now let us be ready and willing to go.
Let’s spread the news so the whole world will know
That Jesus, Our Savior, is Lord above ALL.
Let’s carry this message and not drop the ball.
Written between Amman and Chicago.
2/18/09
Saturday, April 23, 2011
More on Tyler and Madea...
So it seems to me that Tyler Perry's comedy deeply divides the African American community. Some see him as offensive buffoonery, some see him as perpetuating negative stereotypes of African Americans, some are upset because he doesn't pay the actors scale, and some are upset because all the actors aren't so talented.
While I would say many of the above have varying degrees of merit, I think there's a huge, mostly invisible divide that no one's talking about. At first I thought it was about class, but it's not. I then thought it was geographic, but think it's not. I now think the dichotomy in Tyler's world exists around faith. If you are an African American, Bible-believing Christian, or have fond memories of growing up in such an environment, then you'll find Tyler's stuff hysterical. You'll see all the stereotypes and archetypes you're familiar with: the person who's sunk deeply in sin and doesn't want to get out, the one who's sunk in sin and doesn't know they're in sin, but wants to be "holy," having no idea what that means, either. There's the person who's "made it" out of the ghetto and either completely turns their back on it or is coming back to rescue it, there's the various relatives, both distant and close, with substance abuse, integrity, financial and other personal issue that are so consuming that they make the characters one-sided.... and there is always the refuge of the church, the holy place, the moral authority, the place that will chastise you but also cheer you, the place that will scold you for doing wrong but hold you in its sanctuary so the cops can't take you away, the place that (usually) vehemently condemns homosexuality while its flaming choir directors lead some of the sweetest music on this side of Jordan (and let's not forget the church who LOVES Madea, who in real life is a 6'3+" crossdressing Tyler Perry).
If you grew up in and still love that apparent duplicity (because it's not a duplicity in your life, any more than the Trinity is three things. We all know it's one God with three divine Persons because that's what we've learned since an early age. We've also learned Madea-type people were normative, since an early age.) If you grew up with that apparent duplicity and were blessed enough to realize that, inside what initially appeared to be madness there was a strong and sweet and loving and caring and strict and accepting core of people who, other issues notwithstanding, could still pray you through your storm, preach you towards salvation, and love you til you could let Jesus give you His eternal love. ... For the most part, the black church would not be the place a young man would attempt to "come out" sexually and expect an affirming environment. He could come out as an over-the-top gifted musician or choir director or something else that made use of what would perhaps be called "flamingly gay" mannerisms -- he could be obviously as gay as he wanted to be, and as long as he didn't flaunt (or even acknowledge) his gay lifestyle, he'd pretty much be accepted by the church. I've known at least a couple of out homosexuals at the time of their ordinations; I believe there's gazillions of people in the black church who are just sexually repressed.
But that's sor of a digression. That whole weird world of strong but slippery moral codes, and the irony with which they are applied is what makes it funny for me. Most of the family with whom I was reared and who behaved that way have all crossed over Jordan, so Madea (Mother dear, which became Ma' dear, which became Madea) Madea brings back those fond memories. Madea who didn't quite understand the religious stuff, but knew enough to send kids to church (threatening them with a 45 if she had to), and who fussed and cussed but always took care of business....
I LOVE Madea and Mr. Brown and Tyler and Ricky and all those other comedians who preserve an integral part of my early identity, which is the insanity that is the African American Church's Social Structure and Etiquette, much of which has influenced secular social structure and etiquette (and interpretation of social cues) in today's African American church and in our greater society.
That's what I think, anyway....
Anyway. Christ the Lord is Risen Today!!!! Hallelujer!!!, as Madea would say....
While I would say many of the above have varying degrees of merit, I think there's a huge, mostly invisible divide that no one's talking about. At first I thought it was about class, but it's not. I then thought it was geographic, but think it's not. I now think the dichotomy in Tyler's world exists around faith. If you are an African American, Bible-believing Christian, or have fond memories of growing up in such an environment, then you'll find Tyler's stuff hysterical. You'll see all the stereotypes and archetypes you're familiar with: the person who's sunk deeply in sin and doesn't want to get out, the one who's sunk in sin and doesn't know they're in sin, but wants to be "holy," having no idea what that means, either. There's the person who's "made it" out of the ghetto and either completely turns their back on it or is coming back to rescue it, there's the various relatives, both distant and close, with substance abuse, integrity, financial and other personal issue that are so consuming that they make the characters one-sided.... and there is always the refuge of the church, the holy place, the moral authority, the place that will chastise you but also cheer you, the place that will scold you for doing wrong but hold you in its sanctuary so the cops can't take you away, the place that (usually) vehemently condemns homosexuality while its flaming choir directors lead some of the sweetest music on this side of Jordan (and let's not forget the church who LOVES Madea, who in real life is a 6'3+" crossdressing Tyler Perry).
If you grew up in and still love that apparent duplicity (because it's not a duplicity in your life, any more than the Trinity is three things. We all know it's one God with three divine Persons because that's what we've learned since an early age. We've also learned Madea-type people were normative, since an early age.) If you grew up with that apparent duplicity and were blessed enough to realize that, inside what initially appeared to be madness there was a strong and sweet and loving and caring and strict and accepting core of people who, other issues notwithstanding, could still pray you through your storm, preach you towards salvation, and love you til you could let Jesus give you His eternal love. ... For the most part, the black church would not be the place a young man would attempt to "come out" sexually and expect an affirming environment. He could come out as an over-the-top gifted musician or choir director or something else that made use of what would perhaps be called "flamingly gay" mannerisms -- he could be obviously as gay as he wanted to be, and as long as he didn't flaunt (or even acknowledge) his gay lifestyle, he'd pretty much be accepted by the church. I've known at least a couple of out homosexuals at the time of their ordinations; I believe there's gazillions of people in the black church who are just sexually repressed.
But that's sor of a digression. That whole weird world of strong but slippery moral codes, and the irony with which they are applied is what makes it funny for me. Most of the family with whom I was reared and who behaved that way have all crossed over Jordan, so Madea (Mother dear, which became Ma' dear, which became Madea) Madea brings back those fond memories. Madea who didn't quite understand the religious stuff, but knew enough to send kids to church (threatening them with a 45 if she had to), and who fussed and cussed but always took care of business....
