For the past fifteen years or so, I have been hearing the term "marginalized" or "the other," especially as it applies to life and literature. In our spiritual formation class this past Sunday, however, one of the speakers on the DVD series Living the Questions said something remarkable: those who are in the middle and upper classes are actually the marginalized.
In many ways, the speaker seems to be right on in his analysis in that the majority of the world's people struggle day to day to provide food for their family, to pay for medical bills, and to ensure the family resides in decent housing. The percentage of those who live comfortable lives throughout the world is now quite small. We have indeed become the marginalized.
Perhaps I have been out of the extreme world of want too long to empathize properly with the majority, but I hope not. Even though I have been retired for two years, my husband and I are making it financially thus far. We do wonder, however, about the years ahead--especially today with the gloomy economic forecasts as the stock market reopens after Martin Luther King Day. Many of us thought we had planned ahead properly with our retirement accounts and the hope of Social Security payments until death. What we did not count on was the impossibility to sell our dream house in our old location; the huge jump in the price of gas; the steady, rapid rise of groceries; and the continuing increase in medical costs.
It appears that all of us, even the wealthy, are moving more into the world of the majority. The question is, "How can we assist those who do not have as much as we do?" Do we hoard what we have in hope of better days ahead, or do we continue to give of our time and treasure to those in extreme poverty like the homeless? I believe the only choice, in order to be fully human, is the latter.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Monday, January 21, 2008
What's That Now Again?
I am in a Sunday lunch group that is rather eclectic in nature. There are three or four couples who are in their 60's, an older man and an older woman who are even older, a single woman, a gay couple, and a sixteen-year-old African American boy. We have a wonderful time each week discussing the politics of the day, movies, and literature mostly. Often times, since several in the group wear either one or two hearing aids, that means shouting down the table in order to communicate. It is not uncommon to hear the question, "What's that now again?" repeated a number of times during the course of a meal. One of our topics of conversation is the plethora of new books and movies that feature people our age as the protagonists.
Our observation of this phenomenon started several years back with Jack Nicholson's film About Schmidt. It has continued with novels such as David Guterson's East of the Mountains, Philip Roth's Everyman, and now for me, Alice Sebold's The Almost Moon. The movies of the year are Away from Her with Julie Christie, The Bucket List with Morgan Freeman and Jack Nicholson, and now tomorrow The Savages. All feature characters who are not aging well and are afflicted with physical impairment, memory loss, and/or dementia. I guess our group could continue to see the mindless date movies of the past, but somehow, the focus on aging seems to be addressing important psychological needs for us at this time of our lives.
I guess what I come away with is a renewed desire to live each day fully, to enjoy and savor the good health I currently have, and to enjoy the beauties of each passing season. I especially want to enjoy the relationships within my family: children, grandchildren, and siblings. The book of James in the New Testament reminds us that our lives are vapors; all we have to do is examine our photographs from a half century before to remind us of that fact. My husband and I will all too soon be the ones at the table who are shouting, "What's that now again?"
Our observation of this phenomenon started several years back with Jack Nicholson's film About Schmidt. It has continued with novels such as David Guterson's East of the Mountains, Philip Roth's Everyman, and now for me, Alice Sebold's The Almost Moon. The movies of the year are Away from Her with Julie Christie, The Bucket List with Morgan Freeman and Jack Nicholson, and now tomorrow The Savages. All feature characters who are not aging well and are afflicted with physical impairment, memory loss, and/or dementia. I guess our group could continue to see the mindless date movies of the past, but somehow, the focus on aging seems to be addressing important psychological needs for us at this time of our lives.
I guess what I come away with is a renewed desire to live each day fully, to enjoy and savor the good health I currently have, and to enjoy the beauties of each passing season. I especially want to enjoy the relationships within my family: children, grandchildren, and siblings. The book of James in the New Testament reminds us that our lives are vapors; all we have to do is examine our photographs from a half century before to remind us of that fact. My husband and I will all too soon be the ones at the table who are shouting, "What's that now again?"
Thursday, January 17, 2008
The Prognosis for Health Care
As I turned on CNN this morning, I noticed radio talk show host Glenn Beck on the screen saying that he had no reason to live any more. I wondered what had provoked such a depressed state since he is usually quite hyperactive, to say the least, on his shows. He later told the interviewer that he had gone in for what was supposed to be a routine out-patient surgery only to have complications and have to be admitted to the hospital for several days. I think he was most upset about the treatment he received by the staff at the hospital and the long wait to get emergency medical attention (around two hours). He spoke of how famous he was and the shock he felt to realize that fame is not necessarily a respecter of persons in a hospital. I say, "Welcome to the real world, Glenn, and others who have openly made fun of Michael's Moore latest documentary Sicko."
