Good morning from Chicago,

Our family arrived here 2 days ago.  Its so good to be back. Its been almost 20 years.  I love this city. The people - the diversity- just being in a big city. The memories.  I went to college here and intentionally built an hour break into my schedule at Loyola's Water Tower campus so that I could just walk around and explore the city. This was also the city I was in on 9-11...  I was sitting in one of my Social Work classes at UIC (some more formal learning after Loyola- college can be great- but there are plenty of opportunities for learning beyond a traditional classroom) when the Professor gave us the news about the World Trade Center's twin towers.... Where were you when you heard?... Yeah. That day.  No matter where you were I imagine you remember- I imagine it impacted you...  And I was in Chicago- about a mile from the Sears Tower, and several other skyscrapers.  If I remember correctly, they evacuated the Sears Tower that day due to some threat called in...  After classes were done for the day, I walked to the main Metra station downtown.  And in that walk, my eyes were taking in a skyline that could have been altered just as the one in New York was on that day.  It was a very strange walk, surreal.  This could have been Chicago.  The smoke, sirens, screams... that could have been here -where i am.  But even though its not here--- its somewhere.... what's it like in New York right now? What are they feeling right now?  Because I'm not even in New York, and I got a whole lot going on in my gut right now...  Unimaginable.  When we lose something, whether its 3000 plus lives or one, I think it an unimaginable pain and experience.  One you wish on no one.  One that you can hardly imagine how you or he or she or they could possibly go on... how do you live after
9-11 or the shooting in Charleston or the flames in Charlottesville or the day your friend was shot or when the doctor tells you she's got 3 months... or after the divorce, after ... you fill in the blank, the dates.  Somehow people do though, right?  Get through.  Some better than others.  And, well, yeah, sometimes people don't.  How do you get through that?  The person that either gave up and followed through with the plan to end his or her life on this earth/under circumstances he or she could not bear... And so now that person is physically gone.   OR the person who gave up - and one day (or little by little), while they are still physically here, their heart and soul has checked out.  They've disengaged from life because life for them got to be too much (I certainly have felt life to be "too much" at times) - and so while they are physically here, that is all of them here that is left.  The walking dead I guess you could call them.  God help them.  God help us.  Can I help them- God, please let me help them.  Let us help them.  Let us enter into the unimaginable with them.  Because... I'm near certain that the people that survived - and survived well (not necessarily pretty, but well- they moved forward- perhaps now with a limp, but still forward).... they did not do it alone.  In my unimaginable, I was the walking dead when I was walking alone.  And I remained that way until I was willing to let others into my world and be honest about what I was feeling.  I would not have made it out alone.  When you see someone appear as the walking dead, please reach out to them.  They may not take reach back- but at least they know that there is life out there willing to reach into their death.  We cannot do death alone.  I know I can't.
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Well, I digressed very early on there... now, perhaps back to where I started...

I've been excited about this trip for so many reasons:
1) I'm back!  Chicago IS my kind of town!
2) I get to share it now with my daughters- take them on the streets where I walked; point out my favorite places to get coffee and chocolate and, well of course... Pizza!  We'll go to Uno's or Due's today -with a plan to do lots of walking afterwards- I don't know that one can survive eating Chicago pizza without doing some kind of exercise immediately afterwards- it tastes fabulous, but - well, I  don't know about you-- but my body screams: "Move me!" after eating that dense morsel of gastronomic goodness (there may be a pound of cheese in one slice alone- and maybe 1/2 a pound of butter).  And I'll show them where I went to school (and as we end up in the suburbs later this week, my husband will do the same for his Alma Mater)
3) I just love big cities - the variety of people, the countless coffee shops and eateries, all of the options of things to do
4) The conference -that is what brought us here (and then once you know you have to pay for a flight- make the most of the opportunity while there, that's my MO)- EFCAOne- we will see many friends and I will get to learn more about things I both love to learn about and need to learn about--- and connect with people who share my heart on what is so important to me- that we love all people- #Allpeople
5) Family- we will see family!!! After our whirlwind tour of the Windy City, we will head to the suburbs for the conference and while there stay with my niece and nephew-in-law.  So fun!

