The Lesson; All Beings Are a Beautiful Bundle of Love
copyright © 2008 Betsy L. Angert. BeThink.org
The day was delightful. The water was superb. The sun was full and bright. A few billowy, puffy clouds floated through the sky. They were white, cumulus, fluffy fellows, the type that excite many a child as they gaze into the heavens. In parks, on lawns, little ones were likely looking up and pointing. "Look," they might say, "It is a horse, a donkey, or perchance a unicorn." It was a day for whimsy. The children, playful in the pool, barely noticed the graceful shapes as they danced above their heads. Instead, they were focused on what they decided were June bugs.
Three young sweet girls stood in the warm water near their Daddy. All were calm, content, and serene. The sisters chatted easily. Father smiled. The youngest lass expressed her curiosity. As her sibling searched for bugs on the plastic rope line, the "baby" in the family asked of the insects. "Are they icky to touch," the cautious curly haired youngster inquired. The more confident elder sister said, "No! They are cute," she said. See." The "older" child showed the girl of fewer years.
A stranger, in the adjacent lane was preparing to swim. Becky was her name. She was much older than the children, and perhaps no wiser; nonetheless, she share her assessment of the beetle. Becky said of the six-legged lovelies, "They are life; all creatures are beautiful." With that thought, the father beamed, and the older lady plunged head first into the water filled cement reservoir.
Lap after lap and look after look the woman and children enjoyed the quiet of the day. The words the swimmer shared seemed to hang in the air. People came and went, throughout the afternoon, and splendor was all anyone saw.
Then, everything changed. The evolution from tranquil to trauma was slow; nonetheless, unexpected. Those in the recreation park were struck, as if by a bolt of lightening. However, unlike when a storm threatens, swimmers were not forced to leave the pool. The jolt evoked more silence. No one screamed, but the sole boy, victim to the method his Mom's adopted for instruction.
The young mother, a woman, perhaps, in her early thirties, was extremely pleasant in appearance, and it seemed her personality was equally delightful. She, Madison, entered the deck area with her small son in her arms. Skin, beautifully tanned, this well-dress lady strode to the lifeguard tower. The little guy, let us call him, Michael, was not as bronze in color, and was visibly agitated. Michael whimpered, even as his Mom held him close.
Becky, the swimmer who enjoyed the company of the little lasses and their Dad before she began her exercise had just finished the more strenuous part of her routine when the mother and child came into view. Becky, a teacher, enjoyed children, in or outside the classroom. She marveled at the openness of a mind not yet crushed by the weight of worry. The sincerity of a small one was a source of fascination for Becky. Children, early in life, were candid and joyous, at least most were, or appeared to be.
Little Michael, a lad, maybe three, or four, was not a cheerful child. He wore no glee on his face, although his features were cute as could be from what Becky was able to see. When the swimmer first noticed Madison and Michael, they were yards away. They approached the guard tower at the opposite end of the pool and spoke with Brianna, the young adult hired to protect the public in an emergency. Becky thought nothing of the interaction. She was relieved to have only her stretches left to complete. Becky moved the shallow end and commenced with another ritual.
Behind her, a metal chair scraped along the concrete. The sound startled her and she looked up at the area where people sat enjoying the sun. Had Becky waited just a moment she would have known Michael and Madison had moved closer to her. The cries filled the air. The sweet little boy shrieked, "I wanna go see Daddy." Michael howled; "No Mom!!!! No!" His face scrunched tightly, this little lovable fellow yelled, "Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Please Mom! No!" Michael repeated the words, "I wanna go see Daddy!"
His mother chided him, gently. "We have to do this." Madison did not seem to believe she could quiet her son's fears. An expectation that the little guy might enjoy was void from her voice. The Mom simply worked feverishly, to accomplish the dreaded task. She prepared Michael for his dip in the water, and said, "Let's just get this over with."
Becky continued with her work out and wondered of the circumstances. Perchance, the mother and father were divorced or newly separated. Michael may have expressed the deep distress he felt for a family no longer united. Becky, the daughter of parents who parted understood how stressful such a situation might be. She was eight when . . . her reverie was interrupted.
Madison had abruptly carried Michael to the step at the shallow end of the pool. The Mom now wore a white shirt over her own bathing suit. Sweetly, she smiled and leaned forward. Madison said to Becky, "I do not wish to disturb you. I want to warn you; I am teaching my son to swim and he screams, loudly." As an experienced educator, Becky imagined it would be a mild and momentary shout. As one who swims daily and had for well over a decade, the teacher witnessed many a young child learn to paddle and breathe in water.