My own shock to emergency room treatment came one weekend in New Orleans in 2004. Evidently, I developed food poisoning after eating at one of the famous restaurants in the French Quarter. I asked a cab driver to take me to the nearest hospital from the hotel I was staying. When entering the waiting room of this large city hospital, I noticed around fifty people. I looked down to see blood on the floor and, unfortunately, immediately had to use the bathroom nearby. It was filthy with paper towels strewn everywhere. The odor was sickening. After being interviewed as to my health insurance coverage, I proceeded through double doors to a sign that said "Fast Track" where I thought I was sure to get immediate attention--wrong. I, along with seventy-five or so people (many of whom were groaning), proceeded to wait several hours. After I noticed no one was ever being called in to see a doctor, I left, got another taxi, and went to another hospital for treatment. I often wonder if I would still be alive had I had a more serious ailment than food poisoning. At the second hospital, I was immediately placed on an IV.
We are all aware of the need to fix our health care system. Perhaps Glenn Beck's skeptical and mocking voice from the past on the subject can provide more awareness to the problem. Until that time, the prognosis for health care in the U.S. is bleak.
My own shock to emergency room treatment came one weekend in New Orleans in 2004. Evidently, I developed food poisoning after eating at one of the famous restaurants in the French Quarter. I asked a cab driver to take me to the nearest hospital from the hotel I was staying. When entering the waiting room of this large city hospital, I noticed around fifty people. I looked down to see blood on the floor and, unfortunately, immediately had to use the bathroom nearby. It was filthy with paper towels strewn everywhere. The odor was sickening. After being interviewed as to my health insurance coverage, I proceeded through double doors to a sign that said "Fast Track" where I thought I was sure to get immediate attention--wrong. I, along with seventy-five or so people (many of whom were groaning), proceeded to wait several hours. After I noticed no one was ever being called in to see a doctor, I left, got another taxi, and went to another hospital for treatment. I often wonder if I would still be alive had I had a more serious ailment than food poisoning. At the second hospital, I was immediately placed on an IV.
We are all aware of the need to fix our health care system. Perhaps Glenn Beck's skeptical and mocking voice from the past on the subject can provide more awareness to the problem. Until that time, the prognosis for health care in the U.S. is bleak.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
The Iceberg Melts
The pundits the day after the New Hampshire primary are now baffled that Hillary Clinton won over Barrack Obama by three per cent. Many have attributed her win to the women's vote, yet they wonder why the women of Iowa rejected her and the women of New Hampshire voted for her. "What has changed?" they ask. In my opinion, her tears on Monday at the small cafe during a question and answer session were an important key to her victory. The iceberg we have seen in Arkansas for years has melted.
My husband and I moved to Northwest Arkansas in 1972 from neighboring state Mississippi. It was shortly after that the Clinton couple moved into the public limelight in Fayetteville and in the state. We followed them as Bill moved up in state political circles to become Governor. We followed them as controversy whirled surrounding Hillary's choice for a while not to take her husband's last name but to be called Rodham instead. We followed them as their daughter Chelsea was born. We read their books through the years. We followed them throughout the Presidency and the Monica Lewinsky affair. We followed Hillary's successful campaign in New York to become a senator. During this time, we never saw any emotion whatsoever in Hillary, not even in her autobiography Living History. We did not think it was possible until Monday of this week.
As a working woman in America for over forty years, I know how difficult it is to maintain professionalism in a predominately male environment. I know how difficult it is to fulfill many the many roles expected of us by society: career woman, helpmate to our husbands, mother, cook, chauffeur, finance minister for the family, and yes, even cookie baker for our children's school events. I know the tiredness one can feel when she feels she has put her heart into a project only to see the positive results either criticized or to slip away before her eyes.
In short, I know why she feels like crying, even in public, occasionally. So do most of the other women of America. Even an iceberg can sometimes benefit from melting. Let us hope it does not freeze again too soon.
My husband and I moved to Northwest Arkansas in 1972 from neighboring state Mississippi. It was shortly after that the Clinton couple moved into the public limelight in Fayetteville and in the state. We followed them as Bill moved up in state political circles to become Governor. We followed them as controversy whirled surrounding Hillary's choice for a while not to take her husband's last name but to be called Rodham instead. We followed them as their daughter Chelsea was born. We read their books through the years. We followed them throughout the Presidency and the Monica Lewinsky affair. We followed Hillary's successful campaign in New York to become a senator. During this time, we never saw any emotion whatsoever in Hillary, not even in her autobiography Living History. We did not think it was possible until Monday of this week.
As a working woman in America for over forty years, I know how difficult it is to maintain professionalism in a predominately male environment. I know how difficult it is to fulfill many the many roles expected of us by society: career woman, helpmate to our husbands, mother, cook, chauffeur, finance minister for the family, and yes, even cookie baker for our children's school events. I know the tiredness one can feel when she feels she has put her heart into a project only to see the positive results either criticized or to slip away before her eyes.