6) Friends- I definitely will not be able to see all the friends I would like to while here, but I will see some.  And I will also be reminded of the special times with friends had in years past in this city that is so close to my heart
and last but not least... (and maybe i'll add to the list later- I probably forgot something)...
7) Hamilton!!! I saw Hamilton with my older daughter yesterday... It was our birthday gift to her - and thanks to Jim Folk for letting me be the one to go with her.  He believed that I would probably enjoy the experience more than him- so therefore I should go (Did I tell you how wise you can be, Jim?!?!), I am near certain he was right on that.  My daughter and I both loved the show- but as much as she loved it, she also concluded that she believed I must have enjoyed it even more.  I cried; I clapped; I did some buyah! arm punches to the air (like"Yeah! What he said!) during many lines.  That masterpiece of a story; crafting of words; demonstration of so many of life's realities, tragedies and comedies of both the past but also how it had my mind in our present--- beautiful... genius... and for me... heart penetrating... to my core.

So, the above all represents the what I was looking forward to about Chicago; the expected; and the pleasantly unexpected.  But what comes next, is the flipside... the unpleasant unexpected...

I'll start with this... of course, Chicago is not the same as it was when I left about 20 years ago.  It has changed.  That, is, to be expected.  But what I didn't expect -and what breaks my heart - is not all (and I bet some and many changes are for the good- trust me, I'm not trying to be negative) of the changes over the past 17 years have been for the better.  And, you may think it arrogant for me to jump back into a city and make such an harsh assertion.  But its not my own... I've been talking to people ... from this city... who have called Chicago their home for most if not all of their lives.  And they've seen some changes that are heavy on their hearts, and as I hear them... these changes weigh heavy on my heart as well.  I love this city.  They love this city.  I'll stop writing for now. My family is awake, and its time for breakfast.  But, I can't just come here and hear and see... and pretend its all the same... and the people that live here can tell you better than i can.  So, as time permits, hopefully sooner rather than later, i will share with you what they have shared with me.  For the love of Chicago and her people.  For this city I love...

Memorial Day, Part II
A little(okay, maybe not just a little...) more on Memorial Day...
Here are some other people that came to mind when I was thinking about Memorial Day:
- Muriel's classmate (not sure if the family would want me to post her name -so I won't) who died unexpectedly after complications with the flu. The same week she is in the hospital with rare complications from the flu. My girls are home sick, with the flu, everyday that week. Her classmate (8th grade) died on Friday that week. I was out of town on Friday (had been home with the girls Mon-Thurs) when they got this devastating news. An awful time to be away from your girls. I wanted like mad to be with them and hug them and just be... I arrive back in town Sunday night, and as I'm making my mental to do list for Monday while driving from home from the airport, it hits me harder than it had all weekend. A sick note. I have to write a sick note for the girls because they were out sick all last week from school. But wait,... I still have my girls. I GET to write a sick note because my girls are going back to school. They had the flu (and not to freak anybody out about the flu- it was very rare circumstances/complications that occurred - way out of the norm), just like "S". She died. They didn't. I get to to write a sick note. "S"'s parents will never get to write a sick note for their girl ever - EVER - again. And S will not be there when my daughter goes back to school. Muriel will go to her first period Spanish class, and S - who was in that class - will not be there on Monday. And she never will be there - NEVER. Memorial Day. I'm going to shed some tears for S and her family. For her parents. For her sister that doesn't have a sister anymore. Her sister in an instant has NO siblings. NONE. Just like that. It's Memorial Day, and I've got some tears to shed. I have two girls- that's it - if the same thing happened to me, I'd have ONE girl, but that ONE girl would now have NO sister. Tears fall. They pour. Its Memorial Day.

Zaki- I think of Zaki on Memorial Day- especially because I'm in Florida right now. Zaki was a sweet, crazy-funny boy who also had a deep appreciation for some good food or even a snack. Zaki was in a Bible study that I helped with when he was about 8 or 9 years old. Loved that boy. Zaki lived on what many would call, "the wrong side of the tracks" or the "bad" side of town (And okay, honestly- there was a lot of crime in Zaki's neighborhood, I probably wasn't going to be doing house hunting for my family in that neighborhood - but at the same time,  in the midst of the more-common-than-there-should-be gunshots and other crime in that community, there was still community- and love- and some very, very beautiful people - some of my favorite people in the world, Diann Richardson, Teidra Richardson McBride, Alany, and James Porter (another WWII vet- who up until the time that I left Ocala 2 years ago was still living in the house he built with his own hands after WWII - He was 106 or 107 when I moved away- and one of the best, most precious gifts I ever received came from him, James Porter - at age 106 or 107, he went to the trouble of catching me some fish - an 100+ year old African American man who lives in a neighborhood, "that" neighborhood- the one that sometimes feels like a war zone on many levels - "that" man gave "this" white 40-something female who lived in a much different neighborhood and had a lot more material resources --- He - though he did not have much at all in respect to material things, He gave big. He loved big. That's something. That is a gift to be treasured from a man who has a heart - A man who loves well) live in "that" neighborhood. 