Indeed, at this very facility she has observed perhaps hundreds of child learn to master their strokes. The excellent swim teachers, parents and paid professionals, helped calm many a neophyte nerve. Often Becky watched with admiration as patient Moms, Dads, and lifeguards helped little ones wade through the water. It was as she shared with the girls earlier in the day, "They, people and insects, are life. All creatures are beautiful."
What Becky witnessed next was not beautiful; it was brutal! Madison held Michaels arms tightly. She forced him into the water. The Mom insisted the boy's head remain face down immersed until she pulled him up. Apparently, they had practiced this cycle before. Becky now understood why Michael cringed and cried out long before he was ever near the expansive liquid sea.
Initially, the trained instructor was paralyzed. Becky could not imagine that a mother might torment her child. The volume of Michaels screams increased. His little arms flailed. "Mom, No! Pleassssssssse!" The emotional agony he felt was palpable. Mom did not stop as he pleaded. The pain on his face did not move Madison to succumb. His words, his anguish, nothing stopped this mother on her quest. For Becky, what must have been a minute or less seemed like hours, years, decades. She thought of sweet obedient Michael. While he shed many a tear and shrieked when he could gasp for air, the little love did as he was told or required to do. He dropped his head into the pool on demand.
Off into the distance, in the parking lot, just outside the fence, Becky noticed a late model shiny black vehicle. The man at the wheel peered in. His car was not situated in a space meant for stopping. This fellow seemed interested in the antics of Madison and Michael. Becky mused; possibly the sound of suffering haunted him as it did her. She could not stand by a moment longer.
With an earnest concern, Becky expressed her empathy for the child. She inquired; "Is he frightened.." The mother responded, "He can swim." Becky queried aloud, had the mother sought other means for instruction. Perchance, if Michael were given the opportunity to slowly adjust to the water. If he were allowed to breathe easily as he slowly learned to stoke . . . Becky's words were cut off. Still somewhat genteel and reserved, Madison explained, "This is what his teacher taught me to do." "She is excellent. Everyone goes to her. They call her the swim Nazi."
The practiced swimmer, and professional educator, shared her own expertise. Becky told of a time when she worked with another teacher who was extremely punitive. This castigatory colleague was an award winner. Some children loved her, parents too. Students taught Becky what she had not known; if you are raised in a family where cruelty is common, you learn to believe that rough treatment is love. Violence is fondness when a family is familiar with vicious behavior.
Becky spoke of a man she loves. He was introduced to swimming in much the way Michael was guided. This man loathes his parents. As an adult, he says of himself, he is really messed up. For the man Becky cares for, trust is not an option. The lesson he learned at the hands of his mother, who taught him how to swim, just as Madison now advised Michael, is that people will hurt you.
In this very short and quick conversation Becky, recalled her own memories, and how she has vivid recollections of events in that occurred in her life when she was younger than Michael. Becky looked over at Michael's face. The torment was already etched into his skin. The screeches scarred him.
Madison listened, maybe. She was polite. The Mom never let go of her cherished son, Michael. The activity did not stop. Nor did the blood curdling screams. The echoes of pain continued to pierce the air, and break delicate decorum.
People within the recreation center while startled, they stood still or pretended to ignore what escaped no one. Only Becky articulated her concern. Madison expressed her interest; more so once she realized Becky is an educator. However, without a moment of hesitation, or a break from or for Michael, she offered a retort. "I will speak with the teacher." Becky again offered, the teacher does what she thinks is best. Perhaps, she, just as the pupils Becky spoke of, had parents who were as aggressive as she was.
Those who admire the techniques the Nazi swim teacher endorses may also be intimately acquainted with instruction through intimidation. "In my family no one yells," Becky said. Madison responded; the same was true in her life. She and her husband do not scream.
Michael continues to squeal. "Mom, Please, No!" He thrashes. He grabs for her mother. Michael reaches for Madison's shirt and slaps her body and face. The Mom had mentioned she wore the blouse just for this purpose. Michael grabbed at the swim instructor, just as prescribed, and when with her, Michael clawed for Madison's clothing.