In short, I know why she feels like crying, even in public, occasionally. So do most of the other women of America. Even an iceberg can sometimes benefit from melting. Let us hope it does not freeze again too soon.
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
Joined at the Thigh
My husband was diagnosed three years ago with stenosis of the spine, and several months before, I had fallen over a concrete stop in a parking lot in Eureka Springs and hurt my knee. As we have consulted several doctors through the years, had MRI's, and gone through physical therapy, we have often joked that we needed to tie our bad legs together (his left and my right) in order to make a whole person. This lesson was brought home to us on Sunday in our spiritual formation class.
The video series we have been watching each week is entitled "Living the Questions." On Sunday, we heard a pastor speak on the development of compassion in civilization. The famous anthropologist Margaret Mead evidently was asked this question once. She replied that civilization began with the discovery of a healed thigh bone. She then went on to explain that the "survival of the fittest" theory began to change at that time. You see one cannot do the hunting and gathering necessary in ancient times with an injured femur. Someone else must come along and shoulder the responsibility for him or her if life is to continue. Compassion for others, in her learned conclusion, was evidence for the development of civilization.
I like this idea and have certainly found it to be true in my own marriage. Often, when one is weak, the other becomes strong. When my husband was downsized from his position as a mid-level hospital administrator ten years ago, I (who never thought I could) helped shoulder the responsibility. I continued to teach in my full-time job but also took on up to ten extra jobs per year to make our budget work. He began to take on jobs within the house he had never done before--finances, cleaning, cooking (even occasionally making desserts), and errands.
My husband's response was very unlike the two men last night at a Hillary Clinton rally who held up a sign toward her as she was speaking saying, "Iron my shirts." He ironed my clothes instead. That's being joined at the thigh, I'd say.
The video series we have been watching each week is entitled "Living the Questions." On Sunday, we heard a pastor speak on the development of compassion in civilization. The famous anthropologist Margaret Mead evidently was asked this question once. She replied that civilization began with the discovery of a healed thigh bone. She then went on to explain that the "survival of the fittest" theory began to change at that time. You see one cannot do the hunting and gathering necessary in ancient times with an injured femur. Someone else must come along and shoulder the responsibility for him or her if life is to continue. Compassion for others, in her learned conclusion, was evidence for the development of civilization.
I like this idea and have certainly found it to be true in my own marriage. Often, when one is weak, the other becomes strong. When my husband was downsized from his position as a mid-level hospital administrator ten years ago, I (who never thought I could) helped shoulder the responsibility. I continued to teach in my full-time job but also took on up to ten extra jobs per year to make our budget work. He began to take on jobs within the house he had never done before--finances, cleaning, cooking (even occasionally making desserts), and errands.
My husband's response was very unlike the two men last night at a Hillary Clinton rally who held up a sign toward her as she was speaking saying, "Iron my shirts." He ironed my clothes instead. That's being joined at the thigh, I'd say.
Friday, January 4, 2008
Jesus Camps
The documentary Jesus Camp was playing at a nearby theater last year when my husband and I were in Seattle. While we wanted to see it at the time, we decided to wait until it came to DVD. Fortunately, in the last week or so, the Arts and Entertainment Network decided to show it. The film features a group of Pentecostal leaders and children who attend a church camp each year in North Dakota. It raises the question of indoctrination of young people through the methods being used. I hardly think from my own church camp experiences in the past that the idea is a new one.
Fundamentalists and evangelicals, it seems, have a distinct view of the Bible. They believe in original sin from the Garden of Eden and God's condemnation of sin thereafter. It is only through confession and true repentance that redemption through Christ can come. Often they take the biblical command very seriously to "raise up a child in the way he should go and he will not depart from it."
I remember attending several Christian camps as a child. Of course, there were the usual outdoor experiences of swimming, games, and crafts; but the true experience centered itself around the idea that children must be brought to a saving knowledge of Jesus while they are young and open to the idea--before their hearts harden if you will. Therefore, it was with reluctance that most of us attended the evening service, although it was always required unless there was illness. We obediently heard the preaching, participated in the singing of many songs, and then spent what seemed like an hour listening to pleas to "come forward." Coming forward typically meant two things: either accepting Jesus as Lord and Savior or, having already been "saved," coming forward to confess the latest sins and rededicating one's life to Jesus. Either way the pressure was great from the leaders and from our peers to do one or the other.
In the Jesus Camp documentary, however, I see one additional component that was absent when I was a child--the emphasis on social issues. These children received tiny doll babies representing abortions throughout the country, the children had their mouths covered with tape (I am not sure I understand why), and the leaders encouraged the children to participate in public protests. The only sense of balance in the film came from one lone radio talk show host who raised questions about the methods of this group of fervent believers. He considered the group to be a threat to society essentially.