And while, "that" neighborhood may be poor in material resources- they've got some good love stuff going on there. If you doubt that- message me, call me- I've got more stories ... I've been a recipient of it on multiple occasions. I could share more about the kindness and love towards me from Diann and Teidra and... but i know i've already been going on for awhile now. I just wanted to let you know that, while there may be some awful things that happen in "that" neighborhood - and that happen more often there/ disproportionate levels of crime...there are also some beautiful stories of love and hope and perseverance through some crazy storms -storms that only people in "that" neighborhood have experienced- and that some can come out of those storms and still love is no small thing. I've got something to learn about that kind of love. We've got some things to learn from people in "that" neighborhood. People that can love and keep on in the midst of such hard circumstances. At least, I know I have some things to learn. How do I learn? I spend time with the people in "that" neighborhood. And then the more I listen, the more I can understand why some things are as they are over there- a place different from my here...

I don't think I finished the story that I wanted to share about Zaki. Within a year I think, for reasons I can't remember, the Bible study that Zaki and I were in, ended. And I didn't see Zaki much after that. I would see him every long once in awhile as I was taking my girls to school because Diann's house (Diann is Zakis Aunt)- was right on the path of the daily carline I would sit in waiting to pick my girls up from school- sometimes parked right next to Diann's yard. Also drove by it every morning taking the girls to school. 

So.... Zaki.... fast forward to late September 2016. I'm at home, pick up the newspaper. That's normal so far... then my normal was forever rocked/scarred/wounded/injured/torn/broken.... I see a headline about a boy that took a bullet to the head in a drive-by shooting. Then I see a face. I think I know that face. Zaki. No, come on God - not Zaki, please not Zaki. Please not Zaki. I start to read the article- the name doesn't exactly match up and the street address/the map shown in the article doesn't match. The name said Ri'Zaki Johnson. And the article says that he was shot at the home where he was staying- and that address wasn't the same as Diann's. I never knew his given name was Ri'Zaki. Everyone always just called him Zaki. Well, I guess I was still just trying to hold on to some hope that it wasn't him- even though i recognized the face. I called someone in Zaki's neighborhood- they confirmed what I hoped to God was not true. It was Zaki that got shot in the head. It was Zaki that was in critical condition at a local hospital. His cousin, Alany, was also shot. But they were really more like brother and sister, Zaki and Alany. Real close. Alany was shot in the stomach- she had a short stay in the hospital - no major physical damage. But Zaki was in critical condition. I wanted to go there - to be there - closer to Zaki - in the hospital. To pray. To be.

I know not everyone would have that reaction. I don't expect it - and I don't think anyone is better or worse based on whether they would want to go see Zaki or not. But I'm wired a certain way - sometimes it paralyzes me - and other times it gets me to move like never before. When I read about Zaki's shot to the head, it was like a knife to my heart. deep wound. deep cut. blood spilled. I wasn't expecting that I would actually see Zaki when I went to the hospital to pray. I just wanted to be there- to pray- and also if family came- I wanted them to know- that even though it had been a long time since I'd had close ties with Zaki- I was crazy sad about that boy being shot in the head. Crazy sad. So, yeah, I didn't expect to see him. But the family invited me in -to pray with them. And we held hands around him, and we prayed for him to be healed... and I kissed that boy on the forehead and told him i loved him. 5 days later he would die- and I guess he got healed in a different way - not in the way we were asking for - we weren't ready to let that 17 year old boy go. I know I wasn't. Now was Diann or his Mom, or his Aunt Teidra or Aunt Kiki or Aunt Jazz or his cousin Alany who was there, too, when he got shot. And she got shot, too. But now he was gone, and she was still here.

Memorial Day. Maybe you're wondering why i'm writing all of this- am i trying to make you sad? angry?....

