What I learned in African American Studies...

In college I took a number of African American Studies courses.  So many, in fact, that I seriously considered a minor in the subject.  My study abroad semester in put an end to that though as African American Studies credits are rather hard to receive in Dublin, Ireland.

Anyway, I loved these classes.  I was always one of a handful of white students.  And I learned more in these classes than in any other course.   They were discussion based for the most part (a favorite for my extroverted, verbal processing self) and the discussions were always intense and authentic.  Every semester my eyes and heart were opened wide to the actual present day treatment of minorities, in particular African Americans.  Every semester I broke a little more over the history of abuse and injustice they have endured. 

I always did a lot more listening that talking in these classes.  I had so much more to learn than offer. 

They were sacred spaces, these African American Studies classes.

In every class there was often at least one student who had a hard time.  This student was always white and entered into conversations slightly (or incredibly) defensive.  Black students would share their experiences with racism and hatred and this white student would tell them that no, that couldn’t possibly be their experience.  They must be mistaken.  White people don’t act that way.  I can remember in particular one student who quickly became very disliked.  Instead of listening and receiving stories she rejected and defended.  In her frustration she offended and silenced vulnerable sharing.  You could see it on the faces of my classmates.  Every time she spoke up in class those around her started to shut down or get visibly frustrated.  This was supposed to be a sacred space and she was defiling it.  Instead of heart changing dialogue the class found themselves on opposing sides believing that no common ground could ever be found.

I felt bad for her.  Deep down I understood how she felt and the reasons behind her reaction.  It’s hard to hear about the marginalization, mistreatment and oppression of others, particularly when we find ourselves carrying some amount of guilt regardless of whether or not the pain was caused by our own actions or the actions of those that look like us.  Our tendency, in that guilt, is to get defensive.  When we get defensive we sometimes try to discredit the marginalization, mistreatment and oppression.  We put the blame on the other; convince ourselves that they are over reacting, misinterpreting, or exaggerating.  It can’t possibly be that bad.

Unfortunately it is.  But even if it wasn’t, it does us no good to discredit someone’s story.  Their story is their truth.  Trying to convince them their truth is incorrect is not only wrong, but also downright offensive.

I’ve watched with a heavy heart the events unfolding in Ferguson, MO this past week.  It is utterly heartbreaking and difficult to watch.  News of John Crawford’s death split my heart right open.  It’s bad out there right now. 

We have a problem in our country.  We just do.  There is no defending or denying the systematic injustice that occurs on a daily basis in predominantly black communities all across the nation.  We have a serious problem.  Kristen Howerton’s article does a good job of laying out some facts regarding what’s been happening at Ferguson before the shooting and with regard to racial bias and police brutality in general.  I think it’s important to understand the facts regarding what has been going on long before Michael Brown was killed.

I think we also have a listening problem in our country.  We respond to the stories of black men and women much like that girl in my class.  We get defensive.  We try to derail from issue at hand with one-off instances or issues that are beside the point. We as a country are sticking our heads in the sand, unwilling to own or even hear about the racial injustices that exist in America in 2014.  And it pains me to admit this, but I think white Christians are some of the worst offenders of this listening problem.

We need to listen to the stories of others.  Listen without fear or judgment.  Without trying to fix or defend.  We need to seek out the stories of those that are different from us.  We need to really listen to the stories that make us uncomfortable, that twist our insides and leave us feeling a little defensive and exposed.  And then, instead of reacting, we need to sit with these stories for a while until our walls come down and our hearts open and break and recognize these stories as important and true as our own.  We need to listen until we recognize the storytellers as our own.

If we continue to act defensive we will continue to stand at opposing sides and no common ground will be found.  We will do well to remember that when listening to those who have spent a lifetime at the receiving end of systematic injustice, we have much more to learn than offer.  If we can’t do this we will learn nothing.  And what is happening in Ferguson will continue to happen all across our country.

Another Lou to Love

For all of my life I can remember my dad answering my Uncle Tom’s phone calls with the same greeting in his deep gravely voice, “Heeeey Chief!”  And hearing, over the phone, my uncle’s cheerful reply “Heeeey Lou!”

I don’t know why, but my uncle called my dad Lou.  I never gave the nickname much thought, it was one of those things that always just was.   He was Lou and Uncle Tom was Chief.  

