Justice

January 27, 2017December 18, 2019

Led by Women, The March Goes On

Almost three million women, children and men took to the streets around the globe on January 21, 2017. But they weren’t the only ones involved. Millions of others were intimately connected—marching in their hearts while working at their jobs, caring for themselves or others who weren’t able to participate, praying or otherwise participating at a distance.

Like mother bears roaring to protect their cubs, voices rose from the streets in a fierce love to protect and nurture all of creation from Mother Earth under our feet to all of our global family.

We the people, we the women, have too long been in a strange mix of hibernation and fighting. The problems loomed so large, while our perspectives shrank too small. But millions of us have awakened, ready to follow in the footsteps of our grandmothers who broke rank from the powers that be and sought justice, respect and equity for all.

In our years of hibernation or activism (or whatever it looked like for you), many of us practiced listening for inner guidance—that inner voice of guidance nudging us toward the unique role we were to play at this moment in history. Since that voice is often at odds with cultural expectations, we’ve been strengthening our courage. Knowing how much harder it is to work in isolation, we women have joined together to support each other.

Nowhere is mutual support more needed than in our compassionate support of each other as the shards of our cultural training of racism, sexism, classism—and all of the other ways we’ve been taught to divide and separate—work their way out of our bones to be transformed. Unfortunately, these shards often show up in unconscious beliefs, words or actions that are profoundly in conflict with our conscious values. Horrified, it is easy to act defensively or with anger. My prayer is that we can act like compassionate mothers or midwives, supporting each other as we honestly examine and then remove these shards. Freed from outmoded and unjust shard after shard, together we can become the just people we were created and long to be.

In the mean time, emotions are high. Anger boils at words tweeted and political nominations put forth. Rage explodes as dreams collapse. Frustration burns at the slow movement toward justice.

These are real and understandable feelings. But they can also destroy our forward movement.

In the midst of the tension and chaotic energy swirling now, it is easy to let our differences explode into conflicts that shatter friendships and partnerships. Butting heads without listening to each other is precisely what has brought our world to this dangerous point. In order for something different and more beautiful to emerge, we women must lead by responding to clashes in relationships by hanging in there with honesty and remembering the bigger picture of our human connection.

Hanging in there doesn’t guarantee that the relationships/partnerships can always be repaired in the moment. Everyone has free choice in how they get to participate, and some differences make active partnership impossible for now. Nevertheless, when each of us personally acts compassionately and with integrity, it opens the door to something new emerging. When we enter the fray and then walk away, we close the door to the possibility for transformation.

The Women’s March organizers struggled with this. My hope is that the millions of marchers that were brought together on January 21 will take the next steps of collectively working together as we all continue to awaken to the impact of an unjust history and to the possibilities of a just future.

The march isn’t over. Every day our feet touch the floor (or our wheelchair footplates or the bed or…) and we can choose to listen to our mother bear hearts and our wise belly’s intuition and begin to weave a more equitable and just world.

I have deep gratitude to all of the women who marched in the streets or in their hearts to “stand together in solidarity with our partners and children for the protection of our rights, our safety, our health, and our families—recognizing that our vibrant and diverse communities are the strength of our country”*…and our world.

*Mission of the Women’s March on Washington

January 16, 2017December 18, 2019

Steam Powered New Year’s Resolutions

Tis the season for New Year’s resolutions. However, this January demands more creativity than losing weight or exercising more. In a playful yet pointedly serious way, I penned my resolutions for 2017:

· Find a balance between honoring my own personality and being respectful. The deep longing of my heart often crashes onto the scene with the power of a steam locomotive. I wasn’t born with a gentle, slowly emerging gift. I don’t always show up in a way that this self-respecting, well-mannered girl was taught to believe was acceptable. Nevertheless, it is who I am…and I must find a way to be respectful even when I am all steamed up.

• Seek a diversity of ways to access knowledge. Over the years I’ve sharpened my thinking in the service of my steam-girl gift. Figuring things out, problem-solving, seeing down the road to what needs to happen next have been skills that are indeed of great benefit. But stuck there, the best I can do is guide the steam locomotive where I think it ought to go – knocking down things I believe are obstacles. My brilliant thinking and my not so brilliant thinking are both leading me astray more often than they used to. And yet, I can’t leave my mind at the station. Instead, thinking must keep company with intuition, listening to my body and prayer.

• Keep my feet planted in hope no matter what is happening around me. I hate roller coasters, and steam locomotives barreling down the hill run a close second. I don’t like physical speed, period. Given that I am by nature afraid of potential disasters down the road (or tracks) and I’m not sure that I can trust the locomotive mechanics or those who care for the rails, I’ve had to find courage from the bigger picture and things unseen. Life is unpredictable and uncontrollable, so I want to strengthen my ability to hold out for shimmering possibilities. I want to believe transformation is possible in every moment.