I LOVE Madea and Mr. Brown and Tyler and Ricky and all those other comedians who preserve an integral part of my early identity, which is the insanity that is the African American Church's Social Structure and Etiquette, much of which has influenced secular social structure and etiquette (and interpretation of social cues) in today's African American church and in our greater society.
That's what I think, anyway....
Anyway. Christ the Lord is Risen Today!!!! Hallelujer!!!, as Madea would say....
Friday, April 22, 2011
Good Friday; Oral Hygiene; Royal Wedding
This is Good Friday, the day we set aside to commemorate the fact that Jesus sacrificed His life so that all humanity might have the opportunity to live eternally. Though He was fully God and fully man, He submitted Himself to a cruel death by crucifixion, not protesting and not fighting back, so we could live, despite our many protests and continual fighting back.
I'm grateful to God for the sacrifice, and commemorated the day, as is our tradition, in church services where seven different preachers preach seven short sermons, one on each of the seven last words Jesus spoke from the cross (Father, forgive them Luke 23:32-34; Today you will be with me in Paradise Luke 23:39-43; Woman behold your son John 19:25-27; My God, My God, Why...? Mark 15:29-35; I thirst John 19:28-29; It is finished, John 19:30-37; and Father, into your hands... Luke 23:44-46.). The service culminated a Spirit-Filled Holy Week (we had District Conference in Tarrytown, with lots of presenters, on the theme of "Making the Local Church Essential Through Prayer and Action." or something like that...).
Anyway. I haven't written because I've been commuting back and forth, but it's been a wonderful week.
During the conference, I had the opportunity to speak to lots and lots of people. I just want to say this: If you're not flossing your teeth twice a day, in addition to brushing them, then all the mouthwash in the world is probably not going to stop your breath from smelling like the stuff that pops out of your back teeth when you've missed a day of flossing. It's the kind of stuff that, when you get a whiff of it, you go "Did that come from me?" I have concerns about oral hygiene, mostly because halitosis sometimes makes me literally want to throw up. It's especially hard for me to understand how people who talk a lot (or, God forbid, for a living) can fail to do a breath test on themselves, and can go out in public with their breath smelling so bad? I'm not saying everyone's breath should have that just-brushed smell, and I realize that my obsession with Wisps (the waterless, disposable toothbrush thingie) could be another manifestation of borderline OCD. But really, people: if your breath brings tears to the eyes of the people in front of you, or if you notice that everyone you ride with in a car has to open a window -- even in December -- or if you notice that no one wants to stand directly in front of you when they're speaking to you ... I don't know, do ya think maybe it's time for you to schedule a trip to the dentist to get all that accumulated, nasty-smelling crap off your teeth?!? Isn't oral health and hygiene an indicator of overall health and wellbeing? If it is, I fear many among us are very, very ill.
After church, I went to Trader Joe's on 72nd Street and found, to my disappointment, that they are completely out of their authentic jellybeans. It's probably a gift from God, since I clearly don't need anything else to eat.
I have a lot more to say, but want to go to bed early tonite. I hear the new Tyler Perry movie is hysterical and can't wait to see it. I rented a car last week and LOVED it! Have a reservation for next week, for when we go on our Director's retreat. We'll see....
That's about all for tonight, except this: Can somebody remind me again why I should be interested in the wedding of William and Kate? I get it that William is next in line for the throne after Prince Charles, who may abdicate for him, but as I've never met Prince William, I'm having a hard time understanding why I'm spozed to be so interested in his wedding? I get that it's quite the event for the A-list jet-setting crowd, but I'm not in that group. Why is it again that I'm spozed to care?
I'm grateful to God for the sacrifice, and commemorated the day, as is our tradition, in church services where seven different preachers preach seven short sermons, one on each of the seven last words Jesus spoke from the cross (Father, forgive them Luke 23:32-34; Today you will be with me in Paradise Luke 23:39-43; Woman behold your son John 19:25-27; My God, My God, Why...? Mark 15:29-35; I thirst John 19:28-29; It is finished, John 19:30-37; and Father, into your hands... Luke 23:44-46.). The service culminated a Spirit-Filled Holy Week (we had District Conference in Tarrytown, with lots of presenters, on the theme of "Making the Local Church Essential Through Prayer and Action." or something like that...).
Anyway. I haven't written because I've been commuting back and forth, but it's been a wonderful week.
During the conference, I had the opportunity to speak to lots and lots of people. I just want to say this: If you're not flossing your teeth twice a day, in addition to brushing them, then all the mouthwash in the world is probably not going to stop your breath from smelling like the stuff that pops out of your back teeth when you've missed a day of flossing. It's the kind of stuff that, when you get a whiff of it, you go "Did that come from me?" I have concerns about oral hygiene, mostly because halitosis sometimes makes me literally want to throw up. It's especially hard for me to understand how people who talk a lot (or, God forbid, for a living) can fail to do a breath test on themselves, and can go out in public with their breath smelling so bad? I'm not saying everyone's breath should have that just-brushed smell, and I realize that my obsession with Wisps (the waterless, disposable toothbrush thingie) could be another manifestation of borderline OCD. But really, people: if your breath brings tears to the eyes of the people in front of you, or if you notice that everyone you ride with in a car has to open a window -- even in December -- or if you notice that no one wants to stand directly in front of you when they're speaking to you ... I don't know, do ya think maybe it's time for you to schedule a trip to the dentist to get all that accumulated, nasty-smelling crap off your teeth?!? Isn't oral health and hygiene an indicator of overall health and wellbeing? If it is, I fear many among us are very, very ill.
After church, I went to Trader Joe's on 72nd Street and found, to my disappointment, that they are completely out of their authentic jellybeans. It's probably a gift from God, since I clearly don't need anything else to eat.
I have a lot more to say, but want to go to bed early tonite. I hear the new Tyler Perry movie is hysterical and can't wait to see it. I rented a car last week and LOVED it! Have a reservation for next week, for when we go on our Director's retreat. We'll see....
That's about all for tonight, except this: Can somebody remind me again why I should be interested in the wedding of William and Kate? I get it that William is next in line for the throne after Prince Charles, who may abdicate for him, but as I've never met Prince William, I'm having a hard time understanding why I'm spozed to be so interested in his wedding? I get that it's quite the event for the A-list jet-setting crowd, but I'm not in that group. Why is it again that I'm spozed to care?