*****

For all of my pregnancy with Red I thought for sure I was having a boy.  You can imagine my surprise when, 15 minutes after arriving to the hospital, I gave birth to a beautiful baby girl.  (There were a lot of surprises in that moment.  The fact that I was holding a baby and not, in fact, still in labor was probably the most shocking.  But her gender did fall towards the top of the list.) 

Names were a tough topic in this third pregnancy.  We wanted to honor my dad, but Tommy and I had different boys names that meant something to us in connection to him.  And, with the exception of one family name my sister had claimed years ago, we really didn’t have any girls’ names that connected to my dad.  Since I didn’t think we were having a girl, and the high emotions behind our differing opinions on boys’ names left us unable to discuss them without (my) tears, we were at a stalemate on baby names right up until the moment Red was born.

A week before her birth my sister had thrown out the name Louisa.  “You could call her Lou.  Like dad’s nick name with Uncle Tom.”  Lou.  It was a thought.  A good one, but not one I took very seriously since I was definitely sure I was having a boy.

Fast forward to the moment, seconds after a nurse caught my baby, Tommy announced that the baby boy I was sure I was having was actually a girl.  A girl for which I had no name.

Once the adrenaline of having just had a baby when sixteen minutes ago Tommy was peeling his dad’s Buick Oldsmobile into the hospital parking lot wore off I tentatively suggested we should name this baby. 

Some of our old names just didn’t seem right.  She wasn’t a Fiona.  And while I loved Breen, my dad’s middle name, I knew in my heart of hearts it belonged to my sisters’ future daughter.  Rory?  We do like boys’ names for a girl.  I threw out Louisa.  “We could call her Lou, like my dad’s nick name with Uncle Tom.”

I was nervous to land on this name, even though it felt right.  Because a week ago this name didn’t even exist on my radar, I feared I was making an emotional decision.  That I didn’t love the name I just loved that it sort of connected to my dad.  Moreover, Tommy hadn’t had any time to consider this name since I was just bringing it up then. 

And there we were, trying to figure out the name for our daughter, a decision that requires more time and less exhaustion than we had at that moment. 

We were stuck between Louisa and Rory, Tommy leaning towards the latter and me towards the former, when my mom arrived with Monster and Toots.  Monster had been so incredibly excited about this moment for months.  He couldn’t wait to meet “his” baby in Mommy’s belly and his reaction did not disappoint.  He ran right over to the chair Tommy was sitting in with Red and immediately started kissing and petting her.  For Monster it was love at first sight.

Tommy said, “This is your baby sister.  What do you think we should name her?  Louisa or Rory?”

And Monster responded, so matter-of-factly, “Louisa.”

And that was that.  Another red haired Lou entered our life.

My mom called my Uncle Tom that night to give him the news of Red’s arrival.  She told him about her name and why we had chosen it.  Later that night he sent her in email.  In it he said the following,

“I feel so honored and blessed to have a new " Lou " in my life to love and cherish forever. That name was created by a special bond over 50 years ago and Tommy & Colleen were unbelievably thoughtful in naming her as they did.”

I think we all feel honored and blessed to have a new “Lou” in our lives.  I can’t wait to tell her about the man we named her after and the ways she keeps him alive.  I love her name, full and shortened versions.  And I love that in her own way she carries part of my dad with her.  He may never hold her, or sing to her, or delight in her in the ways he could her older siblings, but Red carries a cherished nickname and relationship with her.  And miraculously his trademark hair color too.   

7.

kids, I tell ya.  We were kids.

Earlier this month Tommy and I celebrated our seventh anniversary.  We hadn't had a proper date night in months.  My mom and sister took the kids and we set out to drag out our child-free time as long as possible.  We started at a pub and toasted my dad over Guinness.  Then we walked down the block for sushi and wine.  And ended our night with our favorite dessert, vanilla cones from McDonald's.  Classy, eh?

In between all those stops we spent the minutes reconnecting.  We sat side by side on bar stools and made a list of places in the world we wanted to visit together.  We sipped wine and fought over sushi rolls while we rehashed the past week and shared some honest truths.  And we teased each other and laughed together while we pulled out of the drive thru.  It was good, seven years in, to be able to dream together, to laugh together and share together.

