Sunday night thoughts in a jumble

 

 

University Christian Church
Fort Worth

 My thoughts are all mixed up tonight with politics and religion. While I, perhaps too often, let this blog veer into politics because I can’t keep quiet, tonight I feel compelled to talk about the intersection of politics and faith. Because deep down, I know as sure as anything that my politics are dictated by my faith.

I am still chewing on the quote in Heather Cox Richardson’s column a day or two ago to the effect that William Barr, former Attorney General, believes that the constitution does not separate church and state. Somehow, he works the First Amendment, which states that Congress shall make no law regarding religion, into a statement that the Founding Fathers believed that man, being inherently evil, needs a strong Christian government. For one thing, that’s a terribly arrogant argument—does he believe that he is above evil and knows better what us poor nasty folk need? For another, how does he mis-read the Constitution to that extent?

Separation of church and state is generally traced back to a letter by Thomas Jefferson which essentially put into words the concept of the First Amendment (remember, I’m no constitutional scholar, so I’m on shaky ground here). But Article Six of the Constitution effectively rules out the establishment of any state religion. I wish I could just dismiss Barr as a wild hare, except he speaks for the “originalists,” people like Amy Comey Barrett, maybe Brett Kavanaugh and Clarence Thomas (that’s a whole different story for another time), and the whole of the Federalist Society. He’s not just a lone voice. Even Senator Ben Sasse, obliquely chastising Ted Cruz for seeking a Fox news spot with his rudeness to Judge Kentanji Brown Jackson, said he admired the judge but could not vote for her judicial philosophy.

Then this morning a state legislature candidate in Tarrant Country made oblique reference to the death penalty for abortion. That logic is so screwed I won’t even attempt to wrap my mind around it. But just after I read that I listened to Russ Peterman’s sermon at University Christian Church, where he talked about prescriptive or legalistic religions—religions with strict rules. The question: is religion made for rules or for mankind? Evoking those Christian churches where congregants emerge every Sunday filled with guilt for their sins, Russ questioned whether religion is about guilt or grace. You know the answer he led us to.

I want so badly to remind those who would restrict our lives with laws—against abortion, against gender affirming care, against widespread voting, against interracial marriage (yes, that has been mentioned), against certain books, that if they follow Jesus’ example, it’s all about love, not about hate nor rules. Read 1 Corinthians 13: 13 or better yet read all of 1 Corinthians. What these people are talking about is in no way a Christian state. And even if it were, that overlooks our Constitution. We are not a Christian nation; we are a nation of diverse people and faiths that welcomes all. Christianity in its many forms is the most followed religion, but it has no corner on the market.

What scares me about all this is that it all ties together—William Barr, the Federalist Society, Amy Comey Barrett, Greg Abbott’s mean and inhumane laws, Proud Boys, trump (though I doubt he understands the philosophy and just considers it from an opportunistic point of view), Ginni and Clarence Thomas (she apparently is a passionate believer). I don't mean to be a conspiracy theorist and yet I can see how this all comes together in a vast network conspiring to overthrow democracy as the Founding Fathers intended it and as, until recent years, we knew it. The emails exchanged by Ginni Thomas and Mark Meadows confirm this.

And it sort of comes down to your view of mankind—evil or beloved of the god of your choice. My faith dictates that I am on the side of those who believe, “And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. And of these, the greatest is love.”

I’ll quit preaching now and promise tomorrow a light-hearted post about busy days and good food at the cottage. It’s hard to be lighthearted these days, but there is always a positive side to life.

Sometimes the day goes awry—it’s okay.

My baked egg
Tasted better than it looks
Great way to use leftovers

My dreams often reflect what’s on my mind any given day, and that was the case last night. In sleep, I alternated between cooking for a guest I expected tonight and writing a profile for which I’d just found a bonanza of information. It was a busy night, and I woke early, anticipating a busy day. 