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Just want to share this song that I LOVE...
Some songs -- either the music, lyrics, or in this case, both -- just grab you from the first moment you hear them. This is one of those songs. Every time I hear it, I want to hear it over and over again. I have a car this week because I'm commuting back and forth to District Conference up in Tarrytown. I got a hookup on the car, which comes with satellite radio. I've heard this song a couple of times (I heard it somewhere else, too), and it touched me so much that I've spent the morning googling it instead of going through the punch list we developed at the Board meeting last night or preparing the presentation I'll be delivering this afternoon.
Anyway, I'm posting the video and, if I can find them, the words. The group is James Fortune and FIYA, featuring Shawn McLemore and Zacardi Cortez. I believe we'll be hearing more from them.
Here's the Video:
And here are the words....
I believe
the storm will soon be over
I believe
the rain will go away
I believe
that I can make it through it
Oh Oh Oh Oh
I believe
It’s already done
I believe
family will get better
I belive
God will provide
I belive
the promise that He made
Oh Oh Oh Oh
I believe
It’s already done
I believe
that my God is a healer
I believe
that I will survive
I believe
that God is able
Oh Oh Oh Oh
I believe
It’s already done
I believe
Gods gonna do it
do it for you (2x's)
I believe
Its gonna get better
better for you
I believe Gods gonna fix it
fix it for you
I believe it gotta get better (2x's)
better for you
Adlib here til ending
For you
I believe I believe for you (along with the adlib)
I’m excited about your future
Anyway, I'm posting the video and, if I can find them, the words. The group is James Fortune and FIYA, featuring Shawn McLemore and Zacardi Cortez. I believe we'll be hearing more from them.
Here's the Video:
And here are the words....
I believe
the storm will soon be over
I believe
the rain will go away
I believe
that I can make it through it
Oh Oh Oh Oh
I believe
It’s already done
I believe
family will get better
I belive
God will provide
I belive
the promise that He made
Oh Oh Oh Oh
I believe
It’s already done
I believe
that my God is a healer
I believe
that I will survive
I believe
that God is able
Oh Oh Oh Oh
I believe
It’s already done
I believe
Gods gonna do it
do it for you (2x's)
I believe
Its gonna get better
better for you
I believe Gods gonna fix it
fix it for you
I believe it gotta get better (2x's)
better for you
Adlib here til ending
For you
I believe I believe for you (along with the adlib)
I’m excited about your future
Saturday, April 16, 2011
norms
we americans have always thought of equality as normative, a way of thinking largely developed as part of, or alongside, our Western/euro/Christocentric worldview.
tall about the common word and how norms have chamged.
include the link to the timeline of history of religions. talk anout there beimg a billion muslims in the world and how quickly they are growing.
also talk about how i look at atheists tge same way i look at people who are lackingbin other cognitive abilities. so what if we're jardwired to believe; might there be a reason for that? and could there be some elememt of truth that's allowed these religions to hang areoun for so long!
tall about the common word and how norms have chamged.
include the link to the timeline of history of religions. talk anout there beimg a billion muslims in the world and how quickly they are growing.
also talk about how i look at atheists tge same way i look at people who are lackingbin other cognitive abilities. so what if we're jardwired to believe; might there be a reason for that? and could there be some elememt of truth that's allowed these religions to hang areoun for so long!
Thursday, April 14, 2011
I don't care WHAT y'all say...
Tyler Perry is a funny brother! No, I don't think Madea is demeaning -- I think he does comical caricatures. What I know is that I saw a clip from the new Madea movie and just a 30-45 second clip had me laughing HYSTERICALLY, with tears rolling down my cheeks.
Some people say the Madea and Mr. Brown and all those characters are caricatures of people in the South. I think they're archetypes of classic Southerner black folk -- people whose thinking and understanding was perhaps not mainstream, but worked in the worlds in which they lived. Are you going to tell me that the understandings, actions, and rituals of the Madeas of the world are any more or less strange than the understandings and rituals of, say, Orthodox Jews in the 20th century North or South America who still dress in 18th century eastern european garb? At least Tyler's people play on their strangeness and make you laugh. I LOVE em. One of my best friends DOES NOT love em.
On the Tonight show, Tyler said he was doing something called "pray fit." Jay glossed right over it, but it says it's a 28 day guide to a healthier body and a stronger faith in 28 days. Let's see if I go any further with that than I did with the Spiritual Exercises of St. Francis of Loyola.
It's after midnight and I have a long day tomorrow (surprise, surprise). Good night!
Some people say the Madea and Mr. Brown and all those characters are caricatures of people in the South. I think they're archetypes of classic Southerner black folk -- people whose thinking and understanding was perhaps not mainstream, but worked in the worlds in which they lived. Are you going to tell me that the understandings, actions, and rituals of the Madeas of the world are any more or less strange than the understandings and rituals of, say, Orthodox Jews in the 20th century North or South America who still dress in 18th century eastern european garb? At least Tyler's people play on their strangeness and make you laugh. I LOVE em. One of my best friends DOES NOT love em.
On the Tonight show, Tyler said he was doing something called "pray fit." Jay glossed right over it, but it says it's a 28 day guide to a healthier body and a stronger faith in 28 days. Let's see if I go any further with that than I did with the Spiritual Exercises of St. Francis of Loyola.
It's after midnight and I have a long day tomorrow (surprise, surprise). Good night!
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
A little excessive?
More on the "out of my mind" topic. I don't seriously believe I'm losing my mind; I make vaguely inappropriate jokes about it because it's the thing I fear most. I've talked before about the importance of intellect, and of a smattering of intellectual elitism. It's hard to imagine a worse condition than losing one's mental faculties. When I see people who used to be brilliant but are no longer in their right minds, it makes me sad. I've always thought it would be like being stoned -- you know you're a little off, but you're not able to do anything about it. Although if I take a moment to think about it, maybe it's like being really stoned, drunk, or otherwise incapacitated, where you're way off, don't know it, and don't even care.
Anyway, towards the "out of my mind" topic, sometimes I wonder what goes on in my mind. I have a fetish for cataloguing or organizing things, though you can't tell it by my house. My compulsion for organization -- at least mental organization -- is reminiscent of OCD, while my physical organization puts one in the mind of the show "hoarders." At the end of the day, they're both signs of mental dysfunction, though at opposite ends of the spectrum.