His moves do not seem to suggest an intention to hurt the mother Michael loves. From appearances, the boy only hopes to find a source of solace. He wants to hold on to someone, anyone. His words seem to express a desire that his Mom will save him from her. The child cries out again and again. He flaps; he flounders. Little lovable Michael thrashes and struggles. Madison was not discouraged.
Still alert and attentive to her purpose, Madison proclaims, "The swim teacher has them trained within a week." Once more, she says, "Everyone goes to her." She may have sensed or seen Becky's alarm. Apprehensive, the mother said, "I will speak to my husband. He is in the car."
Becky realized the man who she had observed earlier might have studied the pair with an interest that could not be described. Possibly, what the father felt was beyond words. Becky knew that emotionally, this event tugged at her heartstrings. She wondered; did the Dad wait for he too could not endure the misery inflicted on his son. How could a mother be so cruel? How could anyone treat a child with such contempt? Why were words of compassion and caution not enough to stop the abuse? Was Becky alone in her anguish?
She exited the pool area, entered the locker room. Then she scrubbed herself in the shower. All the while Becky heard the howls and the hollers. This small sorrowful soul did not rant or rage against his Mom. He only called out for help. Each shout sliced the air and sent chills up Becky's spine. She could hardly contain her own tears.
Becky left the building and again approached Madison, whose energy and purpose had not waned. The worried woman spoke, "If I could I would like to inquire; would it not be better if Michael loved his lessons (and the person who teaches him)?" Did she share the latter thought? She was so troubled, she did not know what she said. Had she asked if it was necessary to master the skill in a week? Madison ignored Becky. She was done with this exchange. She said to Michael, "Just a few more minutes."
Defeated, Becky left the deck. She walked to the office where the guards stood in alert. The group discussed what left each of them distraught. A resigned Brianna verbalized her belief, "There is nothing we can do or say." Shocked to discover Becky spoke to the woman, Brianna began to ask of what was said. Then she realized Madison, with a drained and strained Michael in her arms, was near. She let out a sound that signaled the need for silence.
The mother and her madness quickly fled the premises. After a short discussion with the guards, Becky thanked them for listening to her fears and followed the path from the pool to the parking lot. Apparently, the couple and their child were settling into the coupe. The father glanced over as he saw Becky near the vehicle. Nothing was said. For Becky, there were no words.
She pondered. Was Becky the person now considered a predator? Had Madison grumbled to her husband as she shared details of the encounter? Exhausted and uncertain of the empathy she had supposed all beings had for others, Becky went to her car. She could not drive away, although she saw the family did. The lover of living beings, of children, could not fully understand what existed only for moments in her own life. She was haunted by the hurt she saw in Michael's face and heard in his calls.
Stunned and shaken Becky sat trembling for a very long time. She wailed; she wept. Had she just let a sweet child fend for himself in a world too awful to survive?
Hours passed and Becky imagines, in her life, Michael, and the impression he made on her would never move on. Sadly, she fears, what for her was but minutes, for Michael, will be life.
Becky had mentioned to Madison, or hoped she had, the effect of trauma. To this day, the older educator recounts the stresses that transformed her being. The lessons, what her Mom, Dad, and mentors did supposedly for her benefit, if not facilitated fondly, harmed her deeply. Cognizant that children absorb all they encounter and are affected by every exchange, Becky contemplates the drama Michael endured.
In a desire to calm her self, Becky, an educator who loves to learn, sought answers. She had so many questions, so many concerns. As a teacher, never labeled a dictatorial tyrant, she had much trepidation. What had Madison taught Michael? Was he expected to sink or swim? As she read, her angst increased. What would become of Michael?
How Do You Recognize a Patient (or Person) with Trauma if it is Not Always Obvious?
Different people respond differently to traumatic events. Some people will carry it around in ways that everybody can see that they've been impacted. But most people actually will go through a traumatic experience and won't have any easily visible or obvious manifestation of that. The problems may emerge many months or sometimes even years after the original event. So it's very important for people who are trying to understand trauma to become aware of the various ways in which traumatic symptoms can manifest, the various ways in which trauma can be carried forward by children and adults, and the pervasive impact that trauma has independent of the way someone is observed to perform.How Do Relationships Affect the Way the Brain Develops?
Human beings are at our core, relational creatures. We are designed to live, work, play, and grow in groups. The very nature of humanity arises from relationships. You learn language, you learn social language, you learn appropriate emotional regulation, and essentially everything that's important about life as a human being you learn in context of relationships. And the very substance of a successful individual is bathed in a whole host of relationships with people in that person's life . . .