I'm getting to my point. Memorial Day. A lot of people die young in Zaki's neighborhood. As awful and painful as it is, its almost normal there in "that" neighborhood. Not normal as in people aren't hurt and pained by it- not that some don't also feel the knife to their heart each time it happens - but normal as in expected/ like those things happen here. Like it might be normal in some neighborhoods to hear the ice cream truck go round two times a week - still love that ice cream- but not surprised that the truck is there. we're used to the truck. 

Emily, you may be saying, I still don't get where you're going with this..... Welllll- I'm not done yet.

(and this is where things might get a little uncomfortable in a different way and you may think i'm trying to make a political statement- I'll try to tell you now that i'm not- that this is personal, not political - whether or not you believe me, I cannot control)

In these days, past 4 or so years in our country, America, I believe things are at an unusually high point of tension. Tension between political parties and tension between Black and White. There is a lot of "us" and "them" or "those people" language being thrown around - and its a two way street. White folk do it. Black folk do it. Conservatives do it. Liberals do it. And lets not get all caught up in who is doing it more- its not contest. If we are doing it at all - whomever we are, it is wrong. We are putting people into boxes, including ourselves - and making whomever "those people" are "those Democrats" "those republicans" "those blacks", "those whites", "those..." fill in the blank. We've created so many groups of enemies that many people don't even want to speak for fear that they'll lose their friend because their friend has already made one if not more public statements about one of "those people"- and they are them- and so if he or she says "Oh, this is who I voted for, or this is the party I identify most with" - by the way many of us talk, some feel immediately condemned and hated for their political choices or ideas. People are feeling more and more isolated from people whom they would call a friend because - oh- well I guess my friend doesn't like any of "those people", so if I told my friend, MY FRIEND, whom i voted for or what my political leanings are - they might not be my friend anymore. So, I better just keep quiet about that, and this, and that, and this--- I guess i better just not talk at all. About anything - because maybe i'll lose my friend (because they already told me or all of facebook or instagram how they feel about "those people".... but I'm one of "those people" - so I guess we can't be friends - or at least I can't talk to my friend. so - who could i talk to --- because over here- well, this other friend doesn't like these other people, and that's well I think that's me too - on that. So we can't be friends either.... What's happening in America? aren't we all individual people. Do we really all fit in these boxes of "these people" and "those people" so neatly. I don't think so , but my friends do. So, maybe i don't have any friends anymore . Cause it seems like I'm always gonna be in somebody's hate box. If I say i like this, then this friends hates "this", but if i say i'm that, then my other friend - well he believes that all of the people that believe in "that" are wrong and dumb and cruel- maybe even evil. Does he think I'm evil? ...... I'm feeling pretty alone right now. And no box is safe. Maybe I'll just choose a whole new box...thats just for me. Cause it doesn't seem like i really fit well in any of these other boxes. 

And well, its Memorial Day, and I couldn't find a box with anyone else in it that really fit- or where I wouldn't lose another friend. I couldn't choose between my friends. Its Memorial Day. I made my own box. I wonder if anyone will leave flowers for me next year, by my box.

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Friends - this is me, Emily, out of my storytelling hat now. Just me. what i wrote above is how i see (not for all people) happening today in America. No one party or color or political leaning or ideology or culture has the perfect answer to the hurts or challenges of our country or our world. We all mess up- I love my daughters like crazy, but as a mom I don't ALWAYS make the best decisions for them or say the right words. The best thing I can do for my daughters and for anyone else is to communicate love to them. I think (and maybe its not how you feel) that i can tolerate any bad, poor or flawed policy or mistake or.... if I still deep down believe that no matter what, the person across the table will still love me. 

So, while even still there will, this side of heaven, be no perfect (in my opinion) political party or perfect person to run our country (and I do realize that voting still needs to take place and people will be asked to vote for someone)- I think I could tolerate or survive and maybe even thrive if I knew I was loved by someone - no matter how different we are in perhaps so many other ways. I can survive, and yes- thrive- on love alone. and i don't think i'm alone in that sentiment. Others may feel differently - but I'm telling you where I'm coming from.