Hard to believe that compulsion for organization while reading this blog, huh? But I am coming to the point, which is that I do things that are just plain bizarre. Case #1 -- food. For reasons that I think I understand, I tend to eat in phases. I'll be in a mood for a certain type of food and will crave it and eat only that for days, weeks, or sometimes months. After the craving is over, I usually don't want it any more. Recent examples have included (in no particular order) Canadian bacon, guacamole, four year old aged Gouda, coconut water, Trader Joe's chocolate chunk almond cookies, and mozzarella cheese. Oh, and protein shakes. I now have several bottles of coconut water, a pound or so of mozzarella, a coupla containers of guac, pounds of canadian bacon, and at least a coupla pounds of aged Gouda in my fridge. Oh, and yogurt. I have quarts of yogurt. And nuts. Pecans and almonds. Should I even mention my recent expeditions in search of Girl Scout Cookies?
I can toss the food cravings and compulsions up to either hormones or the bariatric surgery I had, but neither of those can explain the latest thing I did, which is case #2. I think it was year before last (2009), at Thanksgiving, I was at home in North Carolina and my brother and I decided to go to the Black Friday sale at Walmart. They had a $200.00 laptop. Since mine was an old Dell Latitude I'd acquired several years before when my law firm had refreshed, and since even I realized I'd never need a desktop again, I decided $200.00 was a good deal for a laptop with Win7 preinstalled. And I was right, it was a good deal. I got it, bought some more memory to max it out, bought a little USB hub because it only comes with two USB ports, and I was good to go.
Until last week, when I decided I had to have another one. No real reason -- I just like this one and thought I should have a second one. I bid unsuccessfully on a manufacturer refurb on eBay, but forgot about the auction end time and lost it. Because I'm compulsive, I'd put another one on my watch list. I calculated the cost of going home a week after I'd get back from the Middle East, plus the fact that my brother no longer works for a hotel where I can live in a duplex for $30.00 per night, plus the cost of car rentals now that I'm older and buy insurance, came to a new max bid price, entered it in and won the laptop, which arrived yesterday. So now I have two laptops that are exactly identical, except the one with Office 2007 has twice as much memory as the one with Office 2010. I need to see if the max that machine will run is 4GB or 8GB, and once I find that out, I can update my machines. Either 4 or 8 GB will -- or should -- keep me operating for quite a while, but here's the deal: I didn't NEED a second laptop (or third laptop, since the older one I got from my firm still works, I'm just too lazy to bring it up to acceptable standards..)
Oh, well. Yesterday a guy on the bus was spewing such a stream of vile obscenities out of his mouth that I wanted to speak to him. I chose not to because, given what he was saying, I was actually afraid. I felt like an idiot for just turning up my gospel music and singing to myself (the only way I could drown him out) -- I really felt like he needed to hear the message, and I wanted to approach him, but something -- not sure if it was fear or common sense, but something wouldn't let me.
Don't you know that just as soon as I stepped off that bus, my song ended and Donald Lawrence's "There is a King in You" played. I felt like I'd missed my opportunity to share, so I'm at least going to post the words here. Maybe I'll remember them the next time I'm in that situation. And there will be a next time, that's for sure. I live in Harlem and work in the South Bronx.
There is a King in You, by Donald Lawrence & Co.
Verse
You come from Royalty,
An aristocratic dynasty.
The goal of the enemy,
Is that you don't know who you are.
There's power when you speak.
Be mindful of words you release.
I know that life has challenged you,
But the King in me speaks to the King in you.
You were born to rule.
There is a king in you. (Repeat)
Bridge
Is there no King in you,
Then why do you speak, speak with such defeat.
Is there no King in you,
Then why do you speak, speak with such low esteem.
I know life has challenged you,
But the King in me speaks to the king in you.
You were born to rule.
There is a King in you.
Vamp
There is a King in you (repeat w/ invert)
And here's the video, along with someone named Ted Winn singing "Connected to the Kingdom."
Anyway, towards the "out of my mind" topic, sometimes I wonder what goes on in my mind. I have a fetish for cataloguing or organizing things, though you can't tell it by my house. My compulsion for organization -- at least mental organization -- is reminiscent of OCD, while my physical organization puts one in the mind of the show "hoarders." At the end of the day, they're both signs of mental dysfunction, though at opposite ends of the spectrum.
Hard to believe that compulsion for organization while reading this blog, huh? But I am coming to the point, which is that I do things that are just plain bizarre. Case #1 -- food. For reasons that I think I understand, I tend to eat in phases. I'll be in a mood for a certain type of food and will crave it and eat only that for days, weeks, or sometimes months. After the craving is over, I usually don't want it any more. Recent examples have included (in no particular order) Canadian bacon, guacamole, four year old aged Gouda, coconut water, Trader Joe's chocolate chunk almond cookies, and mozzarella cheese. Oh, and protein shakes. I now have several bottles of coconut water, a pound or so of mozzarella, a coupla containers of guac, pounds of canadian bacon, and at least a coupla pounds of aged Gouda in my fridge. Oh, and yogurt. I have quarts of yogurt. And nuts. Pecans and almonds. Should I even mention my recent expeditions in search of Girl Scout Cookies?
I can toss the food cravings and compulsions up to either hormones or the bariatric surgery I had, but neither of those can explain the latest thing I did, which is case #2. I think it was year before last (2009), at Thanksgiving, I was at home in North Carolina and my brother and I decided to go to the Black Friday sale at Walmart. They had a $200.00 laptop. Since mine was an old Dell Latitude I'd acquired several years before when my law firm had refreshed, and since even I realized I'd never need a desktop again, I decided $200.00 was a good deal for a laptop with Win7 preinstalled. And I was right, it was a good deal. I got it, bought some more memory to max it out, bought a little USB hub because it only comes with two USB ports, and I was good to go.
Until last week, when I decided I had to have another one. No real reason -- I just like this one and thought I should have a second one. I bid unsuccessfully on a manufacturer refurb on eBay, but forgot about the auction end time and lost it. Because I'm compulsive, I'd put another one on my watch list. I calculated the cost of going home a week after I'd get back from the Middle East, plus the fact that my brother no longer works for a hotel where I can live in a duplex for $30.00 per night, plus the cost of car rentals now that I'm older and buy insurance, came to a new max bid price, entered it in and won the laptop, which arrived yesterday. So now I have two laptops that are exactly identical, except the one with Office 2007 has twice as much memory as the one with Office 2010. I need to see if the max that machine will run is 4GB or 8GB, and once I find that out, I can update my machines. Either 4 or 8 GB will -- or should -- keep me operating for quite a while, but here's the deal: I didn't NEED a second laptop (or third laptop, since the older one I got from my firm still works, I'm just too lazy to bring it up to acceptable standards..)