Can You Continue with the Relationships and How it Affects the Brain
When you look at someone, when you hear someone, when you have a conversation, when you make a joke with somebody, when you touch someone, every single one of those physical interactions are translated into patterned neuronal activity that go into the brain of both people in that interaction and result in positive changes. These physical changes influence our immune system and they influence the autonomic nervous system that controls your heart and your lungs and your gut. Literally, when people have a wealth of relationships, where relationships are present in high quantities and they're of good quality, these individuals are actually physically healthier, they're emotionally healthier, they're more cognitively enriched, and they actually reach their potential to be humane in ways that are impossible without relationships.It's a very interesting thing that people don't really appreciate this very much, but that there's no better biological interaction that you can have than a relationship.
Yes, all beings are but a beautiful bundle of love. Yet, rarely do humans honor that veracity. So few people understand the depth of each interaction. Too frequently, individuals do what was done to them, or what they think they can. Societal standards, customs, traditions, the lessons taught by authoritarian teachers shape them. People learn. Yet, they may not have studied the ultimate lesson. We are each a lovely and fragile beings. We grow well when hearts, minds, bodies, and souls are tenderly touched.
"Michael, I am soooooooo sorry," Becky mused. What of the relationship she had with Michael, or for that matter, with all beings. What affect did her actions or inactions have. Becky though of how all that occurred developed, and how Michael might grow. "If only I had done more, been more, were a better teacher to your Mom, or had offered to help you learn to swim." Becky, heart heavy with regret promised herself, if she were to meet this family again, she would . . . in truth, she did not know what she could or would do. She only hoped that someone would tell her. How does one swim in a world where too many forget, all beings are but a bundle of love.
Sources and Suffering . . .
Posted by Betsy L. Angert on July 6, 2008 at 09:00 AM in "Take me as I am!", Abuse, Adult Influence on Children, Aggression, Approval or Love, Art of Loving, Have or Be, Change the World [Within], Children, Desire to Learn, Dreams Live and Die , Education, Emotional Decisions, Emotional Intelligence, Empathy and Evolution, Family, Functioning, Fables, Life, A Forward Motion, Looking at Life, Nature or Nurture, Quality of Life, Teach The Children | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Fight The Smears; Silence is Not Golden
copyright © 2008 Betsy L. Angert. BeThink.org
Today, change has come. Contrary to the reality that has filled centuries of history, a Presidential candidate has chosen to Fight the Smears. Barack Obama, a man whose first name is defined as my own, "blessed," has opened a door. He has unlocked a window. Thankfully, the propitious aspirant has risen above supposed ceilings. Presidential hopeful Obama has endorsed a principle that I discovered as a child. Secrets are the source of sorrow.
Barack Obama's campaign revealed a Web site this morning entitled "Fight the Smears" -- aimed at, . . . beating back misinformation, half truths or downright lies being spread about the Democratic nominee via television, the Web, radio and, most pervasively, e-mail."The Obama campaign isn't going to let dishonest smears spread across the Internet unanswered," explained campaign spokesman Tommy Vietor.
Intentional slander causes great pain. Individuals who malign advance untold misery. Only the truth can set any of us free. However, few wish to speak of what they know. Most repeat the proverb, "Ignorance is bliss." Yet, in life, we may realize, when we are quiet, gospel is often fleeting.
Americans witness an amplified effect of silence each election year. What was intentionally withheld and accidentally revealed, or what was not explained well in advance to the electorate reverberates as it rolls through the press. Barack Obama understood this before he began his Presidential bid, or possibly, he did what was his habit.. In his biographical accounts, Dreams From My Father and The Audacity of Hope, the Senator honestly revealed some of what might have been considered character flaws. Perchance, he only exposed the ways one works through a rite of passage.
My Mom, a wondrous woman who believes, we must "never suffer" would have been impressed by a man who freely disclosures as Barack Obama has. I feel certain Senator Obama's mother was pleased with the person she raised to be real. Perhaps, Barack Obama's parent helped him to muse as my Mom did for me when she said, "In some families there are skeletons in the closet. In our home, there are no spaces in which to store the bones." In my life, people speak of what is in a moment. Myths do not become accepted as legends. I have come to recognize, forever is fluid when people are free to be.
