Thursday, May 8, 2014
"I Will Allways Miss Him" by Katie Carleton, Age 7
Katie sat slumped over her Morning Round, which was buttery and warm and awaiting her first bite.
"About Earl," I said, pulling up a chair beside her.
"Yes," she said, still starring at her Morning Round.
"Yeah, me too," I sighed.
Katie looked up. I smiled at her.
"Why are you smiling?" she asked.
"Well, it's about time you're sad," I said.
Katie's eyes got big. It was obvious she hadn't expected that reply.
"Daddy and I were starting to wonder what was up with you," I explained. "It didn't seem to bother you very much when we took Earl to get euthanized yesterday."
"Yeah, but today I feel sad. The house feels empty," Katie sighed.
"Yes. It does. And it's completely normal to feel sad about our dog dying. It's going to take time for us to feel better about it. But we gave him a good life." I patted Katie's hand. "And you know what, Punk? We gave him a good death too. There aren't too many dogs in the world lucky enough to get to die surrounded by family who love them."
Katie smiled, but her eyes still looked sad. Thank goodness.
Yesterday at the SPCA I was really starting to worry about what a freaky child we have. Katie had been a little teary while she petted Earl and told him goodbye while we were still home. But once we got to the vet clinic, she perked up. She poked around inside the office asking, "What's that?" "What does this do?" "Is this shot just for dogs?" Seemingly more interested in the gadgets in the room than her dying dog.
The worst was when the wonderfully compassionate vet asked us if any of had any questions. She meant about the procedure. She'd just finished explaining it to us. But Katie raised her hand like she was at Science Camp and asked, "Can we see his brain?"
The vet turned and looked at me as if to search for something appropriate to say, but all she could say was, "Uhhhh."
Will piped up, "No, Punkin. We don't want to see Earl's brain."
"Why not?" she asked.
"Because he's too close to us, Punk," I explained. I turned back to look at the vet, shrugged my shoulders, and said, "Sorry. She's very curious. About science especially."
"I love science!" Katie said.
The vet exhaled deeply, smiled awkwardly, and said, "Uh huh."
Later that night, after Katie was asleep in her bed, Will and I retreated to the kitchen to split a six-pack of beer.
"I can't believe how insensitive Katie was being," Will complained.
"Yeah, I know. I couldn't believe it when she asked the vet if we could see Earl's brain!" I said.
"I know, right? I guess she really loves science," Will said.
"Yeah, and I guess we really prepared her well for Earl's death. I mean, she knew it was coming and we'd said our goodbyes to him," I suggested.
"Yeah, I guess."
We left it at that, hoping Katie's fascination with dead dog brains means she has a healthy amount of curiosity and not that she has the developing brain of a sociopath.
My fears were allayed this morning, not just when Katie confessed her sadness about losing Earl to me, but when I entered the bathroom and saw that Katie had added Earl to her mural on our bathroom wall:
"Take a bite, Sweetie. I don't want you to be late for school," I prodded.
Like me, Katie is not a morning person. It's a struggle to get her to eat first thing in the morning. I suspected nothing.
"I feel sad, Mom," Katie said, starring at her Morning Round as if it were a vat of emptiness and not her favorite breakfast, full of warm, chewy goodness like it is.
"About Earl," I said, pulling up a chair beside her.
"Yes," she said, still starring at her Morning Round.
"Yeah, me too," I sighed.
Katie looked up. I smiled at her.
"Why are you smiling?" she asked.
"Well, it's about time you're sad," I said.
Katie's eyes got big. It was obvious she hadn't expected that reply.
"Daddy and I were starting to wonder what was up with you," I explained. "It didn't seem to bother you very much when we took Earl to get euthanized yesterday."
"Yeah, but today I feel sad. The house feels empty," Katie sighed.
"Yes. It does. And it's completely normal to feel sad about our dog dying. It's going to take time for us to feel better about it. But we gave him a good life." I patted Katie's hand. "And you know what, Punk? We gave him a good death too. There aren't too many dogs in the world lucky enough to get to die surrounded by family who love them."
Katie smiled, but her eyes still looked sad. Thank goodness.