We were married on July 7, 2007 or 07/07/07.  I think that made last night our "golden" anniversary?  At any rate it seems, within our marriage, that seven is a significant number.  Biblically seven is significant for many reasons, one of them being a symbol of completion.  It feels true in some ways. Tommy and I are completing a season in our marriage.

The first seven years of our marriage have been about forming our partnership.  Tommy and I are both independent to a fault at times and it's taken us a bit longer than most to come together.  We spent a lot of time walking our own roads, doing our own thing, side by side-  kind of like that parallel play that toddlers do.  The past seven years have been about learning to trust each other, practicing the work of turning to each other first and foremost.  It doesn't happen overnight.  You develop this partnership the same way we settle into sides of the bed.  Over time, with lots of fumbles and grace and love and leaps of faith, this person you promised to love forever in front of all your people becomes your person.  Before you know it there is only one side of the bed that feels comfortable and one person you look to first.  More than ever before this past year as served to cement Tommy and I together.  It was a shitty year and more than once I was afraid it would all be too much for him, that the sadness and hardness of my life would only serve to pull us apart.  But it didn't.  It solidified our partnership and our friendship.  I depended on him in ways I never wanted to have to.  He came through in ways I would never have expected.

If the past seven years have been about laying our foundations of partnership than I think the next seven are going to be about doing the work of being a partner.  We have some dear friends who live in California who have a great marriage.  They are a few years ahead of us in this whole marriage/parenting game and Tommy and I have looked to them as a sign of what's to come. (They are currently in that glorious stage of parenting that no longer involves naps, sippy cups, cribs or carrying a giant bag of crap every where you go.  When they visited earlier this month I stared longingly at Jen's simple small clutch she was able to carry around the museum while I was loaded down with a diaper bag, stroller and quite literally a baby attached to me in the ergo.)  Anyway, what I love about our friends' marriage is that they, better than most, partner with each other in everything. She knows the intricacies of his work life, knows who he's meeting with, or what deals need to be made.  He understands fully what her day looks like and finds ways to support her in it.  They are a team and they inspire me to be a better team member to Tommy.

Years one through seven have been all about forming the team.  Now we're shifting into being the team.  I'm excited to support and help and partner with Tommy more in the coming years.  What's more, I'm excited to let him do the same for me.  This is a huge shift for me.  It is my tendency to just keep to myself.  Sometimes it feels to vulnerable to let anyone into the work I'm doing, whether it be my writing, or my paid job, or even the friend, sister, mother work I do.  But lately I've started opening that work up to Tommy.  It's nice to have a partner I trust enough with the vulnerable, incomplete pieces of my life.

So these days I'm leaning into him more and more, dreaming big dreams for us and trusting that we'll work together to make them happen.  It's a good season we are entering.  I can feel it.

Introducing Lou...

It's been quiet here for a spell.  Because now I have three kids and I'm here to inform you that three is more that two.  A lot more.

Almost three weeks ago, on May 20th at 6:45 pm this little lady entered our lives.

Meet Louisa.  We will call her Lou.  There are lots of stories to tell already regarding sweet Lou.  Her birth is a story in and of itself (spoiler alert- it was fast, furious and dramatic), and there's more to her name than meets the eye.  Her siblings adore her and we think she's pretty great too.  Soon, I hope, and in the months to come I will tell those stories and more.

In the meantime I'd like to introduce you to our newest addition.  From here on out Lou will be called "Red" because surprisingly (and also not so surprisingly) she has hints of red in her hair.  Enough to make us think she may just be a ginger, like her grandfather before her.  He would have loved this little detail.  He would have loved her even more.

Monster turns 4

so excited to be 4.

Monster turned four yesterday.  I anticipated this day with an equal amount of excitement as the birthday boy.  For weeks Monster has asked for a countdown until the big day and yesterday morning he woke up early squealing with excitement, commanding his sister to “sing Happy Birthday to me!”  I love this age, love his joy and excitement, love that the years of setting up traditions are finally paying off.  He knows the birthday drill, looks forward to the little things we do to celebrate him.  And I love that.

What can I say about Monster at age 4? 