In homes such as mine, no one need tiptoe around the torrid tales. Topics are not taboo. I experience when people are authentic in word and deed, individuals feel safe, secure, and serene. They trust that discussions are endless. Disagreements do not end a relationship; they begin an evolution. I know this to my core. I have lived it for a lifetime. Friends, who were less familiar with what always was in my family, through me, have come to appreciate secrets need not be.
I had and will forever have faith that no one is supremely correct. Nor are any of us mistaken. The only blunder, I believe, is a purposeful intent to cause pain. I do not think conversations injure, or at least dialogues need not do harm. However, for some this is the objective. In an election season, the people see what is contrary to the standard in my family. It seems the plan is to persistently penetrate any semblance of sympathy for a defined opponent. Conversations amongst candidates are not compassionate. Even constituents bicker brutally. Countrywide everyone speaks of a desire for peace, while they consciously war.
For me, disagreements are fine. They need not be feuds. In my mind, heart, body, and soul, chatter does not equate to conclusions. Talk is the catalyst for what is, in my life, eternal, slow change.
Perchance, if we as a nation truly wish to create a fertile future the manner in which we speak, and our expectation for what needs to be in an exchange or an election must be altered. However, if that is to occur we must acknowledge, transformation comes from within individuals.
With access to information, ah, what a mind can do. Malleable psyche morphs in ways we cannot see and in moments that may not make sense to any of us. Frequently, I have observed hearts melt when we share "stories" serenely.
Each of us may have an effect on another; however, we cannot know what that might be. Thus, we speak and hope we are heard. We listen; if we are open, we learn what we never imagined. Perhaps, the "blessed" Barack Obama, was instructed at his Mom's knee just as the "blessed one" Betsy was. What might be awkward, if not addressed, will forge a feeling of deep distress.
I was taught to endorse the adage, "Silence is Not golden." Indeed, I discovered, without words, people can only assume. Assumptions are often erroneous. At times, so too are our thoughts. Yet, we may wish to believe what is real for us is obvious., even if odious, and inaccurate.
Hence, I, as a human, one in a species that is bit too emotional for my taste, when given divergent information, initially, may become defensive. Nonetheless, I know I will forever reflect on every word another offers. I suspect others do as well. My belief is that this theory has spurred the Fight the Smears campaign.
Over time, and with or without further discussions, I may evolve to a place not entered before. I love the enlightenment that grows with empathy. Thus, I participate endlessly. I seek wisdom wherever it may be. I am convinced, knowledge is everywhere. Erudition will empower me. Ellen, my dear sweet compeer encourages me to have courage in my convictions.
Ellen and I are good friends and have been for well over a decade. We are extremely open with each other. Authentic honesty that does no harm is a habit of mine, and one she adopted unexpectedly in time. Given that all is discussed candidly, and with great care for the other, each of trusts we will not be declined an opportunity to speak. Smears will not be forthcoming. What is said in person will not be awkwardly courteous. Reciprocal reverence is sincere.
Nonetheless, or perhaps, because we are genuine with each other, disputes occur. Politically, we are as far apart as two persons might be. In an election year, needless to say, we can expect other emotive outbursts. A recent one was animated, just as our agreements are. Our earlier interchange illustrates what I believe and why I welcome a focus on the smears.
In my life, as I shared earlier, when people address misinformation, misunderstandings, or mysteries much can be revealed and resolved. Ellen and I, in our relationship, exemplify what is possible when people endorse a policy of "no secrets."
Days ago, each of us was excited as we discussed our sense of political truths. When our voracious vocal analysis ended, some might have thought venom was the cause. It was not. Shuns did not give rise to a sudden silence Essentially, all was postponed, for each of us was late for an appointment.
Ellen had no doubt that we would chat again. She knows very well, I do not leave conversations behind. Nor does she with me. Neither of us would hide from a possible conflict. History helps us to know this would not be our last quarrel. When one is so far from another politically; yet, so close when principles are practiced, certainly there will be quibbles. Nonetheless, these will likely progress as calmly as this one did, or as others have.
One or the other of us will call, write, or come over. Neither of us will avoid the subject that may have been the source of sore feelings. Perchance, in our personal lives, diplomacy is a practical policy. Ellen and I will chat of what occurred. We will speak of why we said and did as was done. All the while we will warmly express how much we value the other, even the opinions we might think odd.