Yesterday at the SPCA I was really starting to worry about what a freaky child we have. Katie had been a little teary while she petted Earl and told him goodbye while we were still home. But once we got to the vet clinic, she perked up. She poked around inside the office asking, "What's that?" "What does this do?" "Is this shot just for dogs?" Seemingly more interested in the gadgets in the room than her dying dog.
The worst was when the wonderfully compassionate vet asked us if any of had any questions. She meant about the procedure. She'd just finished explaining it to us. But Katie raised her hand like she was at Science Camp and asked, "Can we see his brain?"
The vet turned and looked at me as if to search for something appropriate to say, but all she could say was, "Uhhhh."
Will piped up, "No, Punkin. We don't want to see Earl's brain."
"Why not?" she asked.
"Because he's too close to us, Punk," I explained. I turned back to look at the vet, shrugged my shoulders, and said, "Sorry. She's very curious. About science especially."
"I love science!" Katie said.
The vet exhaled deeply, smiled awkwardly, and said, "Uh huh."
Later that night, after Katie was asleep in her bed, Will and I retreated to the kitchen to split a six-pack of beer.
"I can't believe how insensitive Katie was being," Will complained.
"Yeah, I know. I couldn't believe it when she asked the vet if we could see Earl's brain!" I said.
"I know, right? I guess she really loves science," Will said.
"Yeah, and I guess we really prepared her well for Earl's death. I mean, she knew it was coming and we'd said our goodbyes to him," I suggested.
"Yeah, I guess."
We left it at that, hoping Katie's fascination with dead dog brains means she has a healthy amount of curiosity and not that she has the developing brain of a sociopath.
My fears were allayed this morning, not just when Katie confessed her sadness about losing Earl to me, but when I entered the bathroom and saw that Katie had added Earl to her mural on our bathroom wall:
"I Will Allways Miss Him" by Katie Carleton, age 7
Wednesday, May 7, 2014
Good Boy Earl
Earl and his fur siblings Thatcher and Sawyer. 2014
Two weeks and two days ago, I laid down on the living room floor to spoon our big dog Earl. I thought it would be the last night I'd get to cuddle with him.
Earl, 7 weeks old. 2001
When I'd gotten home from work that night, Earl could barely walk up to greet me. I manged to scooch him outside to go potty, but he could barely lift his hind legs off the ground. Since he turned 13 in January, his health had been deteriorating. We knew it was time to prepare for and accept that Earl's time with us was drawing to an end.
Earl and me. 2002
Then, miraculously, Earl got better.
For two weeks and two days, Earl got up. He not only got up, he started jumping on the couch, something he hadn't been able to do for many months. He started obsessively licking our other dog Sawyer's ears like he used to when they were young. He was running around in the yard. It was crazy. I couldn't believe how quickly he healed.
Me, Earl, and Sawyer. 2004
This afternoon, Will and I met our friend Brent for lunch. I just got done telling him how great Earl was doing. Then we went home and within a few minutes, Earl had a seizure.
Good Boy Earl. 2008
It was horrible. He was lying on our bedroom floor, flopping around uncontrollably. After Earl settled down, Will picked him up gently and set him on top of our bed. We both laid side-by-side next to Earl, petting him and telling him how much we love him.
I looked up, into Will's eyes. I said, "I think it's about time."
He nodded and smiled at me tenderly.
Katie with her fur siblings Earl and Sawyer. 2008
It was about time for school to let out, so Will left to pick up Katie. I stayed with Earl, spooning him in our bed like I had two weeks and two days ago on the living room floor, whispering into his ear, "We love you so much, Early Bird. You're such a good boy. You're our Good Boy Earl." Over and over again.
Katie had given Earl some of her plastic play food. 2009
His panting slowed and he seemed calm. But then, seemingly out of nowhere, he tried to get up, but his back legs were useless. He struggled and flopped back down on his side, facing me.
Earl in our back yard. 2011
"What are you doing, silly boy? You don't need to go anywhere. Just lay here with me and let us take care of you. You've done such a good job, guarding the front door, taking care of our family all these years. Your job is done, sweet boy. You did such a good job, and now it's time for us to take care of you, buddy."