He is sweet.  He’s always been sweet, but it continues to be a defining quality to him.  He just has a sweet demeanor.  He is (generally) very kind to those around him, particularly smaller kids.  He loves his little sister and protects her in a way that I, as the oldest child, always craved an older brother would.  (The exception of course is when he is pretending his sister is the “bad guy” to his batman.  Then all protection bets are off and it usually results in a time out for head butting.)  He will often spontaneously blurt out, “Mommy, I wub you” (Mommy, I love you) for absolutely no reason at all.  And when he comes home from school each day we spend about 15 minutes sitting together on Noni’s brown leather recliner snuggling before Toots wakes up from her nap.  Often he hugs by belly and says “Baby, I wub you.”

worst picture taker ever.

He is a rule follower.  We are working on trying to encourage his own good behavior while also discourage his tendency to try to enforce the rules on everyone else (because while I want him to do the right thing, I don’t want him to be that annoying kid.)  But I am thankful for his natural tendency to stay in line (particularly on days I have my hands full with his slightly more rebellious sister).

wears capes everywhere.  in case he needs to save the day.

 He is obsessed with super heroes.  Batman reigns supreme around here but all masked and cape-wearing do-gooders are endeared.  At the park last month he introduced himself to a little girl as “Batman” and did the same for a group of parents on a tour at his school.  He asked for batman cake pops instead of cupcakes for his birthday breakfast treat and for his birthday party all he requested was a batman piñata.  We indulge this obsession because, well, it’s fun when your kids are excited about something.  Secret #84,568 about parenting: you will take as much joy as your children do in the things that interest them.

 

In his four years on earth my best boy has had to overcome more challenges than most and endure more transition than his change-adverse personality would have preferred.  But, especially this year, he has astounded me with his resilience.  In four years he has been diagnosedwith a hearing loss, learned, a year late to the game, how to listen and speak, moved, started attending full time school, received a cochlear implant that completely changed his entire way of hearing, re-learned how to listen andspeak with this new device and lost his beloved Granda.  My boy has not been known for an ability to go with the flow.  He is routine oriented and does not like change.  And yet this year, more than ever, he has seriously amazed me with his ability to tackle big hurdles.  We had our moments, to be sure, but overall each challenge has served to make him stronger, more capable and better able to handle change. 

I couldn’t be prouder of my Monster.  Four years ago he made me a mom and each year I fall more and more in love with him and the unique ways in which God made him.

Happy Birthday Monster.  We love you so!

That Girl

At least once I day I find myself shaking my head, smiling bemusedly and thinking, that girl.

Sometimes there is a bit of exasperation in this statement.  When we were in the throws of potty training earlier this month and I realized that she was very intentionally peeing on me, for example. 

Potty training essentials: batman underwear, 7 necklaces and princess slippers.

But there is always a chuckle or full belly laugh accompanying this thought too.

Toots turns two today.  She continues to take my breath away with her very “her-ness.”

She is a character.  A personality.  An entertainer.  A light.

She is feisty and spirited, silly and unencumbered.  She loves music, Katy Perry is her favorite.  She can sing along with “Let It Go” and “The Wheels on the Bus” and “Happy Birthday.”  She chatters constantly, carrying on conversations with whoever will entertain her and herself when no one will.  She knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to ask for it.

Typical behavior- everyone else is engrossed in the movie and she is hamming it up for the camera.

Oh, and she is joy personified.  One of her favorite songs is “You are my Sunshine” and I sing it to her wholeheartedly, truth in every word.  There is just something about her that lights up a room and makes you laugh.  You can’t help but smile in her presence.  After my dad died for weeks she was the only one who could bring any amount of light into my mom’s face.

taking time out very seriously, obviously

She takes up space.  And makes no apologies for it.  It’s one of my favorite things about her.  Physically she sprawls out wherever she is.  On your lap, on the floor, in the brown leather chair that is her favorite TV watching spot.  Instead of sitting up contained and defined she spreads her whole body out covering every square inch she’s been given.  And it’s not just with her body that she takes up space.  In a nebulous way I can’t quite describe I watch my daughter fill a room with her presence, naturally and unaware that there is any other way of being.

As a woman I’ve often felt like life has taught me to stay contained.  Don’t ask for too much, stay within defined boundaries, take less than you need, deny yourself always for the sake of others.  There are valuable things about living with selfless regard to others to be sure.  But when I watch my daughter take up all the space she’s been given I have an overwhelming urge to preserve that in her.  To protect this natural instinct from the barrage of voices that will tell her to stay small.  I want her to continue to fill her space, and learn to respect others’ at the same time.  To live fully into whom God created her to be while also giving room for others to do the same.  Mostly though I don't want her to ever lose her unapologetic way of being fully Toots.