Again, we will reassure each other. There are no facts. Every individual has faith in what they think accurate. Ellen, I, any individual has a unique perspective. Those who think as we do, dependent on the policy, principle, or practice, do not share our history and a particular point of view. Others will reach a conclusion upon reflection, as will we, which could be you or me. What each being evaluates is envisioned through a personal lens. Eyes and emotions are our sieves.
Ellen and I know to our core, my history is not hers. Her experiences are not mine. Our backgrounds and experiences are dissimilar. The effect of every encounter will be internalized differently. Nonetheless, or indeed, each of us is the change we can believe in.
A broad focus on a shared Fight against Smears, may help to create a community that truly cares. A site that teaches us how the world might function if everyone is open, may serve to keep the peace.
It is for this reason I applaud Barack Obama and those who seek specifics from the source. Granted, Barack and Michelle Obama will not have a chance to look into the eyes of every American. They will not be able to touch the hand or the heart of all citizens in the world. Time will not allow for personal introductions and interchanges. Nonetheless, I believe it is important to begin a practice void in most homes and absent on the campaign trail.
I have faith that if we face the rancor that resonates when misinformation becomes the message, we all will be better off.
Humans appreciate, people will prattle incessantly. Words will be whispered down the lane. Labels will linger if left out in the cold, or locked in a closet and hermetically sealed. However, if we, the persons who are the subject of the silliness that passes for truth, share what is real for us, people may listen, or at least in my life they have.
As I shared, for me, love is the only absolute. It is a challenge to love someone we do not genuinely know. I thank Barack Obama for removing the veil that too often in public forum obscures veracity.
I experience, if we wish to be trusted, we must trust that others desire to know us as we are. I am grateful, Barack Obama is willing to share truth with us. To speak to slurs and slights is to fight for the peace that has never bee part of a political campaign.
Open dialogue is the change I believe in. I appreciate the invitation to talk. I think, together, we can Fight the Smears, challenge affronts, and enter into a world of empathy.
References for the fight . . .
Posted by Betsy L. Angert on June 12, 2008 at 07:01 PM in Approval or Love, Compassion, Conflict, Complex, Elections, Emotional Intelligence, Empathy and Evolution, Lies, Life, A Forward Motion, Light. Darkness., Looking at Life | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBack
Reverend Wright, Senators Obama and Clinton, Moral Issues; Reality of Relationships
copyright © 2008 Betsy L. Angert. BeThink.org
Clerics and parishioners are in the news. In truth, Reverend Pastor Jeremiah Wright and Barack Obama are discussed each day, in most every hour. The quality and quantity of familiarity within that relationship is the topic of much conversation. Hillary Clinton espouses, moral issues matter. Many within the electorate agree. The ethical principles of a Presidential hopeful will have a profound effect on the nation, and the planet. As Jennifer Wills ponders the scenes as they play out before an eager public, she reflects on her own life. She thinks of the trials, and tribulations that she feels when she loves friends as much as family.
Miss Wills is a white woman, fifty-five years of age. This educator is an extremely devout individual. She teaches at a religious school and has for more than a score. Professionally, Jennifer is required to present lessons on piety. The deity of her faith is discussed daily in her classroom. Miss Wills revels in the curriculum. She loves to help her fourth grade pupils explore how and why the Almighty affects their lives.
Years ago, Miss Wills mentored an older group of young persons through her family's church. In her house of worship, she sings in the choir. Jennifer was not paid in dollars to show teens the way; nor is she compensated for the hymns she hums in the many Sunday and Holiday services. Her devotion to the Lord and to his commandments has eternally been compensation enough. Jennifer gladly gives of herself; she shares what she believes and is open to the wisdom of others. However, admittedly she acknowledges she has free will. Jennifer chooses for herself who will and how another might guide her. Miss Wills places her faith in the Lord and the strength he has given her.
Jennifer Wills is among the working class. She epitomizes Middle America. Her life is average and for Jenn that is best. Contrary to what one of her closest dearest friends thinks, Miss Wills considers herself a woman who strongly believes in the liberation of her gender. Jennifer was and is proud to be female. More than a decade ago, Jennifer thought Hillary Clinton could possibly be the first woman President of the United States. She was grateful that the citizens of New York State, twice elected the esteemed former First Lady to the Senate. Miss Wills admires what the Democratic candidate does, or did.