Oh, well. Yesterday a guy on the bus was spewing such a stream of vile obscenities out of his mouth that I wanted to speak to him. I chose not to because, given what he was saying, I was actually afraid. I felt like an idiot for just turning up my gospel music and singing to myself (the only way I could drown him out) -- I really felt like he needed to hear the message, and I wanted to approach him, but something -- not sure if it was fear or common sense, but something wouldn't let me.
Don't you know that just as soon as I stepped off that bus, my song ended and Donald Lawrence's "There is a King in You" played. I felt like I'd missed my opportunity to share, so I'm at least going to post the words here. Maybe I'll remember them the next time I'm in that situation. And there will be a next time, that's for sure. I live in Harlem and work in the South Bronx.
There is a King in You, by Donald Lawrence & Co.
Verse
You come from Royalty,
An aristocratic dynasty.
The goal of the enemy,
Is that you don't know who you are.
There's power when you speak.
Be mindful of words you release.
I know that life has challenged you,
But the King in me speaks to the King in you.
You were born to rule.
There is a king in you. (Repeat)
Bridge
Is there no King in you,
Then why do you speak, speak with such defeat.
Is there no King in you,
Then why do you speak, speak with such low esteem.
I know life has challenged you,
But the King in me speaks to the king in you.
You were born to rule.
There is a King in you.
Vamp
There is a King in you (repeat w/ invert)
And here's the video, along with someone named Ted Winn singing "Connected to the Kingdom."
Monday, April 11, 2011
Deification
Pretty sure I've lost my mind now, but I never cease to be amazed with the tendency we humans have to deify other humans, but I'ma follow along in the trend. We already know that African Americans tend to deify our pastors, acting like they're mini-gods.
Now I'm going to talk about my students. It occurs to me that the deification process goes on there, as well. I am a teaching assistant and Professor in courses at a local seminary. Maybe I'm crazy, but it looks to me like the students there are into deification, as well.
It's like the prof is a god -- he has all the power, and what he says goes. Everyone wants to get into his good graces, to make sure they please him and to do his will. When I'm the professor, I get the same treatment -- students always want to know what I think about whether they're doing things right or not. There appears to be a complete abdication of personal thought, responsibility, or reasoning -- it's all about being inside the good and perfect will of the deity.
As the TA, there's a similar (but distinct) phenomenon: they profess to want to follow my instructions to find out what the deity wants, and there's the deification to my face, but there's lots of chatter and murmuring about why or whether I really require various things. There's also the widely held (mis-)perception that no one can access the deity except through the mini-deity, even though I encourage my students both to challenge me and to approach the prof when they have questions, concerns, and issues. But the thing that had me losing my mind is the Hosanna/Crucify phenomenon. Students who will come up in my face singing my praises are, many times, the same students who will write (I'm hoping unintentionally) nasty, self-pitying emails, begging for extensions, revisions, or other special consideration, never taking into account the fact that one person has to suffer through reading dozens and dozens of (adjective deleted) exams.
What I'm saying is that they treat the prof like a god, and they treat me like a jesus, complete with the false adoration, turning on, and turning against.
In the midst of all this, I'm trying very hard not to react (because technically I can flunk a student, which could potentially have disastrous emotional, vocational, and economic consequences). I can't react to the fact that they resist activities designed for their growth. I can't react to the fact that they're too scared to jump in and learn something new. I can't react to the fact that they resist my efforts to teach them. I can't react to the fact that they're sometimes bitter or mean or hostile or just scared which makes them appear like all that. Nah, I have to exercise something like godly wisdom (of which I have a measly portion), look beyond their perceived faults, and meet them at their points of need, always recognizing and always grateful that I know a big-G God and a big-J Jesus who have extended more than that measure of grace and mercy to me...
Now to go get my lunch. I'm starting to really resent meetings. My knee is better, and I want to go to the gym tonight, but have meetings...
Now I'm going to talk about my students. It occurs to me that the deification process goes on there, as well. I am a teaching assistant and Professor in courses at a local seminary. Maybe I'm crazy, but it looks to me like the students there are into deification, as well.
It's like the prof is a god -- he has all the power, and what he says goes. Everyone wants to get into his good graces, to make sure they please him and to do his will. When I'm the professor, I get the same treatment -- students always want to know what I think about whether they're doing things right or not. There appears to be a complete abdication of personal thought, responsibility, or reasoning -- it's all about being inside the good and perfect will of the deity.
As the TA, there's a similar (but distinct) phenomenon: they profess to want to follow my instructions to find out what the deity wants, and there's the deification to my face, but there's lots of chatter and murmuring about why or whether I really require various things. There's also the widely held (mis-)perception that no one can access the deity except through the mini-deity, even though I encourage my students both to challenge me and to approach the prof when they have questions, concerns, and issues. But the thing that had me losing my mind is the Hosanna/Crucify phenomenon. Students who will come up in my face singing my praises are, many times, the same students who will write (I'm hoping unintentionally) nasty, self-pitying emails, begging for extensions, revisions, or other special consideration, never taking into account the fact that one person has to suffer through reading dozens and dozens of (adjective deleted) exams.
What I'm saying is that they treat the prof like a god, and they treat me like a jesus, complete with the false adoration, turning on, and turning against.
In the midst of all this, I'm trying very hard not to react (because technically I can flunk a student, which could potentially have disastrous emotional, vocational, and economic consequences). I can't react to the fact that they resist activities designed for their growth. I can't react to the fact that they're too scared to jump in and learn something new. I can't react to the fact that they resist my efforts to teach them. I can't react to the fact that they're sometimes bitter or mean or hostile or just scared which makes them appear like all that. Nah, I have to exercise something like godly wisdom (of which I have a measly portion), look beyond their perceived faults, and meet them at their points of need, always recognizing and always grateful that I know a big-G God and a big-J Jesus who have extended more than that measure of grace and mercy to me...