And so on that note, could be maybe tear down the boxes -or at least the assumptions we make about the people in the "other" box. because i think its killing us- i know its near killed me. i stayed in a box above ground for way too many months- and then was tempted all too much to get the underground box so i could be done with all of the boxes forever- it was almost too much to bear- i couldn't bear it without love
we are not operating as "one nation under God" -
Could we try it out?
that doesn't have to mean that we agree on everything.
that's not going to happen... but
when there is a confrontation and a young black boy gets shot, before we go to our boxes where the first thing we try to do is figure out whose fault it is- why the cop shot or why the black boy shot....
Could we please - for God's sake, for love's sake - first think about Memorial Day- because no matter whose "fault" it was (and I'm not against justice- please don't misunderstand).... no matter whose fault it is,
Come Memorial Day, somebody is going to a box that wasn't there before-
whether its the mother whose going to her young black son's box
or the wife of a cop going to her husband's box
Its still a box, with a person
And its Memorial Day
And I'm pretty done with all of these boxes, aren't you?
It's Memorial Day, and one day we all will end up in a box
So let's cry for ALL of the boxes. For God's sake. For love's sake.
Its Memorial Day.
God help us ALL

Written on Memorial Day and the day after Memorial Day 2019

Memorial Day - Part I
It's Memorial Day (okay- its not anymore, but at the time I started to write this- now I'm typing it- it was Memorial Day) and as I write those words, "Memorial Day", my mind hones in on the one word, "memorial"- a word that floods my heart and mind with heavy and varied thoughts and emotions.

Memorial Day- in its most traditional sense was established as a way to honor the lives lost/sacrificed while at war. For the purpose of this post, I brushed up on my U.S. History and found out that the roots of Memorial Day in the U.S. started after the end of the Civil War. Hmmm. It used to be called Decoration Day as family members/friends would decorate the graves of those fallen in war with flowers and also recite prayers. Interesting. I didn't know that. I knew the military connection- but not the specific war of origin. I also knew it was at a time often a tradition for some of my own family members to take flowers to the gravesite of any loved ones that were no longer with us- military or not. 

Okay- so that's the overall, in a really small nutshell, history. Memorial Day- a time to remember those who gave their lives for this country that I live in, America. And as years passed, a time also to remember any lost loved ones.

So, before I go any further, I must say this: THANK YOU to all of those who served and serve our country, and to the wives and families who also sacrificed so that they could serve. In the book of John in the Bible (specifically the 15th chapter of the book, verse 13), it says this: "Greater love has no one than this, that one lay down his life for his friends". Going to war is a sacrifice of many things, and it is also an act of love. So thank you to all who sacrificed and are sacrificing even now out of love of country and/or love of man. Thank you (and all but the last of the names listed - if they did go to war, came back alive- though I doubt they came back the same - even the soldiers that "survive" paid a price while serving in a war where you are so close to the minefields of death and suffering- how could you come back without wounds on your heart, unthinkable scenes etched on your mind) to my Dad, Charles Lee, to my brother Kevin Kevin T Hartley, to my nephew (not sure if I can type his name for the public- he just recently transitioned into civilian life after serving in the Marines), to my Grandpa Eugene Woodruff, to my Grandad Charles Lee Sr. (I am pretty sure he did not serve overseas, but even if you never go overseas- when you enlist, you are essentially putting your life on the line), to Richard Overton (he passed away in December of 2018 and at that time- at the age of 112- was both the country's oldest living WWII veteran and oldest man - , to Volma Overton Sr. and to Volma Overton Jr. And to James Groves III -he was a high school classmate of mine (super nice guy- who I think, if my memory serves me correctly, often got teased - perhaps because he was more nice than "cool" - definitely a shame because i think it is pretty cool- obviously "cool" isn't a word that gives him appropriate justice---- but yes, I think it is beyond "cool" and brave and awesome that he would sacrifice his life for his love of people and his love of country. Not just anyone would do that. But James did. And he died at the age of 37, while piloting a helicopter that crashed in Afghanistan. Sacrifice. Lost life. Missing place at the table. Thank you James. Thank you... The list could go on and on.

So, Memorial Day... honoring those who are serving or who have served our country. And, for many families and friends, it is also a time where we remember people we've lost. Some much sooner or in a much more tragic way than we could ever have imagined. And old or young, expected or unexpected, it is all death. And it is all hard. And there is still a missing place at the table, or the desk, or in the drive home from school or work or... Its all loss. 