Earl isn't good at hiding his boredom when Katie reads to him. 2012
Will and Katie came home. Earl did not bark. He was really out of it. Will put a blanket in the back of our Kia Sportage and gently laid Earl upon it. All three of us drove him to the Great Plains SPCA. I had called them to make sure a vet could see him. They assured us they could get him right in.
Earl and his fur sibling Thatcher. 2013
When we got there they put a padded blanket on the floor in one of the rooms. Will carried Earl and laid him upon it. I took my spot, spooning Earl from the tile floor so he could have the cushion. Will and Katie took the chairs right in front of Earl. When not leaning over to pet him with their hands, they pet him with their feet.
We all kissed Earl on the face. We told him we love him. We said goodbye to Good Boy Earl.
Earl, exhausted after his 13th birthday party. I baked him a carrot cake. 2014
Earl doing the pre-wash. 2014
Earl is the first dog I've had from puppyhood to death. He was seven weeks old when I adopted him from the shelter in St. Joseph, Missouri. He was thirteen years old when we left his breathless body on the floor of the SPCA in Merriam, Kansas. His ashes will be sprinked in their garden so new living things can sprout from them.
Earl and his fur sibling Thatcher. 2014
As the three of us walked back to the car, I felt a huge sense of relief. I didn't feel like we were leaving Earl behind. Just his body, which will make nutritious soil. It felt like Earl, the real Earl--who he is beyond his body--was hopping into the car with us. We carry him within us.
We rode home in silence, the windows rolled down so we could sniff the breeze in Earl's honor.
Earl would often run in his dreams. His eyes would be closed and he'd be lying on his side snoring. Then all of the sudden, he'd make these tiny, muffled barking noises and his legs would start running in place. I imagined he was dreaming of chasing Sawyer. That's the way I like to picture him now.
Earl and Sawyer running through the snow. Christmas 2009
End the Drug War
People scoff when I say Jimmy Carter was the best president. People who are ahead of their time are often not fully appreciated until the rest of society has time to catch up to their thinking. Case in point, President Carter's views on illegal drugs:
"Penalties against possession of a drug should not be more damaging to an individual than the use of the drug itself; and where they are, they should be changed. Nowhere is this more clear than in the laws against possession of marijuana in private for personal use. We can, and should, continue to discourage the use of marijuana, but this can be done without defining the smoker as a criminal. States which have already removed criminal penalties for marijuana use, like Oregon and California, have not noted any significant increase in marijuana smoking. The National Commission on Marijuana and Drug Abuse concluded five years ago that marijuana use should be decriminalized, and I believe it is time to implement those basic recommendations." --President Jimmy Carter to Congress, August 2, 1977
These days, a majority of Americans agree with him.
I'm glad to see the world's leading economists are finally catching up:
It is time to end the ‘war on drugs’ and massively redirect resources towards effective evidence-based policies underpinned by rigorous economic analysis.
The pursuit of a militarised and enforcement-led global ‘war on drugs’ strategy has produced enormous negative outcomes and collateral damage. These include mass incarceration in the US, highly repressive policies in Asia, vast corruption and political destabilisation in Afghanistan and West Africa, immense violence in Latin America, an HIV epidemic in Russia, an acute global shortage of pain medication and the propagation of systematic human rights abuses around the world. The strategy has failed based on its own terms. Evidence shows that drug prices have been declining while purity has been increasing. This has been despite drastic increases in global enforcement spending. Continuing to spend vast resources on punitive enforcement-led policies, generally at the expense of proven public health policies, can no longer be justified. The United Nations has for too long tried to enforce a repressive, ‘one-size-fits-all’ approach. It must now take the lead in advocating a new cooperative international framework based on the fundamental acceptance that different policies will work for different countries and regions. This new global drug strategy should be based on principles of public health, harm reduction, illicit market impact reduction, expanded access to essential medicines, minimisation of problematic consumption, rigorously monitored regulatory experimentation and an unwavering commitment to principles of human rights.
Signed:
Professor Kenneth Arrow, 1972 Nobel Prize in Economics.
Luis Fernando Carrera Castro, Minister of Foreign Affairs, Guatemala.