Now to go get my lunch. I'm starting to really resent meetings. My knee is better, and I want to go to the gym tonight, but have meetings...
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Today
So I tried to sleep in this morning, but got up at my usual Saturday morning time, just before 10. That would have given me time to rush to my water aerobics class, but my leg had other ideas. It's MUCH better, but there was a little stiffness, and common sense told me not to push it. Did some reading on the internet about Cortisone flares, which this apparently was. Some entries call the pain excruciating, some mention something called "crystalline synovitis," which apparently happens a coupla hours after the injection, when the cortisone crystallizes in the synovial (or joint-lining) fluids.
All I know is that I've been a martial artist training several days a week and competing, have undergone chemotherapy, radiation, and more surgeries than I can remember, and I have NEVER felt pain like what I felt yesterday.
Funny, I'm always telling my employees about preventive healthcare. Had I taken care of my knees at the first sign of discomfort instead of waiting so long, it's entirely possible that the reaction would not have been so severe. There's no way to know for sure, of course, but it's possible. Note to self: don't wait so long next time. With my medical history, people will call me prudent before they call me hypochondriac (duh....your doctors give you their home and cellphone numbers), and you've been told repeatedly to stop waiting so long when you know your body needs taking care of. So stop with the invincibility crap and start spending a little more time practicing the preventive care you're so fond of preaching about.
So I was saying. Went to Duane Reade and picked up my meds, got a cup of coffee and headed downtown to Trader Joe's. I was in and out in no time -- I'm usually in the gym from 10 til noon or later on Saturdays, and never realized that it's a perfect time to run errands. Came back home to find one of my buddies has hooked me up with a legal copy of Office 2010 for laptop that should be arriving soon (I use a $199.00 Black Friday Special from Walmart. I maxxed out the memory on it so it runs faster. Found one, same model, on ebay for 250, so I got it and will do the same. Once I put office 2010 on it, I should have enough computing power to last me for at least 2-3 more years. ). So I've got Office 2010 all downloaded and ready to install when the new machine comes.
It's still only 12:43. I feel like I'm getting an extra day! I have to grade all those papers, of course, and have to go to the cleaners and pick up the house. But it's a wonderful day and I'm happy to be pain free!
Now, I was raised up without an acute awareness of race. I went to a very progressive kindergarten (Here's a link to it. It was the first integrated kindergarten in town, in 1960. In North Carolina.) So I grew up with very odd constructs about race. Years later, when my friends all knew I was crazy, the thing they thought oddest about me was not that I was in my late 20s and still had imaginary friends, but that those imaginary friends had no race. Race was simply not an essential element of a human's identity in my growing up. I'm sure that was formed in large part because I was a "special" child. The fact that I was black and out-achieved most of my white classmates (and possibly some of my white teachers) was not a black/white thing, but simply an intellectual thing. Intellectual capacity rigor, distinction, (and, sad to say, elitism)have always been much greater points of identification for me than have any sorts of racial classification. AFter the intellectual identification, then there's the spiritual one (not religious, but spirit -- can our spirits speak to, recognize, and/or understand / acknowledge one another?) That's the reality in which I operate. Race has, for the most part, been a tedious, irrelevant, superimposed construct that exists in and is limited to our physicality. My experience had always been about transcending the physicality.
Having lived in NY for several decades, I have learned to deal with the racial issue (although I still don't understand my brother's concept of the "African Holy Ghost" ). So I've learned to deal with racial issues, and can appreciate the distinctions between Italians and Irish, Puerto Ricans and Dominicans, and lots of other distinctions that once were lost on me. (My pc usage keeps spiking at 100%. Not sure why. So I shut down and restarted, which totally interrupted my train of thought). But I've learned all these racial constructs, and know better than to generalize, but am gonna do it anyway.
Why is it that when the weather goes above 45 degrees, white people want to take off their clothes? I'm not talking about all white people, I'm talking about mostly yupped out young white males. Earlier this week, on Monday, I saw a guy walking barefoot when it was like 42 degrees outside. I thought he was homeless, but then I later saw him in a fast food restaurant. He was in front of a guy wearing flipflops. Today it was in the 40s when I went outside, but is supposed to get up to 60. Granted, i have joint issues, and am still wearing my longjohns, but really, shorts and flipflops? And it's only guys. Women still have on short jackets or sweaters and scarves. Guys are sometimes wearing sweaters, and shorts and flipflops.
Oh, well. Another thing I'm noticing more is the distinction between American-born kids of Africans versus American-born kids of African-Americans. The kids with direct ties to Africa still have manners and respect for elders -- there's a certain grace and maturity among them, they're working and are diligent and respectful, doing a good job and not just "getting over." The difference is remarkable. I think we may need to start reaching out to these American born kids of African descent so they don't fall into the cycle of self-hatred and self-destrcution that plagues our homegrown kids. I think we need to encourage the ones with active ties to Africa so they maintain those ties and also so they share that culture with the kids here. I can only speak for West Africans, because those are the ones whose kids I see working hard. Don't know a lot about East Africans....
And so I need to get off the comptuer and go do something productive. It feels good to write again, though. And thanks to JohnChapter8 for letting me know you were reading. I needed the motivation!!
All I know is that I've been a martial artist training several days a week and competing, have undergone chemotherapy, radiation, and more surgeries than I can remember, and I have NEVER felt pain like what I felt yesterday.
Funny, I'm always telling my employees about preventive healthcare. Had I taken care of my knees at the first sign of discomfort instead of waiting so long, it's entirely possible that the reaction would not have been so severe. There's no way to know for sure, of course, but it's possible. Note to self: don't wait so long next time. With my medical history, people will call me prudent before they call me hypochondriac (duh....your doctors give you their home and cellphone numbers), and you've been told repeatedly to stop waiting so long when you know your body needs taking care of. So stop with the invincibility crap and start spending a little more time practicing the preventive care you're so fond of preaching about.
So I was saying. Went to Duane Reade and picked up my meds, got a cup of coffee and headed downtown to Trader Joe's. I was in and out in no time -- I'm usually in the gym from 10 til noon or later on Saturdays, and never realized that it's a perfect time to run errands. Came back home to find one of my buddies has hooked me up with a legal copy of Office 2010 for laptop that should be arriving soon (I use a $199.00 Black Friday Special from Walmart. I maxxed out the memory on it so it runs faster. Found one, same model, on ebay for 250, so I got it and will do the same. Once I put office 2010 on it, I should have enough computing power to last me for at least 2-3 more years. ). So I've got Office 2010 all downloaded and ready to install when the new machine comes.