• Do the work that is mine to do, and let the rest go. Like the locomotive, my innards hold both the power of water—connection to the emotions, washing things clean, the power to erode rock slowly drip-by-drip—and the power of fire—sacred fire, blasting away all that brings us no joy, thus allowing real treasures to emerge and illuminate dark, confusing corners. I seek unity right in the middle of division and darkness. Uninterested in baby steps of minor tweaking of our current society’s injustice, I want to step right into the middle of collaboration and partnership: not merely flipping oppressed and oppressor roles, but stepping outside of that dichotomy altogether—now—through writing, conversations and collaborating with big topic organizations like Be Present, Inc. and Wisdom & Money.

It is time for each of us to step into the fullness of our leadership—in all of our quirks and diversity—and to work together to build strong and effective partnerships.

While it may sound tempting to return to a “simple” resolution like losing 20 pounds, more is demanded of me this year. And of you. Resolutions come in all shapes and sizes—what do yours look like?

November 26, 2016December 18, 2019

3:00 a.m.

I am no stranger to middle of the night risings. Too often I am wide awake at 3 or 4 a.m., filled with a mix of fear—of real possibilities or something wild from my imagination—and creativity. For much of the fall, however, I cozily slept past my usual time of night risings.

That shifted after the election. Real fears, imagined fears and creativity all swirled together, leaving me unable to return to sleep.

Real fears threaten my dreams of justice for our world. I must continue to wake up to both historical and current realities in the world around me, laying aside well-worn sound bites of misinformation. Starting with myself, I must notice when the cultural shards of fear and hate show up inside me, and take quick action to align my heart and behavior. Then, I must speak what is mine to say and take the action that is mine to take.

Imagined fears roil one after another. Here I easily teeter at the edge of a nightmare, too paralyzed or horrified to move.

Creativity dances in the middle of it all. For decades I’ve been practicing creative ways to communicate across differences, to embrace diversity and to act in alignment with my values and heart. This moment in our nation’s history demands profound creativity. Playful innovation, even in a time of crisis, has the power to break through our divisions to let something unexpected emerge.

I have spent my entire life honing the skills and practices I will need for this very moment. Nevertheless, part of me doesn’t feel ready. But epic adventures usually start without completed preparation—Hobbit Balbo Baggins left without his pocket-handkerchief and Queen Elise was taken, kicking and screaming, wearing a silk nightgown. Their fictional adventures support my in-the-flesh adventure of living my own life.

This is a moment that requires me to stand steady in the paradoxes of this scary midnight hour. I have to hold onto my critical thinking and seek facts rather comfortable, well-worn arguments. I have to hold onto attentive, conscious listening, especially in conversations with those with whom I disagree. I have to be creative in seeking partnerships across what feels like an abyss of difference.

Years ago, in the middle of a Harvest Time sacred play ritual, I sat at a table with a group of characters. We were invited to don any of the costumes strewn around the room and come to the table dressed as the part of us that always felt excluded from the party. I don’t remember my outfit, but I clearly remember the name I gave that hidden part of myself—Abyss Walker.

Today, I honor the abyss walker part of myself. As much as I may go kicking and screaming, complaining that I am not up to the task, I know how to walk open heartedly across an abyss, the deep fissures that cut deeply across our nation and world.

First, I keep my heart open and grateful. Next, I listen—really listen—to others. This is the sort of listening I’ve been practicing in the Be Present Empowerment Model—listening to the other while simultaneously listening to myself. I need to know when the voices in my own head have grown louder than the person I am trying to listen to. Those inner thoughts are legion: My rebuttal; my fears; my corrections; my facts; and my horror. Pretending to listen when all I can hear is my own inner voice is disrespectful and leaves me with no ability to hear what is actually being said. The partnership across difference that I seek requires that I am consciously hearing the person I am listening to, and that I do whatever I need to do to keep my attention on her/him.

This sort of listening requires a level of personal responsibility that often pisses me off. It isn’t fair. Why do I have to listen so respectfully when I don’t feel respectfully listened to?

Why indeed? The only person I am responsible for is me. I have a clear choice. I can feel virtuous in my beliefs and only listen to people with whom I agree, but that choice will allow the divisions to grow and deepen. Or I can honor my values, my spirit and my faith and act in ways—in this case to listen—that flow from my deepest desire.

And yet, I can’t abdicate responsibility for showing up in the world in the fullness of my personal leadership. We need every one of us fully present, each stepping into our full leadership. I have been given a perspective and longing that must be spoken, and acted on. This is no place for silence, for playing nice.* It is a time for respectful conversations across our differences—seeking places of common ground that may be hidden by the passion of our beliefs, and refraining from demonizing the other person—all the while, sharing the perspective that is mine to share.

I have spent most of my adult life working for root level change—of our hearts, spirits and of the society. I do believe that our democracy has long been broken and filled with historical and current injustice. Profound change is needed. This election showed that millions of Americans agree that root level change is needed.