For me, on this Memorial Day I thought of a number of people and circumstances. I have two daughters. One is 14 and one is 12. They are still here - each just about 30 feet or so feet away from me right now as I type (now I'm typing things I didn't write because I knew when i started writing on Memorial Day- I had some things to do with some of the amazing living that i had the privilege to be with - so i'd have to fill in the blanks on my Memorial Day thoughts - later- once everyone else - or at least my daughters - are asleep -we are in Florida right now- we moved from Florida about 2 years ago - and now live in Raleigh, NC. And I have missed my Florida people like crazy. And... while I have amazing, loving parents, sisters, brothers,... amazing family -whom i also miss like crazy--- I also have amazing friends here in Florida that are also in a way family to me. I will not get the chance to see everyone I wanted to see- and for those I did/do see, it won't for me seem long enough- but it is something, and I'll try to take it and be thankful for it- and hope that I can come back soon).... So, back to ... my daughters... Memorial Day... remembering.... On this Memorial Day, as I have my daughters with me (my husband has this Sunday gig that often ties up his weekends - so he can't always travel with us- though it is quite nice that he at least recognizes this one's -that's me- love for her people - so he gives the go ahead for me to go, even when he can't--- if you didn't know- the Sunday gig thing- he's a Pastor- so that makes me a Pastor's wife- its an interesting life filled with some amazing blessings and also brings even more family / church family into our lives- but - uh- its also hard at times- kind of like first responders, we often are the first ones to know when someone's been diagnosed with something, or died, or...- its a mixed bag- we've all got mixed bags i'd guess)---- I digress, I digress...

Memorial Day [focus, Emily, focus- did I mention that I'm near certain I have adult onset ADD- what do you think?🤷‍♀️- oh- that's really a rhetorical question- please don't feel compelled to respond]- I'm with my daughters on Memorial Day and it is not lost on me that some parents this year are without a daughter or a son for the first time (or now its year 2 or 3 or 10 or 22 - and its still hard because, I'm guessing you never could get completely over it this side of heaven, nor should you- and no one should expect you to- whether it was your child, or your sister or your brother or your friend or your mom or your dad, or.... there is still a missing place at the table, and there always will be this side of heaven. And I think that is something quite worthy of our tears and pain. Hopefully the pain isn't as heavy on the less-memorial-like days- but sometimes it just hits us out of nowhere- and we just want that person back. 

So, its a strange balance trying to live in the present- when you feel like something's missing from it- something/ someone else you want there- someone you wish were still at the table. And hopefully we will all give each other grace as we attempt the delicate balancing act. And maybe even hold one another up when necessary so our friend/brother/sister does not fall over from the heavy weight that on some days may just seem too much. Its Memorial Day. And we've got some beautiful people to remember. And sometimes the memory / or thinking about the missing place at the table does not mean that we are weak or unthankful for what we have now - I think it just means that we are human and have a heart - sometimes it just is a sign of the thankfulness we have still for what is now no longer with us. 

There is a precious song by Ed Sheeran titled: Supermarket Flowers. If you get a chance and don't mind crying, I'd recommend giving it a listen. If I recall the backstory of the song, he wrote it about his Grandmother. And the voice/speaker of the song is his mother then talking about the death of her mother. Here are a few lines from the song that speak to some of my thoughts mentioned above:

Oh I'm in pieces, it's tearing me up, but I know
A heart that's broke is a heart that's been loved
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I think, to dovetail off of Ed's words (we're tight like that- ya know...I call him Ed, he calls me Em... okay not really)- we cry and are sad, sometimes year after year, because we miss the love of someone who loved us well. So- hey, cry- I think that's definitely worth crying for. We can't live there- can't stay there- always thinking about it- but some moments and some days its just a time to cry ... again.... And that's okay. It's Memorial Day- and we have some special times and some special people to remember. Tears may be included with the memory- so be it. Let them come. If they never came, that is when I think we should really be worried. 

So, on Memorial Day, remember those that gave their lives for our country and also those who gave part of their lives to you - for you - for their people. Their friend people, their family people... Let's remember them and be thankful for the time we had with them- and in that process, we may shed a tear or we may ball our eyes out- but sometimes love does that. And we should never shut down love.

