Hope's Birthday Blessing

Looking in the Window of Hope's Kitchen

Hope's 90th Birthday Party

Hope with Mary Ray

Good morning.
Today would be my grandma Hope's 101st birthday.
I know I've written before about my childhood and my grandparents and the sacred place that was their farm. And I still have some boxes of memories from their house, in our basement, waiting to be sorted.

Hope introduced me to C.S. Lewis, Dietrich Bonhoeffer and Thomas Merton. She gave me my black leather Bible with my name engraved. She shared my love of Madeleine L'Engle.

She stood by the stove and stirred custard. The same custard I made last weekend for the homemade ice cream. She introduced me to almond extract and vanilla.

Her plants are in my garden. Now it's a fern nation, but the first ten came from the north side of her garden. I have peonies from the long sunlit lane she road her bike up and down. And heritage roses from the perennial garden by the fence.

She loved jewelry and gave me silver charms for my charm bracelet. She studied Indian concerns way before they were Native Americans.

I stayed on their farm for two weeks each summer, taming the barn cats and making forts in a million places. Sewing doll clothes. Putting on shows, which she and grandpa patiently watched when they were probably wanting to turn on Johny Carson.

 She could assess my mental health by the state of my fingernails and my hair color. She knew me. And yet, she only saw the best.

Most of all she listened. She listened to the ramblings of a four year old and heartbreaks of the twenty year old.

And then she listened to my kids.  She fed baby Mary scrambled eggs. Really GOOD scrambled eggs. She let Calvin wind the GOOD Czech toys. And she thought they hung the moon.

I thought I could never live without her, but I'm still living eleven years later.
I'm so thankful. I'm just so thankful.

Lord,
Thank you for my grandparents, and especially today, I'm remembering Hope. Thank you for her presence in my life. Thank you for the gift of faith which she shared. Thank you for the wealth of memories she gave to me. It's all So GOOD. Help me to be that listener to the young people in my life. Help me share her ferns. . .  and help me to see the God moments she looked for everyday and in everyone. 
Amen

Listening Last Night

Last night I went to bed at peace for the first time since in several weeks. At least I was a little bit more at peace.

Like everyone, the death of George Floyd and the reactive protests and riots have affected my peace of mind. The images on the news have been deeply, deeply disturbing. Lives have been unjustly taken taken and destroyed, property has been damaged, livelihoods have been stripped. I awoke daily to the smell of our city burning. Loved ones were in actual danger. It was really too much.

I understand here, that my own peace of mind is not the central issue. Yet, it's mine, and I do believe that we have to secure our own oxygen mask before helping others. I've always said that. Yet, these last two weeks I've been unable to read, talk or pray my way to any sort of calm.

I've been silent here and online because, well, anything you say can and will be held against you in the court of Facebook. I sent money to Minneapolis and tried to keep it together for my students and family.

I've been trying to just listen, but I really couldn't digest what I was hearing. White friends preaching to me about racism is mostly what I was getting online. A friend of a friend of a friend who said such and such. Toxic memes. News from too far left and too far right.

I only have a few friends of color and they actually have been very quiet.

Last night was different for me. Last night the Suzuki Association of the Americas held a Zoom Listening Forum on Racial Inequities in the Suzuki community. Only teachers of color were invited to speak. The rest of us just listened. It was over two hours of teachers and parents sharing their stories. The speakers were emotional. They were hurt. They had righteous anger over the treatment of black children at institutes. They had frustration with language barriers. They had the courage to speak live in front of a primarily white organization and share their grief as well as give us ideas for a hopeful future.

I guess that's what I really needed to hear all along. Real people, real stories. Real ideas. Real hope.
Face to face. Well. . . Zoom box faces. Listening to the pain in my community, my own Suzuki community, was a great place to start.

I'm okay with not being completely at peace. We shouldn't be okay with racial inequity and injustice in our community, yet listening to Suzuki people of color gave me an oxygen mask last night. I feel a little better prepared to do my part, whatever God shows me that will be. Step one, keep listening.