The recipe I planned to fix is, once again, one of those my family won’t touch but my guest would, I hoped, enjoy—tuna Florentine. No, not fresh tuna, but that good, canned tuna that I order directly from a small, independent cannery in Oregon. It’s one of my favorite dishes, but I almost never make it for myself because it’s a bit of a process—takes a guest to inspire me. There are three layers—the spinach base, the creamed tuna with Swiss and Parmesan cheeses, and a breadcrumb topping. Plus somehow I had tunnel vision and did not think of an appetizer, side dish, or dessert. I had decided on deviled eggs for an appetizer, a German cucumber salad instead of a salad—who needs a green salad with all that spinach? With all that cooking, I figured writing that profile would just have to wait another day. 

I woke to a wet, rainy, cool day—not the kind that inspires ambition. But I made my tea and settled to check email before I cooked. And then came the email—my guest had suffered allergy troubles all week and now had symptoms of a sinus infection—fever, etc. Luckily, she wrote before I defrosted the frozen spinach, opened the canned tuna—no harm done. So, I re-grouped and spent the morning writing. Got almost a thousand words done, but they were hard-pulled words, as I went back and forth between sources and text. As usual, what I thought I could knock out was not that simple. I have more newspaper articles to check, more writing to do. 

So now, at suppertime, I have spent the day with my only human contact one phone call (straightening out a bank misunderstanding, always fun) and one actual human contact so brief I hardly knew it happened—Jordan came out to get milk out of my fridge, and she was off to a meet-and-greet for a city council candidate not from our district. But Sophie and I have had some long discussions. She let me know she would like more supper, and I let her know she is on a weight control program ever since Colin was here and said she was heavier than he had ever seen her. 

I’m going to make myself a baked egg—with that leftover lemony-herb rice in the fridge, a few frozen peas, a bit of ham, some grated cheese—oh, and not to forget the egg that sort of justifies the whole dish. I’ll top it off with some sour cream to keep the egg from drying, though milk or cream would be better if I had it. It’s one of my favorite “dinner-on-my-own” dishes. 

I admit to a slight sinking spell when I woke up from a nap, maybe from having slept too hard. The rest of the day seemed to stretch out endlessly, but I did my daily Facebook check and also those tiresome exercises the physical therapist insists upon—my conscience prodded me—and pretty soon it was time for the news and a glass of wine, and the world looked brighter. 

 And here is a story to brighten anyone’s day: a young man visited his grandmother in a memory care facility. As he left, he said, “It was good to see you again,” and she replied, “It was good to remember you.” “You remember me?” he asked, surprised. “I don’t remember your name,” she said, “but I remember that I love you.” 

And speaking of love, I’ll watch Prince Phillip’s funeral tomorrow. Will you? Such a marvelous love story, and I am a big fan of the Queen. But then, I’ll also be checking those newspaper sources and working on that profile. Sounds like a good day to me. Hope you have good weekend plans too.

Chilly day, heart-warming book

           

Today was another gray, chilly one. Yes, it stopped raining mid-day as the wetness moved east of us, but everything remained soggy. Apparently, parts of North Texas had bad flooding, which tells you how much rain we had. For me, it was another day to hunker down and stay at home.

I made a good start on a talk I will give next month to a woman’s club, and I dealt with some odds and ends. One of the luxuries of my retirement life is that when the weather is uninviting, I can simply elect to stay in. I did that tonight. My Wednesday night dinner pal, Betty, didn’t check in until four o’clock, by which time I had talked myself out of going to dinner. She sounded equally reluctant, mentioning more than once how cold it is outside. So we decided to wait until next week and then try a specific restaurant noted for reasonable and good appetizers. That’s all we need for dinner.

But today I lingered over a small, slim book that I’d been hearing about. Notices on various places, like an online newsletter for booksellers, had intrigued me about a book called,
The Boy, the mole, the fox and the Horse. Then a writer friend raved about it, and I was hooked. Not that it swayed me, but Amazon shows over 2300 reviews, 93% of them five stars. What I wouldn’t give for ratings like that!

