Tag: opportunity

“I don’t wanna talk about it”

Good for you and your new pretty flowers.

Good for you for your fun recent purchase, latest hobby, recent trip.

I don’t begrudge you these delights, but when they overshadow all else and you ask,

“Why do we have to talk about politics?”

‘Cause it feels important.

‘Cause it feels like the most important.

Here, in the richest country in the world, people are going hungry because of the actions of our government.

That feels bigger than politics. That feels like a wildly problematic value system.

People are being blown up in the Atlantic Ocean.

People can’t buy their medicine, study what they want, be who they are, love who they love, because of the power mongers who think it’s theirs to decide. (Newsflash: it’s not.)

I think about the harm, and the people dying, and ones whose livelihoods, families, hopes, homes are being stripped away, and it feels too important NOT to talk about.

You complained about your heating bill going up under the last administration, but the wealthiest people in the country just got a tax cut bigger than our income in a year, they’re being protected from accountability for grievous, heinous crimes against humanity – child humanity, no less – and you seem more annoyed that people are asking questions.

You don’t understand why I want to talk about it. I wonder why you don’t.

How can we not? Or are you afraid you might have to change your mind?

I had nothing but respect for you. As a human, as a “good” human being.

But now I just feel disappointment.

Your Christianity doesn’t seem very Christlike.

Are you not grieved that people are losing their food stamps just because they live in a blue state?

Are you not grieved that we’ve pulled SO MUCH humanitarian aid the world over that not just helped people by the millions, but that earned us goodwill?

Are you not grieved that we’re a laughing stock?

Are you not grieved that the color of ones’ skin is the sole decider of whether or not someone deserves consideration, understanding, or due process?

I guess I’m grateful to receive your kindness, as far as it goes, but I also wonder if I’m complicit to the greater problem if I receive said kindness when I know you’re not extending it to others that look or worship differently than you.

Super bummed. I wonder where the line is for you? When things are important enough to talk about?

Your discomfort may feel inconvenient, but I’d venture a guess that it’s waaay less uncomfortable than what the folks are experiencing who’re actually suffering under the aforementioned atrocities.

I mean, good for you and your comfortably oblivious life and option of not having to fear being arrested when you go to the grocery store.

But for tons and tons of other humans? Just like you? This shit is real.

I wonder when it’ll be for you?

Complacency looks like complicity and refusal to wrestle feels like hate. Not-love.

On the evolutionary continuum as a species? Let’s be better. Let’s share more, uplift more, grow in awareness, put ourselves in someone else’s shoes, help more. Not less. Not go backwards like we are right now.

Let’s start by tryna talk about it. We’re not business as usual. We’re in good vs. evil, right vs. wrong territory. It matters.

Tasks… And a cheerful doing


Today’s the day I fell in love with food.

I’ve always loved eating food, but its endless preparation? Not so much. I haven’t exactly begrudged it, but I haven’t loved it. This is unfortunate because I make a lot of food and really often. But today, quite without warning, this thing-I-have-to-do-or-at-least-think-about-every-single-day took on a new delight.

I can’t take any credit. I’ve screwed enough things up to know the good things I experience have nothing to do with me. Today’s love affair – like any other – caught me quite off guard. And it wasn’t because everything went perfectly. Taken from another angle, you’d notice the loaves in the above picture didn’t rise quite as much as (I would consider) ideal. Also knowing my tendency towards fickle (moody?), I know that tomorrow might bring quite another conversation that may sound nothing like this one. I might talk about how sick I am of spending so much time in the kitchen. I might bemoan that no one seems to see the crumbs on the counter or cleans up the unidentified sticky spots on the floor. (In our house we have someone called Itwasntme who’s normally the offender.)

Anyway, this falling in love with one of my household tasks and all its quirks and (’til today) annoyances has happened before. Take laundry. One day I was retrieving the clothes from the washer for approximately the 11,000th time (I actually did the math this morning to roughly calculate how many loads of laundry I’ve done in my married/motherhood life. Some people count profit margins, I count clean clothes.) and I suddenly loved it. Where it had before seemed an endless chore it suddenly became a comforting task. It had a start and a finish. Sniff (the nose is the measuring rod in our house), gather, wash, dry, fold, put away. Repeat. At least 11, 600 times. (For those of you who are stuffy about all things green, would it help to know that I do full loads and dry on a clothesline whenever I can?). Laundry, I realized, leaves my mind free to roam while keeping my hands busy. And you know it allows for alone time (the others in my household do not share my Laundry-Doing-Is-Sacred perspective).

Maybe it happens when you do something so much that you either drown in a mundane-tasks-depression or you decide to love it. Though like I said, I don’t know that I decided so much as something just switched over. I will say that I was giving thanks intermittently during both processes. (Not that I can take credit for that. Prayer and its doing is yet another gift inspired by not-me.) Been prayerful. I see a trend is what I’m saying. Slime on the broccoli earns it a blessed place on the compost pile, sourdough not rising presents more as another bread lesson learned than as a baker-failure, sticky rice seemed, well it was still sticky but I didn’t mind it as much, I was even grateful for slimy pre-cooked chicken as it meant we were having chicken. Crumbs, instead of being an annoyance, reminded me that there’s a lot of life ’round these parts. This spills over to the endless piles of laundry, children’s chatter, 7 billion dishes to wash (and counting. Ok, not really, but it would be a REALLY big number), aggravating relationship troubles, lawn mower maintenance, frustrating coworkers – whatever our daily challenge(s). These aren’t just simple sucky things-to-get-through. They’re sacred ground spaces, and they’re everywhere if we have the eyes for it. I know that I’ve talked about this before, but it’s such a wonderful gift to see things with an eye towards redemption. No matter how messy, uncomfortable, or inconvenient our circumstances, there is a great sacredness – a great potential – in all of it. I’m not theorizing: giving thanks for things, maybe especially for that thing we first found unsavory, elevates the thing. Redeems it. Redeems us. And if there’s a gift, there must be a Giver. Thanking Him’s appropriate and it changes everything. He’s not stingy, people. Given a little attention, He does things like make tiny moments and seemingly insignificant tasks magical.

Y’know, like how we expected and hoped life would be.