Nick Clegg, Deputy Prime Minister of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland.
Professor Paul Collier, CBE, University of Oxford.
Professor Michael Cox, LSE IDEAS.
Alejandro Gaviria Uribe, Minister of Health and Social Protection, Colombia.
Professor Conor Gearty, London School of Economics.
Aleksander Kwasniewski, President of the Republic of Poland (1995 – 2005).
Professor Margot Light, LSE IDEAS.
Baroness Molly Meacher, UK House of Lords.
Professor Sir Christopher Pissarides, 2010 Nobel Prize in Economics.
Professor Danny Quah, LSE IDEAS.
Professor Dani Rodrik, Princeton University.
Professor Jeffrey Sachs, Columbia University.
Professor Thomas Schelling, 2005 Nobel Prize in Economics.
George Shultz, US Secretary of State (1982 – 1989).
Professor Vernon Smith, 2002 Nobel Prize in Economics.
Dr Javier Solana, EU High Representative for Common Foreign and Security Policy (1999 – 2009).
Baroness Vivien Stern, UK House of Lords.
Professor Arne Westad, LSE IDEAS.
Professor Oliver Williamson, 2009 Nobel Prize in Economics.
Read their full report here.
It's time to end the drug war. The best president, a majority of Americans, and bigwig economists agree.
"Penalties against possession of a drug should not be more damaging to an individual than the use of the drug itself; and where they are, they should be changed. Nowhere is this more clear than in the laws against possession of marijuana in private for personal use. We can, and should, continue to discourage the use of marijuana, but this can be done without defining the smoker as a criminal. States which have already removed criminal penalties for marijuana use, like Oregon and California, have not noted any significant increase in marijuana smoking. The National Commission on Marijuana and Drug Abuse concluded five years ago that marijuana use should be decriminalized, and I believe it is time to implement those basic recommendations." --President Jimmy Carter to Congress, August 2, 1977
These days, a majority of Americans agree with him.
I'm glad to see the world's leading economists are finally catching up:
It is time to end the ‘war on drugs’ and massively redirect resources towards effective evidence-based policies underpinned by rigorous economic analysis.
The pursuit of a militarised and enforcement-led global ‘war on drugs’ strategy has produced enormous negative outcomes and collateral damage. These include mass incarceration in the US, highly repressive policies in Asia, vast corruption and political destabilisation in Afghanistan and West Africa, immense violence in Latin America, an HIV epidemic in Russia, an acute global shortage of pain medication and the propagation of systematic human rights abuses around the world. The strategy has failed based on its own terms. Evidence shows that drug prices have been declining while purity has been increasing. This has been despite drastic increases in global enforcement spending. Continuing to spend vast resources on punitive enforcement-led policies, generally at the expense of proven public health policies, can no longer be justified. The United Nations has for too long tried to enforce a repressive, ‘one-size-fits-all’ approach. It must now take the lead in advocating a new cooperative international framework based on the fundamental acceptance that different policies will work for different countries and regions. This new global drug strategy should be based on principles of public health, harm reduction, illicit market impact reduction, expanded access to essential medicines, minimisation of problematic consumption, rigorously monitored regulatory experimentation and an unwavering commitment to principles of human rights.
Signed:
Professor Kenneth Arrow, 1972 Nobel Prize in Economics.
Luis Fernando Carrera Castro, Minister of Foreign Affairs, Guatemala.
Nick Clegg, Deputy Prime Minister of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland.
Professor Paul Collier, CBE, University of Oxford.
Professor Michael Cox, LSE IDEAS.
Alejandro Gaviria Uribe, Minister of Health and Social Protection, Colombia.
Professor Conor Gearty, London School of Economics.
Aleksander Kwasniewski, President of the Republic of Poland (1995 – 2005).
Professor Margot Light, LSE IDEAS.
Baroness Molly Meacher, UK House of Lords.
Professor Sir Christopher Pissarides, 2010 Nobel Prize in Economics.
Professor Danny Quah, LSE IDEAS.
Professor Dani Rodrik, Princeton University.
Professor Jeffrey Sachs, Columbia University.
Professor Thomas Schelling, 2005 Nobel Prize in Economics.