I have so little bookshelf space, and friend Mary and I had only recently cleaned, sorted, straightened—and, yes, sigh, eliminated some books. So I tell myself I read online to save trees and to save space in the cottage. But there are some books you just need to have on the shelf so that you can revisit them from time to time. I sensed this would be one of them and ordered it from Amazon.

Created by Charles Mackery and dedicated to his mum and his dog, the book has text all in script, written with a thick point so that sometimes it’s hard to decipher. But the script is an accompaniment to wonderful line drawings that are open, free, and expressive. In many ways, including its folk wisdom, this book took me back to Winnie the Pooh.

The Boy is lonely, the mole thinks mostly about cake, the fox doesn’t speak, and the Horse is wise and kind.

When the boy first finds the mole, the mole says, “I am so small,” and the boy assures him, “But you make a huge difference.” When the boy asks him if he has a favorite saying, the mole says, “Yes. If at first you don’t succeed, have some cake.”

They meet fox, whose foot is caught in a trap. He immediately tells mole that if he weren’t caught, he would eat him. But mole chews through the trap to free him. They become a threesome. Lots of wisdom comes from the mole: “Being kind to yourself is one of the greatest kindnesses.”

“Sometimes I feel lost,” said the boy. “Me too,” said the mole, “but we love you and love brings you home.”... “I think everyone is just trying to get home,” said the mole.

They meet the horse, who says, “Everyone is a bit scared. But we are less scared together.”

I could go on and on quoting passages from this book, but I want you to discover it for yourself. Aside from the charm of the text, it is a beautifully put together book—years in publishing have taught me to appreciate a finely crafted book, and this is one. Good quality paper, careful reproduction, a solid binding, and endsheets of a musical score with the boy, the mole, the fox, and the horse racing through the lines. A note says it is to be “lively and in strict time.”.

If I ever could meet Charles Mackery, I’d shake his hand and tell him I agree about the importance of kindness. It’s a timely message for our country these days. But until that fictional meeting, I’m going to sleep soundly tonight and hear the wise words of the mole in my dreams.

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” “Kind,” the boy answers.

“What do you think success is?” asked the boy. “To love,” the mole replied.

To those who celebrate, a blessed Easter or Passover.

To those who find spiritual comfort in nature, may you grow in the spirit of this season of renewal.

To all of us: Did you know that the world's

major religions all profess some version of the Golden Rule:

Do unto others, as you would have them do unto you.

In this season of renewal, let us all strive to live by that,

to put hate and anger aside, and let love rule in our hearts.

Peace, my friends.

This crazy poliitical year

“And now these three things remain: faith, hope, and love. And of these the greatest is love.” I am not a person who quotes the Bible often. Sad truth is that, although a lifelong Christian, I don’t know enough Bible to quote besides the 23 Psalm, the ten commandments, and maybe the Beatitudes. And if I did, I would not push my religion on anyone else. But these lines from 1^st Corinthians 13:13 keep coming back to me, especially when I survey the political world we live in.

Believing as I do that love is the most important value, I am appalled by the hate and vitriol around us. Both Trump and Cruz are promising to bomb the you-know-what out of Isis and the Middle East. Civilian casualties? No matter. And Paul Ryan recently said that the poor are like feral cats—as long as we keep feeding them they’ll be with us forever. Where is the compassion for our fellow human beings?

And the hate for President Obama is appalling. I read someone’s opinion tonight that he has led us down the road to destruction. In my opinion, many of his accomplishments have led us toward love for our fellow Americans—the ACA act, for instance. I am struck by the man who came forward and said he’s always voted Republican but now he thanks President Obama—and the ACA—for saving his life. I truly cannot see a reason to hate Obama unless it’s the color of his skin—and we should be so far beyond that.