It's still only 12:43. I feel like I'm getting an extra day! I have to grade all those papers, of course, and have to go to the cleaners and pick up the house. But it's a wonderful day and I'm happy to be pain free!
Now, I was raised up without an acute awareness of race. I went to a very progressive kindergarten (Here's a link to it. It was the first integrated kindergarten in town, in 1960. In North Carolina.) So I grew up with very odd constructs about race. Years later, when my friends all knew I was crazy, the thing they thought oddest about me was not that I was in my late 20s and still had imaginary friends, but that those imaginary friends had no race. Race was simply not an essential element of a human's identity in my growing up. I'm sure that was formed in large part because I was a "special" child. The fact that I was black and out-achieved most of my white classmates (and possibly some of my white teachers) was not a black/white thing, but simply an intellectual thing. Intellectual capacity rigor, distinction, (and, sad to say, elitism)have always been much greater points of identification for me than have any sorts of racial classification. AFter the intellectual identification, then there's the spiritual one (not religious, but spirit -- can our spirits speak to, recognize, and/or understand / acknowledge one another?) That's the reality in which I operate. Race has, for the most part, been a tedious, irrelevant, superimposed construct that exists in and is limited to our physicality. My experience had always been about transcending the physicality.
Having lived in NY for several decades, I have learned to deal with the racial issue (although I still don't understand my brother's concept of the "African Holy Ghost" ). So I've learned to deal with racial issues, and can appreciate the distinctions between Italians and Irish, Puerto Ricans and Dominicans, and lots of other distinctions that once were lost on me. (My pc usage keeps spiking at 100%. Not sure why. So I shut down and restarted, which totally interrupted my train of thought). But I've learned all these racial constructs, and know better than to generalize, but am gonna do it anyway.
Why is it that when the weather goes above 45 degrees, white people want to take off their clothes? I'm not talking about all white people, I'm talking about mostly yupped out young white males. Earlier this week, on Monday, I saw a guy walking barefoot when it was like 42 degrees outside. I thought he was homeless, but then I later saw him in a fast food restaurant. He was in front of a guy wearing flipflops. Today it was in the 40s when I went outside, but is supposed to get up to 60. Granted, i have joint issues, and am still wearing my longjohns, but really, shorts and flipflops? And it's only guys. Women still have on short jackets or sweaters and scarves. Guys are sometimes wearing sweaters, and shorts and flipflops.
Oh, well. Another thing I'm noticing more is the distinction between American-born kids of Africans versus American-born kids of African-Americans. The kids with direct ties to Africa still have manners and respect for elders -- there's a certain grace and maturity among them, they're working and are diligent and respectful, doing a good job and not just "getting over." The difference is remarkable. I think we may need to start reaching out to these American born kids of African descent so they don't fall into the cycle of self-hatred and self-destrcution that plagues our homegrown kids. I think we need to encourage the ones with active ties to Africa so they maintain those ties and also so they share that culture with the kids here. I can only speak for West Africans, because those are the ones whose kids I see working hard. Don't know a lot about East Africans....
And so I need to get off the comptuer and go do something productive. It feels good to write again, though. And thanks to JohnChapter8 for letting me know you were reading. I needed the motivation!!
Friday, April 8, 2011
Getting old is not for wimps
So I have degenerative osteoarthritis all over my body, but perhaps most noticeably in my knees. While losing 100+ lbs certainly helped, I still have issues from time to time. I get injections of OrthoVisc or SynVisc (whatever insurance will pay for) twice a year. Got the last series in February, so I was reluctant to go back for cortisone shots so quickly.
And I'd gone from 10 miles per week to over 20 miles per week on the elliptical (which is designed to decrease impact on the joints), so thought the little discomfort in my knees was my body's way of answering my orthopedist's question of "how much pain are you willing to bear?" (Which was his response to my question of whether I'd ever be able to run.)
ANYway. I went in this morning for my cortisone shots, after realizing I can't just call up and ask for the shots, I have to call up and tell them I'm in pain and can the doctor see me, and might shots be available. So I did the shots -- 8:10 appointment, called me at 8 am, by 8:30 I'd paid, was out, had stopped to get coffee, cash, and play Lotto, and was headed to the #5 train uptown. Because I sometimes experience some stiffness after the shots, I took my cane with me, though I was twirling it as much as I was using it to walk with.
Got to work, after experiencing the joy of giving. I saw an old woman with two cute little girls, and started making conversation. They were a year apart (not twins), maybe 6 and 7, and were adorable. Well, as adorable as kids that age could be. Something told me to give her money, but I didn't have anything but 20s, so I closed my wallet. But the Spirit prodded me again, reminding me that I have no problem gambling away $20.00 and rationalizing that "I can afford it," so I folded up a 20, shook her hand, and told her she's doing a good thing and that God will bless her. She didn't realize what I'd done until I was almost off the bus, but once she saw it, the look on her face was PRICELESS!! I think she told the kids, because they looked at me and thanked me. I got off the bus so full of joy I nearly cried. I think I might have to do that one again. Not for people who are expecting it, but to average, everyday people who could clearly use it.
So I go to my office and start working. Well, my knee starts to throb. And throb. And throb. And then it must have started to swell, because the brace I had on got too tight. The throbbing continued, now accentuated by a pain so intense, I could only think that my orthopedist had not injected cortisone, but some cheap Chinese concoction that was actually acid. I started to sweat. Then I began to sweat profusely. I opened the window. Thought I was gonna hurl. Tried to go the baño, but couldn't put any weight on my leg. Hobbled there, hobbled back, hobbled there again. I can barely walk, even with the cane, and can put no weight or pressure on the leg, and can't even straighten it out.
Hobbled back to my office, took off my shoes, locked my office door, and took off my pants. I cried, I hollered, I sang, and praised, spoke Victory over myself, renounced slew foot as a liar and plead the Blood of Jesus. The pain continued. I called my staff who went out and got me an icepack and some ice. Although they did it as quickly as they could, I thought I would lose my mind from the pain. It was like a migraine in my knee, I guess. All of a sudden, I couldn't even take phone calls from funders, and actually yelled at the phone when it rang.