I guess time will determine if the new emphasis on social issues, in addition to responsibility for one's own soul, will raise up a generation of right-wing, rabid fundamentalists as the talk show host seemed to believe. I just know that Jesus camps have not changed a lot since I was a child some fifty-three years ago.
Fundamentalists and evangelicals, it seems, have a distinct view of the Bible. They believe in original sin from the Garden of Eden and God's condemnation of sin thereafter. It is only through confession and true repentance that redemption through Christ can come. Often they take the biblical command very seriously to "raise up a child in the way he should go and he will not depart from it."
I remember attending several Christian camps as a child. Of course, there were the usual outdoor experiences of swimming, games, and crafts; but the true experience centered itself around the idea that children must be brought to a saving knowledge of Jesus while they are young and open to the idea--before their hearts harden if you will. Therefore, it was with reluctance that most of us attended the evening service, although it was always required unless there was illness. We obediently heard the preaching, participated in the singing of many songs, and then spent what seemed like an hour listening to pleas to "come forward." Coming forward typically meant two things: either accepting Jesus as Lord and Savior or, having already been "saved," coming forward to confess the latest sins and rededicating one's life to Jesus. Either way the pressure was great from the leaders and from our peers to do one or the other.
In the Jesus Camp documentary, however, I see one additional component that was absent when I was a child--the emphasis on social issues. These children received tiny doll babies representing abortions throughout the country, the children had their mouths covered with tape (I am not sure I understand why), and the leaders encouraged the children to participate in public protests. The only sense of balance in the film came from one lone radio talk show host who raised questions about the methods of this group of fervent believers. He considered the group to be a threat to society essentially.
I guess time will determine if the new emphasis on social issues, in addition to responsibility for one's own soul, will raise up a generation of right-wing, rabid fundamentalists as the talk show host seemed to believe. I just know that Jesus camps have not changed a lot since I was a child some fifty-three years ago.
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
Anna in the Closet
One of the most interesting films I have seen recently is a documentary entitled For the Bible Tells Me So. Our daughter's film Testimony is also very compelling. Both films' subjects include several Christian families who have had to deal with their children's "coming out." All of the people being interviewed were fascinating, but the one I found myself feeling emotional about was the story of Anna. Her story parallels that of our family in some respects but, thankfully, differs in the outcome. Anna's mother could not accept her homosexuality; therefore, Anna committed suicide by hanging herself in her closet. One cannot miss the irony that she never had a chance to truly be out of the closet and live her life being fully loved and accepted.
I can hardly condemn this mother in the film, however, since my initial response to our daughter's coming out was similar. As I tend always to do, I wanted to make the scene all about me: What will my friends think? Don't you know our Southern Baptist church condemns this behavior? How can I hope to have grandchildren? Like Anna's mother in the film, I even wrote a letter to our daughter reminding her that I felt she was not only being sinful but also very rebellious at this time of her life. A few months of mostly a silent and uneasy truce between us followed. She left to return to her graduate program in California. It was not until I heard our daughter's shaky, weak voice on the phone one early May morning that I could hear and sense her closeness to ending her own life. She simply stated, "I'm not well." I did not hesitate for a moment in my response, "Your Dad and I will be right out; we want you to come home."
Today Anna's mother has come to terms with her daughter's homosexuality as well and works actively in the PFLAG (Parents and Friends of Lesbians and Gays) group. Our daughter lives with her partner of thirteen years and their two-year-old son. Anna's mother visits her daughter's grave regularly. I visit my daughter and her family regularly.
I do not know why one child lives and another dies. I simply have learned that relationships are the most important key to happiness. Unconditional love must not be bound. God knows all, and one day we will have that privilege as well.
I can hardly condemn this mother in the film, however, since my initial response to our daughter's coming out was similar. As I tend always to do, I wanted to make the scene all about me: What will my friends think? Don't you know our Southern Baptist church condemns this behavior? How can I hope to have grandchildren? Like Anna's mother in the film, I even wrote a letter to our daughter reminding her that I felt she was not only being sinful but also very rebellious at this time of her life. A few months of mostly a silent and uneasy truce between us followed. She left to return to her graduate program in California. It was not until I heard our daughter's shaky, weak voice on the phone one early May morning that I could hear and sense her closeness to ending her own life. She simply stated, "I'm not well." I did not hesitate for a moment in my response, "Your Dad and I will be right out; we want you to come home."
Today Anna's mother has come to terms with her daughter's homosexuality as well and works actively in the PFLAG (Parents and Friends of Lesbians and Gays) group. Our daughter lives with her partner of thirteen years and their two-year-old son. Anna's mother visits her daughter's grave regularly. I visit my daughter and her family regularly.
I do not know why one child lives and another dies. I simply have learned that relationships are the most important key to happiness. Unconditional love must not be bound. God knows all, and one day we will have that privilege as well.
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