George Shultz, US Secretary of State (1982 – 1989).
Professor Vernon Smith, 2002 Nobel Prize in Economics.
Dr Javier Solana, EU High Representative for Common Foreign and Security Policy (1999 – 2009).
Baroness Vivien Stern, UK House of Lords.
Professor Arne Westad, LSE IDEAS.
Professor Oliver Williamson, 2009 Nobel Prize in Economics.
Read their full report here.
It's time to end the drug war. The best president, a majority of Americans, and bigwig economists agree.
Tuesday, May 6, 2014
My Husband Loves Me In All My Doughy Goodness
A couple of years ago my friend Janel invited me to join an online political discussion group. It mostly consisted of moderates and libertarians, but there were a few radical socialists, some Republicans with a capital R, and even a few anarchists. Not the kind of anarchists I used to hang out with in high school--the ones who pierced their eyebrows with safety pins, wore all-black, and wanted me to come over and watch their VHS copy of "Sid and Nancy" for the fifteenth time--but the kind of anarchists who are sick of wading around in the muck of political bullshit that seems to grow deeper with each election year. From what I could tell during my time in the group, your political opinion mattered less than your desire to win an argument.
I left the group when another member blocked me. It's no fun to argue with a blank screen. If I post my arguments on an online discussion group's site, but people can't see it, what's the point? The whole point of being an asshole on the internet is the beauty of the human connection. I'm not arguing just to see my own words. Or, wait a minute. Maybe I am.
So, I left the group. I devoted the time and energy I'd once reserved for it to my blog.
Well, dammit! If my former groupmates want to block me, I'll take my arguments to my own site.
Half the time I don't know how I feel about an issue until I write it out. When I was in therapy, my doc was into this treatment where she sticks electrodes to your head and rhythmically taps your left, and then your right side. She calls it bilateral stimulation. Something about how your emotions are stored on one side of your brain and your ability to communicate is stored on the other, so stimulating both sides of your brain unclogs your thoughts and helps you talk out your problems.
I couldn't afford to stay in therapy for very long, but I found something similar that works for me: blogging. I suspect the act of using both hands while typing out your thoughts works the same way electrodes stuck to your head do. Only this way I don't have to keep track of our Health Savings Account balance.
I love to blog about how I feel, what opinions I have, and silly thoughts that come to mind. Because I'm sharing these stories on my own blog instead of with an online group, I don't worry if I'm winning any arguments with my buddies. I just toss my thoughts out there into the web and see what sticks.
Anyhoo, the guy who blocked me a couple of years ago recently sent me a friend request. My jaw hurt from smiling so hard when I first saw his name. There is virtually nothing better than when someone who you feel unjustly unfriended you refriends you. It's an internet apology. I accepted it gladly.
Since he and I are on opposite sides of the political spectrum, he often posts things that make me roll my eyes. I'm sure I do the same to him. But he's funny and smart, and more often than not I enjoy his posts, so I bite my fingers when I come across the irritating ones.
Usually. Sometimes I can't help myself. My fingers get carried away. They must stick up for me. They must let my voice be heard. THEY. MUST. COMMENT.
Like, this morning. I woke up and saw this on my newsfeed:
"A quote from a comedian friend of mine: 'God Bless the Midwest...temp goes up over 80 and fat girls start dressing like cans of exploded biscuit dough.'"
I sighed.
Comedy that ridicules the human body is so lame. Any mean second-grade bully can tell a fat girl joke. Come on, people. We can do better.
So here's what my fingers came up with:
Go on, make fun of fat girls. I'll be over here making out with my husband who loves me in all my doughy goodness.
I'm pretty proud of them. They also found this great meme to share:
I left the group when another member blocked me. It's no fun to argue with a blank screen. If I post my arguments on an online discussion group's site, but people can't see it, what's the point? The whole point of being an asshole on the internet is the beauty of the human connection. I'm not arguing just to see my own words. Or, wait a minute. Maybe I am.
So, I left the group. I devoted the time and energy I'd once reserved for it to my blog.
Well, dammit! If my former groupmates want to block me, I'll take my arguments to my own site.