I finally called the doctor, whose office told me this was an expected reaction because of the degree of inflammation. "Even pain so intense it makes me want to puke?" I asked. "Yes, unfortunately," was the answer.
I had a 2 pm meeting in another building. I started leaving my office just after 1. There was no way I could walk there; it took me nearly 15 minutes to get down the stairs. Had a conference call with a hospital and one of my program directors -- probably the first time I ever lost my temper with one of my employees. It wasn't pretty, and I felt compelled to apologize to her before the day was over. At the time, though, I was in pain and needed to get through that situation to make an appearance at the meeting so I could go home, take some pain meds and go to bed.
Long story short, I got to the other building right at 2 pm, barely moving. The meeting ran from 2 to 4 (after which one of the employees gave me a lovely thank you card and note of encouragement, for which I am grateful. She's a quiet lady, somewhere between mousy and a gentle giant. I never talked to her much, but she made my day today.
The pain in my leg began to subside a bit around 5 pm (possibly because the focus was taken off it when I was taken aback by my employees for whom I pay over $500 per month in insurance and who are now upset because the premium rose and they have to pay the difference, a whopping $62.00 per month. These people actually complained, although none of the complainants bothered to respond to my request for their input when actually choosing the policy....) -- so the pain began to subside around 5 pm, and I met with a different program director until about 7. By that time, I was able to put a bit of weight on the leg, and actually took public transportation home.
So the money I would have spent on the cab was the money I gave to the lady, I was able to speak a word of victory over myself, and yet another day serving as executive director of a South Bronx social services agency has come to an end.
There's so much more, but the cortisone raises my blood sugar, which has given me an incredible headache. I kinda think I won't be able to make the gym tomorrow, and hope I'll be able to go to Duane Reade to pick up my meds. Patience and tolerance. Those are the areas in which I need the most work, and those are the areas in which God is working with -- and, despite myself, blessing -- me.
And I'd gone from 10 miles per week to over 20 miles per week on the elliptical (which is designed to decrease impact on the joints), so thought the little discomfort in my knees was my body's way of answering my orthopedist's question of "how much pain are you willing to bear?" (Which was his response to my question of whether I'd ever be able to run.)
ANYway. I went in this morning for my cortisone shots, after realizing I can't just call up and ask for the shots, I have to call up and tell them I'm in pain and can the doctor see me, and might shots be available. So I did the shots -- 8:10 appointment, called me at 8 am, by 8:30 I'd paid, was out, had stopped to get coffee, cash, and play Lotto, and was headed to the #5 train uptown. Because I sometimes experience some stiffness after the shots, I took my cane with me, though I was twirling it as much as I was using it to walk with.
Got to work, after experiencing the joy of giving. I saw an old woman with two cute little girls, and started making conversation. They were a year apart (not twins), maybe 6 and 7, and were adorable. Well, as adorable as kids that age could be. Something told me to give her money, but I didn't have anything but 20s, so I closed my wallet. But the Spirit prodded me again, reminding me that I have no problem gambling away $20.00 and rationalizing that "I can afford it," so I folded up a 20, shook her hand, and told her she's doing a good thing and that God will bless her. She didn't realize what I'd done until I was almost off the bus, but once she saw it, the look on her face was PRICELESS!! I think she told the kids, because they looked at me and thanked me. I got off the bus so full of joy I nearly cried. I think I might have to do that one again. Not for people who are expecting it, but to average, everyday people who could clearly use it.
So I go to my office and start working. Well, my knee starts to throb. And throb. And throb. And then it must have started to swell, because the brace I had on got too tight. The throbbing continued, now accentuated by a pain so intense, I could only think that my orthopedist had not injected cortisone, but some cheap Chinese concoction that was actually acid. I started to sweat. Then I began to sweat profusely. I opened the window. Thought I was gonna hurl. Tried to go the baño, but couldn't put any weight on my leg. Hobbled there, hobbled back, hobbled there again. I can barely walk, even with the cane, and can put no weight or pressure on the leg, and can't even straighten it out.
Hobbled back to my office, took off my shoes, locked my office door, and took off my pants. I cried, I hollered, I sang, and praised, spoke Victory over myself, renounced slew foot as a liar and plead the Blood of Jesus. The pain continued. I called my staff who went out and got me an icepack and some ice. Although they did it as quickly as they could, I thought I would lose my mind from the pain. It was like a migraine in my knee, I guess. All of a sudden, I couldn't even take phone calls from funders, and actually yelled at the phone when it rang.
I finally called the doctor, whose office told me this was an expected reaction because of the degree of inflammation. "Even pain so intense it makes me want to puke?" I asked. "Yes, unfortunately," was the answer.
I had a 2 pm meeting in another building. I started leaving my office just after 1. There was no way I could walk there; it took me nearly 15 minutes to get down the stairs. Had a conference call with a hospital and one of my program directors -- probably the first time I ever lost my temper with one of my employees. It wasn't pretty, and I felt compelled to apologize to her before the day was over. At the time, though, I was in pain and needed to get through that situation to make an appearance at the meeting so I could go home, take some pain meds and go to bed.
Long story short, I got to the other building right at 2 pm, barely moving. The meeting ran from 2 to 4 (after which one of the employees gave me a lovely thank you card and note of encouragement, for which I am grateful. She's a quiet lady, somewhere between mousy and a gentle giant. I never talked to her much, but she made my day today.
The pain in my leg began to subside a bit around 5 pm (possibly because the focus was taken off it when I was taken aback by my employees for whom I pay over $500 per month in insurance and who are now upset because the premium rose and they have to pay the difference, a whopping $62.00 per month. These people actually complained, although none of the complainants bothered to respond to my request for their input when actually choosing the policy....) -- so the pain began to subside around 5 pm, and I met with a different program director until about 7. By that time, I was able to put a bit of weight on the leg, and actually took public transportation home.
So the money I would have spent on the cab was the money I gave to the lady, I was able to speak a word of victory over myself, and yet another day serving as executive director of a South Bronx social services agency has come to an end.
There's so much more, but the cortisone raises my blood sugar, which has given me an incredible headache. I kinda think I won't be able to make the gym tomorrow, and hope I'll be able to go to Duane Reade to pick up my meds. Patience and tolerance. Those are the areas in which I need the most work, and those are the areas in which God is working with -- and, despite myself, blessing -- me.