Donald Trump is to me the scariest though many say Ted Cruz is more frightening. But Trump’s spectacular brand of hate for everyone from overweight and disabled people to Muslims has attracted the most attention. One can only hope he’s like a carnival barker who sheds his flamboyant ways the minute he’s out of the spotlight. What worries me is the anger he’s aroused in so many Americans—how long has that anger been simmering. And why?

That the anger exists is a great argument for Bernie Sanders campaign. He advocates for change of things that I think make many Americans angry—they feel powerless, they work hard and follow the rules but never get ahead, they feel insignificant as individuals. This is not a campaign speech for the Bern—I love his ideas but will probably vote for Hillary.

Bernie Sanders says we have to educate our young people because they are our future leaders, our doctors, our teachers, the ones who will keep American moving forward. Donald Trump loves the uneducated. Without sounding like a snob, I think that’s significant—the uneducated are angry because they don’t understand how to empower themselves, they haven’t been taught to think critically. Republicans have even been known to say they don’t want people to think critically. We’ll be Neanderthals in a couple of generations if that thinking prevails.

After all is said and done, we’ll be left with a nation of angry people, no matter who is elected president. What do we do then? We reach out with love as our guiding principle. They are our people. We do not need a divided society—we need unity, and that comes with love, not anger and hate.

I’ve lived a wonderful, comfortable life—sometimes I ask the Lord why I have been so blessed.  But I have seven grandchildren, and I want to leave them a world in which they have every opportunity for the same kind of life I’ve lived. So far, they’re all on the right track, but I don’t want them to have to deal with an out-of-control world.

Lord, give us peace and teach us to love one another, regardless of faith, skin color, sexual orientation, and disabilities. And PS Lord, deliver us from Donald Trump.

Thoughts on mothering

Like everyone else, my thoughts are on motherhood this weekend, not just my mother but the chain of mothering in my family. My own mother was a wonderful, warm, joyful person—my favorite memories are of her telling funny stories—some about family, some on herself, and some on me. She’d laugh till the tears rolled down her cheeks. Like the time I put nine tsp. of baking soda in a cake and served it to my parents; she was astounded, until she checked the recipe—it was a typo. Or the time she was worrying about feeding a friend while at the same time signing an important document that guaranteed she was legally responsible—she signed it Alice P. Mac, went to check the toast, and came back to write Bread. (Our name was MacBain.) Or the time she found herself in the middle seat of our station wagon, between two toddler grandchildren—the harder they screamed, the harder she laughed. She taught me to cook, she tried to teach me to be a lady, and she taught me both love and strength. In her mid-eighties she slipped into dementia due to small strokes. I’m sure it was distressing to her, and I know it was terribly distressing to my brother and me. Sometimes I feel the disturbing memories of those few years get between me and all the joy and laughter of my life with her up until then, and I struggle to reclaim the wonderful woman who raised me. She's been gone almost thirty years.

Do I miss her? Not in the usual sense. She is with me. Often when I wake in the night or early morning I’m aware of a presence in the house. In rapid order, I discount the peacefully sleeping dog, the grandson who is not under my roof that night, and I realize that my mom is in the guest room. Watching over me. She is with me when I cook something or do some other small thing I learned from her or I quote one of her many favorite aphorisms. My mom is like the angel that sits on my shoulder—she may frown occasionally but generally I think she’s happy. I talk to her a lot, but she doesn't answer.

Motherhood was not something that came naturally to me—I assumed it would happen but I didn’t think much about it. Only it didn’t happen, and my husband and I adopted four children. By the time the oldest was twelve and the youngest six, I was divorced and raising them alone. I would not trade for the richness of that experience, though I don’t think I was a particularly good mother. There’s so much I didn’t do—homework, discipline, etc. though I did feed them regular, healthy meals, see that they had nice clothes, lived in a nice house, and were loved by lots of adults. They tell me I just don’t remember the small things. They are wonderful adults, all happily married and parents now, and when people praise me for the good job I did, I say it was just luck. But I love them all fiercely and rarely miss an opportunity to be with one of more of them.