Half the time I don't know how I feel about an issue until I write it out. When I was in therapy, my doc was into this treatment where she sticks electrodes to your head and rhythmically taps your left, and then your right side. She calls it bilateral stimulation. Something about how your emotions are stored on one side of your brain and your ability to communicate is stored on the other, so stimulating both sides of your brain unclogs your thoughts and helps you talk out your problems.
I couldn't afford to stay in therapy for very long, but I found something similar that works for me: blogging. I suspect the act of using both hands while typing out your thoughts works the same way electrodes stuck to your head do. Only this way I don't have to keep track of our Health Savings Account balance.
I love to blog about how I feel, what opinions I have, and silly thoughts that come to mind. Because I'm sharing these stories on my own blog instead of with an online group, I don't worry if I'm winning any arguments with my buddies. I just toss my thoughts out there into the web and see what sticks.
Anyhoo, the guy who blocked me a couple of years ago recently sent me a friend request. My jaw hurt from smiling so hard when I first saw his name. There is virtually nothing better than when someone who you feel unjustly unfriended you refriends you. It's an internet apology. I accepted it gladly.
Since he and I are on opposite sides of the political spectrum, he often posts things that make me roll my eyes. I'm sure I do the same to him. But he's funny and smart, and more often than not I enjoy his posts, so I bite my fingers when I come across the irritating ones.
Usually. Sometimes I can't help myself. My fingers get carried away. They must stick up for me. They must let my voice be heard. THEY. MUST. COMMENT.
Like, this morning. I woke up and saw this on my newsfeed:
"A quote from a comedian friend of mine: 'God Bless the Midwest...temp goes up over 80 and fat girls start dressing like cans of exploded biscuit dough.'"
I sighed.
Comedy that ridicules the human body is so lame. Any mean second-grade bully can tell a fat girl joke. Come on, people. We can do better.
So here's what my fingers came up with:
Go on, make fun of fat girls. I'll be over here making out with my husband who loves me in all my doughy goodness.
I'm pretty proud of them. They also found this great meme to share:
Sunday, May 4, 2014
New Baby Baptism
At church this morning, a new baby was baptized. I couldn't help myself: tears of joy spilled down my face. She's not my baby. Not even the baby of my family or a close friend. Just a new baby welcomed as a member of the human community.
Babies are such a blessing! A great reminder that we are loved, simply for existing. Babies can do nothing for themselves and yet most of us instinctively accept the responsibility of raising them until they can.
We want to give back what we got.
We all started out this small, this vulnerable. Think about it: the biggest jerk you've ever met was once a baby. Hitler, Stalin, Jeffrey Dahmer were all once innocent little babies who needed from their caretakers the same thing you and I once needed. Warm arms. Warm milk. Forgiveness and fierce protection.
Who can say with certainty what happens along the way as a pure new soul evolves into a psychopath? Not me. I explain to my seven-year-old that murderers she hears about in the news have an illness in the part of their brain that knows what's right and what's wrong. I don't know why they have an illness in their brain. I don't know how it got there. There from the day it was two-cells old or caught later in life like a bad cold? Thems the breaks, Kid.
It could just be how their brain was programmed. But who was the programmer? God or their genetic code? Does it have to be either or? Is it possible it could be and?
Regardless, there are way more of us in the world than there are Jeffrey Dahmers. Most babies who join the human community enrich it. And those who don't give the enrichers the opportunity to unite and support each other against them. Or for them. Wait, what?
This is what Jesus wants us to do, or, rather, what his biographers want us to do. Either way, it summons the warm fuzzies like watching a new baby baptism.
"...He makes his sun rise on both evil and good people, and he lets rain fall on the righteous and the unrighteous." Matthew 5:45 (International Standard Version)
"...love your enemies, do good to them, and lend to them, expecting nothing in return. Then your reward will be great, and you will be children of the Most High, because he is kind even to ungrateful and evil people." Luke 6:35 (International Standard Version)
"The King will reply, 'Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.'" Matthew 25:40 (New International Version)
Babies are such a blessing! A great reminder that we are loved, simply for existing. Babies can do nothing for themselves and yet most of us instinctively accept the responsibility of raising them until they can.