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I don't know about you, but the tension in the last 5 or so years in this country where I live, America, has almost been too much.  For me.  No doubt.  Charleston.  Election 2016 (I'm not talking about who you voted for, I love you no matter who you voted for- and I think very cool, loving, lovely people came to very different conclusions about what box they checked on election day- I don't think that whatever box they checked that day or any day after that made them evil or my enemy - I've got one enemy- and he's not from these parts- more on that- maybe- later).  Charlottesville - torches- fire.  The language around kneeling during the anthem (again- its not the kneeling or the standing that gets me... its how we talk about the PEOPLE involved- because they are people... yes, they are).  Mosques bombed.  Synagogues bombed.  Churches bombed.  Real bombs.  Verbal bombs.  In my mind both the literal and the verbal kill.  I'll share that from my own perspective.  There is a phrase from when I was a girl (not sure if its still swirling around today's generation and not sure when it originally sprouted up): "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me".  Well, for me- that don't ring true.  The words that have been part of the public dialogue, sometimes seen on the news and sometimes seen in my facebook feed, sometimes coming from a public leader and sometimes coming from a Facebook or social media acquaintance..... sometimes the words are worse than sticks or stones.

In a recent conversation with a friend, and in a not so recent conversation with a family member - I shared that sometimes the words I see or hear feel like a knife in my stomach- deep - to the gut.  And honestly, the words were almost too much.   What do I mean?  I'll be frank here- for the sake of love. For the sake of peace.  For God's sake.  Seriously.  I don't say that lightly.  I have wanted to die at times because of the words----- yes - WORDS - they have been killing me--- daggers in my heart.  I am white (at least in the box I have to check for this, that and the other thing)- but for whatever reason, God gave me a heart that feels things that are said to or about others that are not in-my-box white, or in-my-box Christian, or in-my-box straight, or in-my-box middle class, or in-my-box....

I am starting to understand more and more that just because other friends and family don't feel the dagger when these words are said- that does not make them necessarily racist or sexist or homophobic or xenophobic or classist -or elitist or....  I have learned that some of those same people who SEEMINGLY CAN'T HEAR the hate or pain I hear/feel, did hear it at once - and they heard A LOT of it--- and then, in order to survive, they adapted by tuning it out... So they don't hear it anymore.  They grew up with their father or mother or... calling them an idiot.... and eventually, to survive, they tuned it out.  So, now when they see or hear it- they don't recognize it- or it doesn't feel like a sharp knife.  I feel it.  They don't.  Not because they are jerks or heartless - or heartless jerks... but because they learned to tune it out for survival - otherwise it would have been too much for them...

Now, there are also just personality differences- so what bothers one person doesn't bother another.  Thin skin.  Thick skin.

But - please hear me out on this.... just because we don't see things the way another does or understand their hurt does not let us off the hook....

Example- Let's say I'm crying (cause- ya know, that happens sometimes- just every once and awhile, or maybe, maybe more...).... My thick skinned friend sees me crying.  She asks what's wrong.  I tell her that I was watching the news and I saw that a mosque was bombed by some people who are afraid of Muslims- so they bombed a mosque.  I'm bawling.

Friend:  Why are you so upset Emily?  Things like this happen all the time.  People do stupid things.
Me:  But people have died.  And then the news interviewed someone and he said that they deserved it- because they are Muslims.  How awful is that?  They deserved it?  Because of their religion? Seriously?  (I'm bawling again)
Friend:  Well- that is a really stupid thing to say.  It's awful.  But people just say stupid things.  Don't let it bother you.
Me: I CAN'T not let it bother me.  It felt like a knife in my stomach when i heard that.  I am hurting
Friend:  Did you know anyone that was killed?
Me: No
Friend:  Oh (now confused again- mind you, this friend is a fabulous, loving person who would do anything for me and would not say the words that so hurt me).  So I don't understand why you are so upset.  I mean, its definitely sad- awful... but there is just a lot of bad in the world. You can't get upset
every time something like this happens.  I feel bad for the families, too - but you don't have to be so upset..
Me:  I can't help it- its just in me... (i keep bawling).  It is so sad to me that there is so much hate in this world.  How will people have hope, know love when stuff like this happens?  What are the families feeling right now? I wonder who all is left behind... I wonder when the last time they saw their loved one.... And what on earth?  What do you think they felt when someone (maybe even someone who says they are a Christian) said that they DESERVED it?  Who deserves that?  What person?  People have lost sons and daughters - mothers - fathers.... friends... and this person's first response is: "They deserved it".  Something is wrong with that - very wrong.  They don't acknowledge that someone has died or that someone has lost someone they loved- they just say "they deserved it".    If that is the attitude of much of the world- I don't like that world.  I imagine a lot of people don't want to be in that kind of world.  I don't.  A world where we point fingers before we have enough heart to say- SOMEONE HAS DIED... I don't know the circumstances ... I don't know if someone is at fault... but above all else... a mother or father has lost a child or a child has lost a parent - or a brother a sister - or a friend, or friend..... if we can't start there..... this world is a sad, sad place....  I can't live in a world like that.  So, what--- what can I do... If I can't live in it "as is" right now, I either call it quits myself (all too seriously considered that on a number of occasions) OR, I speak the language I can live with -and hope to God that others hear it, too.  I speak LOVE.  First.  Always.  And above all things.  That is the only way I can survive this crazy world.  Silence doesn't work,  not for me.  In the Old Testament of the Bible, in the Book of Psalms, Chapter 32, verse 3 it says this:  "When I kept silent, my bones wasted away, and I groaned all day long".