However, in the last few weeks Jennifer felt a need to question what she thought to be true. Was Hillary Clinton the person Jennifer thought her to be? Would the New York Senator be good for the country? Did this dynamic women, a Presidential aspirant truly represent Jennifer and womankind? Miss Wills wondered.
The Reverend Wright issue has caused Jennifer to reflect further. Miss Wills has attended her church for all of her adult life. She has been an active member. Unlike most who attend Mass occasionally, Jennifer is consistent. She does not pray only on the Sabbath. Nor does she enter the Lord's house one day a week. Indeed, Miss Wills walks through the doors of a temple when at work and for pleasure. Jennifer trusts G-d does not take a day to rest; he offers reverence with his every breath. So too does the faithful Miss Wills.
Jennifer believes if we are to be one as a nation veneration is vital. Yet, frequently, for what seems to be months, Jennifer, and all of America has heard Hillary Clinton empathically state her contempt. Consistently, on the campaign trail, and in front of cameras, the candidate declares, "I think given all we have heard and seen, he would not have been my pastor." The inference is as the abrasive judgment, "Shame on you, Barack Obama." Jennifer wonders, what might this potential Commander say in private. Jenn ruminates.
She considers her own circumstances. Often, as Miss Wills sits and listens to the sermons of one minister or another, she marvels at the passion expressed. Yet, Jennifer does not always agree with the content. A homily may inspire the dedicated parishioner, while specifics within the text may trouble her. Granted, she understands why Presidential aspirant Clinton's may proclaim, "You don't choose your family, but you choose what church you want to attend."
Tis True. Yet, Jennifer knows to her core, the church is more than one spiritual leader. For Jennifer, the community, the connection to family, and tradition keep her coming back. She forgives those whose philosophies may have trespassed against her own.
Miss Wills is certain that what she gleans from a homily is significant. She acknowledges that she can admire the man and aspects of his message. The Pastor may lead the congregation; however, each parishioner will follow their own path. Jennifer does not feel a need to accept an entire oration as truth. For Jennifer, the feeling, what the communication evokes is the essence. As an observant person for all of her life, Jennifer has come to realize every individual is unique. Shepherds of the Lord are not different than other humans. They feel; they are flawed.
Oh, how Jennifer would wish to forget what she learned of her former Anglican. A priest, who most would muse had fallen from grace, is no less wondrous to Miss Wills who remembers when he gave Communion to her nieces and nephews. Jennifer does not believe the Lord Almighty loves the cleric less when his behavior is questionable. Jennifer was taught to have faith that we are forgiven, and she will not be the first, or last to cast a stone.
The Pastor who presided over her sisters' nuptials is not less holy when his political stance is not as Jennifer thinks prudent. Ah, but the ceremony was beautiful. The service, the sermon . . . Perhaps, if Jennifer ever marries, she will ask the same Vicar to share a similar recitation.
As a Christian, a believer in Judeo-Christian principles, Miss Wills believes all individuals must be understood as they travel towards enlightenment. Another human can absolve his fellow being as he or she strives for greater illumination. We are all here on Earth to learn. Jennifer refuses to define others, even when they are recognized as "Father." Miss Wills experiences that within the sanctity of our shrines, each person will divine their own truth.
While Hillary Clinton may have exited a church when the Pastor did not please her, Jennifer Wills could not and has not on the many occasions when she thought the words of the wise were not as she held to be true.
Miss Wills would never deem to judge another so harshly. She recalls a time when the elite among the ecclesiastic decided the man who led the choral society was not the best for the job. Jennifer had learned to love the maestro. Sure, she saw the man who mentored the singers sling an ugly phrase or two. She heard Mark, the musical genius, rant, and rage. Jennifer understood, the teacher of tunes was a perfectionist, and at times, persons in the chorus were less than ideal. Flaws could frustrate the musician. Indeed, the conductor was easily agitated.
Apparently, so was the church council. After more than a year of what the hierarchy and the Board felt was anguish, they concluded change was necessary. Choir leader, Mark was let go. Jennifer was torn. She understood many members were unhappy with the vocal trainer. However, she felt his heart in every exchange. Mark cared so deeply for his craft, and for those he worked with. Jennifer cherished him. Under his tutelage, Miss Wills gained confidence. She grew. She realized she had a beautiful voice, and in some ways, Mark empowered her. Without him, Jennifer wonders, would she have ever learned to carol?