We want to give back what we got.
We all started out this small, this vulnerable. Think about it: the biggest jerk you've ever met was once a baby. Hitler, Stalin, Jeffrey Dahmer were all once innocent little babies who needed from their caretakers the same thing you and I once needed. Warm arms. Warm milk. Forgiveness and fierce protection.
Who can say with certainty what happens along the way as a pure new soul evolves into a psychopath? Not me. I explain to my seven-year-old that murderers she hears about in the news have an illness in the part of their brain that knows what's right and what's wrong. I don't know why they have an illness in their brain. I don't know how it got there. There from the day it was two-cells old or caught later in life like a bad cold? Thems the breaks, Kid.
It could just be how their brain was programmed. But who was the programmer? God or their genetic code? Does it have to be either or? Is it possible it could be and?
Regardless, there are way more of us in the world than there are Jeffrey Dahmers. Most babies who join the human community enrich it. And those who don't give the enrichers the opportunity to unite and support each other against them. Or for them. Wait, what?
This is what Jesus wants us to do, or, rather, what his biographers want us to do. Either way, it summons the warm fuzzies like watching a new baby baptism.
"...He makes his sun rise on both evil and good people, and he lets rain fall on the righteous and the unrighteous." Matthew 5:45 (International Standard Version)
"...love your enemies, do good to them, and lend to them, expecting nothing in return. Then your reward will be great, and you will be children of the Most High, because he is kind even to ungrateful and evil people." Luke 6:35 (International Standard Version)
"The King will reply, 'Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.'" Matthew 25:40 (New International Version)
"I Love My Body" by Katie Carleton, Age 7
Katie updated her message on our bathroom wall:
"I Love My Body" by Katie Carleton, age 7
Katie explained it to me:
"The girl on the left loves her body, even her wobbly arms and legs. The girl at the top loves her body, even though she's tiny. The girl with the pimple on her face loves her body. The girl with the big lips loves her body, and her dog loves its body, even with one leg that's not attached. And the girl on the right loves her body, even with just two strips of hair."
Welcome to our bathroom. We hope you feel good when you glance at yourself in the mirror, wobbly limbs, tininess, pimples, big lips, detached legs, thin hair, and all.
Friday, May 2, 2014
John Green's Pep Talk for Readers...and Writers
Note to self: watch this video when you feel that writing is pointless.
"Writing, or at least good writing, is an outgrowth of that urge to use language to communicate complex ideas and experiences between people. And that's true whether you're reading Shakespeare or bad vampire fiction. Reading is always an act of empathy. It's always an imagining of what it is like to be someone else." --John Green
"It is extremely hard to get other people to feel what we are feeling." --John Green
"Now imagine that you're trying to communicate far more complicated and nuanced experiences and emotions and instead of just trying to communicate them to your best friend, you're trying to talk to strangers, some of whom may live very far away, and in fact live centuries after your death." --John Green
Whew! No wonder writing is hard. Thanks, John Green, for validating my emotions.
Tuesday, April 29, 2014
Sawyer and Thatcher: Snuggle Buddies
Here's our dog Sawyer and our cat Thatcher, a couple of snuggle buddies:
Messages on the Bathroom Wall
I found this on our bathroom wall this morning:
Looks like Katie decided to join our conversation.
I'd asked our guests to write on our bathroom wall during my fortieth birthday party three years ago. Now it's become a tradition. Whenever we have guests over, they leave us messages. Over the weekend, we had some friends over. I noticed the next morning they had been razzing someone about their butt size:
How'd you fit your butt here?
I work out!
I was born skinny!
Also, it's an adjustable toilet seat! Ms. Smallbutt
It's all in good fun, and I know they're just teasing, but I can't pass an opportunity to share my message of body love. So, I wrote above their bathroom wall conversation my motto:
Start a revolution. Stop hating your body.
Our guests had already gone home. I didn't expect anyone would notice my contribution to the conversation, but it made me feel better to have those words up there, sticking up for big butts everywhere.
Evidently Katie noticed, and she's decided to join the revolution too.
Parenting tip of the day: If you want your kids to pay attention to your words, write them on the bathroom wall.
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