Now I have two daughters and two daughters-in-law who are mothers to my seven grandchildren. Each has her own style, and sometimes I am full of praise, while other times I bite my tongue. It ain’t easy, this mothering thing. There’s a fine line between too little and too much, and nobody sees it quite the same way. I used to get so frustrated when my mom, in her dotage, would jump one of my kids, and I’d say, “Please, Mom, I’ll discipline them.” She’d retort, “Well, then, do it.” One of the memories I’d like to discard, and one of the reasons I try to button my lip, even when I simply think a child should say “Please” and “thank you.” I keep Jacob, my youngest daughter’s son, a lot, and she sometimes says, “What is wrong with you? You’d never let me do that.” So he gets more strictness than the other whom I only see on visits. But my grandchildren are growing up to be fine, well-loved children.

The chain of mothering goes on, and I feel we are blessed, even if it always surprises me a bit—so unexpected. I probably took my mom for granted but I never expected to be a mom myself, let alone a grandmother. It all pleases me a lot, and I feel we are blessed as a family.

 

 

Meet the author of the St. Louis Sisters Series

Please welcome my Wednesday guest, Holly Gilliatt. A self-confessed music, movie, and accessories junkie, Holly's passion has always been writing. Give her an algebra quiz and she'll curl up in the fetal position. But throw a test requiring all essay answers her way and she's in heaven. Between running a household and wrangling a husband, three kids, two dogs and a cat—it’s not easy to find time to write. So she sacrifices the laundry pile to spin her tales of laughter, friendship and love. She's proud to call the St. Louis area her home.

Website | Blog | Twitter | Facebook | Goodreads

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Thank you, Judy, for letting me babble on your blog today! For those that don’t know, I’ve had the pleasure of working with Judy as the editor of my first three books. She has a good eye, is responsive, and always makes me look at my work from a different viewpoint—something I value greatly.

While she’s known most recently for writing cozy mysteries, I write women’s fiction. A vastly different genre, but as she and I have discussed before, it’s really all about the characters. Whether you’re writing a mystery plot with twists and turns or a contemporary look at love and relationships…it all boils down to characters that readers connect with and root for.

My latest release entitled Dreams, Interrupted just came out this week, and it’s the second in the St. Louis Sisters series. The first book in the series, ‘Til St. Patrick’s Day, was originally conceived and written as a single book. But it was Judy’s idea (thanks!) to make it a series, with a total of three books—as they are about three best friends, and each of these women really need time in the spotlight. This series highlights my hometown of St. Louis and also sprinkles in a great deal of humor along the way. I like to think of them as romantic comedies.

I adore all three of the women featured in this series—Jayne, Karen and Claudia. They are all so different, and likeable in their own ways. I think maybe you will see some of yourself or your friends in these women that I’ve grown to love. If you give them a chance, I hope you’ll love them, too.

The first book focused on the uber-optimistic Jayne as she and her twenty-something besties struggled to find their significant others, and ultimately themselves. ‘Til St. Patrick’s Day is about love, but the love between friends is explored as much as romantic love.

Dreams, Interrupted finds the three women in their mid-thirties, facing a whole different set of circumstances. The main character in this book is Karen…and there is never a dull moment when she’s involved. Karen says what she thinks, whenever and wherever she thinks it. I’ve never had more fun writing a character. She often says the sarcastic things I think in my mind but wouldn’t dare say out loud.

If you haven’t read book #1, I don’t want to ruin it for you by giving you a blurb of book #2. So here’s the blurb for ‘Til St. Patrick’s Day:

BOOK #1 IN THE ST. LOUIS SISTERS SERIES

For three best friends, one winter changes everything.

Chronically optimistic Jayne is surprised she's still single at twenty-eight. But as always for Jayne, there's hope. This time his name is Gray—a successful, gorgeous marketing VP that she can't believe is going out with her. She's never given up on the belief that the right man for her is out there. Maybe Gray could be the one...if she just works hard enough to make it happen.