That was me- is me - and will be me.... if I keep silent when I feel those knives in my heart.  So, what do I do- what can I do?    What - if you get daggers, too, what can you do?   What can we do?

SAY SOMETHING.  Speak love.  Share your daggers.  Share your love.  The world needs it.  I need it.  Will you join me?  You don't have to agree with me, or with "them"  . You don't have to understand the daggers- why they hurt.  JUST CARE THAT I'M BLEEDING.   PLEASE CARE THAT "THEY" ARE BLEEDING.  if you care for me, I'm asking you to SAY SOMETHING when someone pierces a dagger into me or  "them", even if the "them" isn't at all like you.... because he or she or they still have a heartbeat, and a mother, a father, and perhaps a son or a daughter.  We were all born with a heart, and we all - to quote a dear hero of mine, Richard Overton- (a hero I did not meet this side of heaven)- "We all bleed red".  And - in other words, to quote another hero that I did meet, John Perkins, we are "one blood".

Some friends and I are on embarking on a journey to SAY SOMETHING about the daggers.  Now, we don't all have the same daggers that hurt us.  And so, while at sometimes we will SAY SOMETHING, other times we will need to LISTEN as others SAY SOMETHING.

So, please join me. Please join us, before we all are tone-deaf to love.  Because I don't know about you, but I CANNOT live without love.  Are you ready?  Here we go.  Its not going to be easy.  It will probably be very awkward and crazy hard at times.  but i think we've got to do it.  I know i have to.  I think it will be worth it.  And for me, it is literally do or die.  I think it is for a lot of us.  So are you in?  For me?  For "them"..... for love's sake?  Please say yes... I need you.  we need you.  We need love - more than anything else- and perhaps more now than ever before - more than ever before in my lifetime.
-----
So, what are we working on (aside from the general idea of love)?
Its a project- or something like that...
If we had to give it a name, here is a starting point (but not necessarily the final name):

HOPE FOR SEEING IN 2020:  SAY SOMETHING

(The above pic was done in watercolor by my oldest daughter, Muriel.  I didn't ask her to to do it- she just did- how cool is that?!?!)

From this point on I will be using this space, this blog to hopefully do the following:
-  share or say something myself- share what it is that breaks my heart- not just so that you hear me go on and on on some soap box, but so that you would hear my heart- and perhaps in hearing my heart, your heart might be closer connected to either my heart and/or someone else's, so that in hearing a little (or more) something from me, you hear a perspective that is different (or not) from your own- and your vision is expanded.... not because I think I have the best vision/view but rather because I think we honestly can see a fuller picture of things when we have more than one set of eyes looking at things
- listen to what another is saying (that another includes you!)
- communicate about something good or positive out there/ out here- to hopefully encourage at least one other person to keep going in this world that has a lot of hard stuff going on - it may be silly, it may be intense- goal is that it would encourage someone
- AND, if you have something to say, a dagger you want to share, this space is for you, too
and some friends and I are also working on creating some space for more sharing of daggers/hurts... space to say something and hear others say something  .... where we will talk and listen... and hopefully at the end feel more loved-more heard (not necessarily agreed with- but at the lest listened to and cared for)  more like we are part of a greater existence of all of humanity - a humanity that all should love and be loved- no matter what box or boxes we check or are checked for us
-  we love you, I love you NO MATTER WHAT- please hear that loud and clear, and if you have a story to share about not feeling loved or connected, please contact me and my friends, Bert and Xochitl, we will be listening- for real-
With Love from America and for America and all of the world,
Emily on behalf of Bert, Xochitl and me