Miss Wills, after the dismissal, was asked to take sides. The Pastor who worked fervently to remove the musician from his position and friends from the choir thought that she, as they, must denounce and reject Mark. While Miss Wills understood their distress, she did not share the same.
Within the church community, there are many prominent persons, pious, and prized. They are not family; yet, Jennifer is fond of these individuals in a special way. She would not think to openly comment on or criticize these persons. Nor would Jennifer ever encourage the conversation in the press. Behind a podium and on a platform, Miss Wills would not seek a forum for spite.
Miss Wills understands how when a man, be he clergy or common, is wounded, he will lash out. Jennifer would not wish to embarrass or harm another human. Yet, she observes that those who oppose Barack Obama in a political battle hope to have the blood flow. Jennifer considers, if she did as Senator Clinton and her contributors have done, she could not face her students, or her G-d.
Being the tempered teacher that she is, Jennifer does not think it decent or divine to dictate righteousness without any sense of sympathy for a soul, sensitivity to the stress, or consideration for the situation. A fellow being lambasted for months is not saved by one who blatantly, and while in the spotlight, defines their worrisome words as "offensive" and "outrageous."
To express disagreement, perhaps disappointment may be understandable. However, to vehemently, assert, "I'm going to express my opinion, others can express theirs," with no knowledge of the man beyond a moment, Miss Wills thinks is malicious. In a fit of fury, behind closed doors, with only friends in attendance, even Jennifer has expressed hurtful statements. Were they heard by those she spoke of she would regret having ever uttered the words. For Jennifer, only G-d has the right to condemn a being in the manner Senator Clinton did when she spoke of Reverend Wright on the Bill O'Reilly Show this last day in April.
Jennifer Wills understands why Barack Obama honors Reverend Wright., the man. It made perfect sense to this pious person that the man of hope could not denounce or reject the person, only the words his Pastor presented. This educator has learned much over the years in church and through her personal connections. Jennifer understands relationships are a challenge.
For the past thirty-seven years, Miss Wills has had a friend who was and is there for her. The two frequently dine together. They have traveled the country, one with the other. Terra and Jennifer frequently go to the cinema, the theatre; they remain forever bonded. Politically, Miss Wills and her companion would be in a constant state of conflict were Jennifer to ever speak of her truth as she does with others.
Terra is a businesswoman, a compulsive, career driven atheist. She swings severe verbal blows with steadfast persistence. Indeed, Terra is the friend who defined Jennifer as other than a women's rights activist, although Miss Wills believes herself to be committed to the cause.
Where Miss Wills worries about how her words might affect another; Terra does not. For this nonbeliever, vitriol is valued. Nonetheless, Jennifer met Terra when she was eighteen years old. She feels as though she has learned much through the association; Jenn has learned to love, appreciate, and even admire those who differ from her. In times of need and deep sorrow, Terra has been and will always be with Miss Wills. They share in a special way
While the life-long acquaintance may not be present and able to perform in a manner that is most benevolent, Terra is emotionally available in a way that appeases, appeals, and even pleasures Jennifer. It is good to have friends, people who know you, and care for you.
Miss Wills watches the Reverend Wright scenario unfold. Jennifer listens to the divisive rhetoric and as the scriptures counsel, she "clings" to the religious principles that have served her well all of her life. This teacher of good, for the first time since the current Presidential campaign began admitted this week, she is now "bitter." Hillary Clinton, and the venom she spews, causes Jennifer much concern.
The New York Senator says over and over again "I will fight for you." Jennifer has concluded; if this is what it means to fight, she cannot support a combatant. A pugilist does not bring her joy. Nor will she feel saved if Hillary Clinton is identified as her redeemer.
Educator, Miss Will wants her pupils to look up to the President, to emulate the Commander-In-Chief. A warrior, even if she is a woman, will not teach the children well. As Jennifer considered a contrite Barack Obama, as she watched him speak of the man who he once loved, she felt she could relate.
At times, those who have deeply touched our soul, act in ways that are troublesome. We are powerless to change them. We may feel a need to separate ourselves for safety and sanity. However, while our heart is broken, the spirit survives as does the hope. People heal. Perhaps, once the Pastor has worked through his ancient anger, once we have walked through the pain . . . Let Americans pray for a peace, for unity, for a world where public condemnations do not cloud the issues.
References, the Reverend, The Reality of Relationships . . .