Her cynical friend Karen is suspicious of Jayne's new guy with his model looks and over-inflated ego. She's concerned for Jayne, but has her own relationship to worry about. Not that anything's wrong with her boyfriend. He's actually perfect for her, which is why she's terrified. Not sure she can ever fully trust a man again, she considers bailing on yet another relationship.

Claudia is always there for her friends, mothering them like the children she craves to have. Happily married, Claudia anxiously awaits the day her husband finally agrees it's time to start a family.

'Til St. Patrick's Day explores the depths of friendship and what happens when love doesn't go according to plan.

You can watch the book trailer here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W5dAMqeAJMc

I’m thrilled that ‘Til St. Patrick’s Day was just voted #3 in the Turquoise Morning Press Reader’s Choice Awards for 2013! And now it’s available for only $.99 for a limited time, as part of a women’s fiction boxed set, Love Finds a Way. Plus you’ll get three more great stories in the boxed set. You can buy it here: AMAZON | BARNES & NOBLE | KOBO | IBOOKS | SMASHWORDS | ALL ROMANCE EBOOKS | PUBLISHER

So for less than a buck, you can start the St. Louis Sisters series and then when you’re done with ‘Til St. Patrick’s Day…don’t forget to buy Dreams, Interrupted to see what these three fun, loving, passionate women are up to. Buy Dreams, Interrupted here:

 

Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | Smashwords | Publisher

 

After two books writing about Jayne, Karen and Claudia—I feel like they’re my old friends. I’m working on book three now, so I get to hang out with them again. If you do me the honor of reading the St. Louis Sister series, please get in touch and let me know what you think of these ladies!

 

Troubling times

I'm upset today about several matters. That old phrase--the world is going to hell in a handbasket--seems too true tonight.
Like many, I am upset, angry, you name it over the Supreme Court decision in the Hobby Lobby case. There are so many reasons why it's wrong--gender discrimination, personal liberty, all the things that have been mentioned ad nauseum on Facebook. But the big problem, to me, is that it's another push down the slippery slope toward a capitalistic oligarchy. SCOTUS (always makes me want to add an "r") has consistently sided with corporations against individuals. That's not the country our Founding Fathers had in mind--remember individual liberty? The phrase, "With liberty and justice for all"? We slide farther and farther away from that all the time.
I was never a big fan of George W. Bush (no chuckles from those who know me well, please) but it seems to me we are feeling his legacy. He supported corporations and gave them big tax cuts--too many of which are still in effect today. And the five appointees who constituted the majority in yesterday's decision are all, I believe, Bush appointees. Those appointments have long-lasting effects, and I suspect if any of those five wanted to retire tomorrow they'd hang on until 2016 in hopes of a conservative president. (Let's not even mention that the current trouble in Iraq is part of the Bush/Cheney legacy too).
A country where corporations rule will be a country where the individual counts for nothing. It reminds me in some ways of the Industrial Revolution, where individuals were swept aside in favor of machines. Read The Education of Henry Adams for insight on that issue.
Then today I read that we are deporting 25,000 children to Mexico, children who fled to avoid the abuse and torture of the cartels. Their parents, fearing for them, sent them alone across the border...and we are sending them back to that very life. Who knows if any, particularly the tiny ones, will ever find their families again? I was particularly taken by a commenter on Facebook who pointed out the cartels wouldn't be so powerful if it weren't for the U.S. insatiable market for illegal drugs. We create the problem, and we make it worse.
No, I don't know what to do with 25,000 undocumented, parentless children, but there's got to be a better way than sending them back to a life of horror.
And then there are homophobes who take the SCOTUS decision as license to discriminate against gays--I can't quite figure their logic, but I know the hatred is there.
I truly wish I lived in a country of compassion and love, not hatred and greed.