Somehow I can’t believe that my baby is two and also can’t believe that she’s only been in our lives for two years.  And on this, her second birthday my prayer for her remains largely the same.  I pray that her identity would be rooted in the truth that she is loved so deeply by the God who perfectly made her.  And I pray that she would appreciate that everyone else is loved that way too.  I pray that she would have the quiet strength of knowing who she is without needing to please anyone or prove it either.  And I pray that our relationship would grow stronger each year, that I would love her exactly as she is and give her all the space to be just that.

Happy Birthday Toots.  We love you so much!

For Amy, On Her Wedding Day

I met Amy almost 9 years ago.  I remember one of our first conversations, on the corner in Tribeca where our church met.  She carried her guitar case and told me about her recent time living in Australia.  She had beautiful red hair and was living the office worker by day/ musician by night New York life.  I knew instantly that I liked her and that maybe, just maybe, she’d be my first New York friend.  As a native of Nebraska she shared my Midwest sensibility but as a fellow 20-somethings living in New York City we shared the same sense of adventure and dreaming that people who moved to New York after college carry with them.

She became the first of my New York girls, a group of women who changed my life and loved me so very completely.  During my first year in the city Amy was at times my only friend but throughout the course of that year we built community.  First it was with Aimee and Bob and Ben.  Then, at the beginning of that second year Amy and Aimee and I began a little “small group” of sorts, joined by Rachel and April, Kim and Becca.  These women were my family in the Big Apple.  They were the best things I took with me when I left.

Amy was always the start of it all and the one I continued to return to over the years.  She was the one to stand up for me at my wedding and the one to show up for my dad’s funeral.  She is beautiful, inside and out.  An incredibly talented singer and songwriter, Amy wrote the song she played at our wedding that I still cherish to this day.  She loves others so well.  She cares for her people, works hard to keep in touch with the friends she’s made around the world.  She shows up when she needs to, listens well and doesn’t judge.  Amy is the kind of friend everyone should have- loyal, loving and true.  I’ve been so blessed by her love and friendship.

Today is her wedding day.  Because I am 38 weeks pregnant and her wedding is in DC, I am not wearing the beautiful gray bridesmaid dress and standing by her side as she says her vows like I wanted to be.  Instead I am home, thinking about my sweet friend and what this day means.

I’ve walked with Amy through the past nine years as she’s courageously opened her heart to the wrong guys or the right-on-paper guys or the almost enough guys.  I’ve watched her take chances and put herself out there in big, brave ways.  I’ve watched her get hurt and heal and grow.  I’ve always known that Amy was a gem and that someday the right guy would see all that I’ve seen.  I knew if she was patient enough and continued to open her heart even though it had been mishandled before, the guy that was worth it would finally show up.    

And he did.  Her future husband knew instantly what I’ve always known; this is one you don’t let get away.  He was honest and up front and played no games.  He cherished her and valued her and took her aback with his straightforwardness.  And he himself is as much of a gem as she is. 

Today, on her wedding day, I want her to know how proud I am of her.  She had every reason to close her heart and stay small and safe.  She could have chosen not to take another risk, to let heartbreak and wrong guys jade and harden her.  But she instead chose the more difficult path of vulnerability.  She chose to stay open.  To take a chance.  To continue to love big.  I’m so very proud of her for this choice. 

She chose to stay true to herself.  To not compromise for the wrong guy.  She chose to wait for the one who loved her for her.  I’m so thankful she did.

Today, on her wedding day, I hope she knows how loved she is.  I hope she knows how many people are so excited for this day.  I hope she knows that we all cheering to know that she is marrying someone who is worthy, who values her in all the ways she deserves to be valued, who is an equal partner. 

Today, on her wedding day, I pray that she can feel all the joy, love and happiness that surround her.  I pray that this day, the beginning of the journey, is one that is filled with laughter and joyful tears, and enough certain happiness to sustain her through the eventual hard times every marriage encounters.  I pray that she knows she is surrounded by a community of people who are rooting for her marriage, committed to support it along the way.  I pray that my sweet friend knows how loved she is.

Happy wedding day Amy.  I am so very sad that I can’t be there.  But know I am thinking of you all day, loving you from afar and cheering for you in spirit.   This is a happy, happy day.