I believe that trying to change our nation from the top down, as we have done in this election, is the hardest way. But here we are. Abyss Walker will take me where the more timid parts of myself fear to tread. Who is the brave adventurer inside you, ready to lead you on the sacred path that is yours to walk for the good of our world?

*Nice is a word that has too long been held as a virtue for women, despite the fact that the origins of the word “nice” includes stupid, ignorant, incapable, silly and coy.

Novels mentioned are J.R.R Tolkien’s The Hobbit and Rae Carson’s Girl of Fire and Thorns

October 25, 2016December 18, 2019

Giving our Allegiance

It was a quiet statement, probably unnoticed by the people standing next to me. One hand holding the Sunday hymnal, one hand holding onto the church pew in front of me, knees shaking slightly at what felt like disobedience, I scanned the creeds and hymns to see which parts I could honestly say or sing. I’d decided not to speak the parts I no longer believed. It was the best way I knew to stay inside of my spiritual integrity. I knew these were ancient words, loved and honored by Christians, but I had too much respect to utter ones that no longer felt true.

Forty years later, I don’t remember exactly which phrases I refused to repeat. But I do remember the conviction that I could no longer go along with the crowd and speak what was out of alignment with my beliefs.

I’ve thought of my quiet protest, one that was heartfelt but required little public notice, in these months as people are taking similar—but very public—actions regarding our national anthem.

I know it is easy for white skinned people like me to feel included in the words of the national anthem. Francis Scott Key, the author of this anthem, believed blacks to be “a distinct and inferior race of people, which all experience proves to be the greatest evil that afflicts a community.” Most EuroAmericans at the time agreed with him.

That sort of blatant racism is rare today but it is far from gone. The black community and other communities of color have felt its brunt continuously since Key wrote the anthem. Far too slowly, racism in America is coming out of the shadows, finally forcing white skinned people to examine the generational impact of decades of redlining and limited access to education and jobs, mass incarceration disproportionately of blacks, and police shootings of unarmed black men.

Even today this nation’s laws, and how those laws are carried out, is set up to make sure that light skinned people are freer than those with darker skin. Unfortunately, our US culture still keeps us divided, thus hindering white skinned people from knowing the reality of the lives of black and brown people–and so many people who look like me deny that this injustice still exists.

Colin Kaepernick could no longer in integrity stand during the national anthem, an anthem that never included him. Neither could the Beaumont Bulls. These, and others like them, are standing in good company of those across the generations along side others who have loved the soul of America enough to call her to truly become the land of the free for everyone.

Protesting the national anthem to stand against racism and violence against black youth and adults is a brave and patriotic act. An act of the brave among us.

I am grateful. Thank you, those who kneel during the national anthem, for calling our country to finally live into the beautiful values of freedom and justice for all.

October 3, 2016December 18, 2019

All Lives Matter/Black Lives Matter

Do black lives matter?

Yes.

Do all lives matter?

Yes.

Since black lives are obviously part of all lives, why is it important to highlight that black lives matter?

In America today, blacks are far too often treated as if their lives don’t matter as much as white lives. It’s been that way for a long time, but lately it is becoming more obvious to whites like me.

It is popular for liberal white people to claim to be “colorblind,” affirming that all lives matter, regardless of color of skin, simply because we are all humans together. Unfortunately, the horrible cost of a white person being “colorblind” is that this point-of-view can effectively blind white people to injustice within housing, medicine, schools, courts, law enforcement and employment (to name a few places).

A very sophisticated system has been in place since America’s beginning to try to ensure that whites don’t notice this bias based on skin color. Whites were trained to believe that race, and “the race problem,” was a black (or non-white) thing. Consequently, as a child, it never occurred to me that I had a “race” or that the color of my skin had any affect on my life. Many of us white-skinned people paid scant attention to reports of racial injustice or saw each event as an isolated and explainable case.

Effectively woven into the structure of the United States of America from our inception is our national “race problem”—the centering of power, control and access within those with white-skinned while, in later years, trying to maintain the appearance of inclusion.

When police killed unarmed black men, one after another, Black Lives Matter rose up as a powerful corrective for democracy-loving America. The problem was clearly not just individual policemen but also bias throughout the law enforcement and court institutions. The string of killings was horrifying enough, but that wasn’t the whole story. Fellow officers didn’t stop their partner from using an illegal and deadly chokehold (Eric Garner), disrespectfully leaving the dead victim’s body on the sidewalk for overly long times (Michael Brown) and were unnecessarily harsh and heartless in their treatment of grieving families of the victims (Tamir Rice). For generations, police violence has been disproportionately used against blacks without legal consequences. America needs to start acting like black lives matter as much as white lives.

In truth, none of us is free until all of us are free. American roots were wrapped tightly around racism, sexism and classism. In that system, it was critical for one group of people—white men—to have power over everyone else. That strict hierarchy is inherent in patriarchy and structural racism, and part of the reason that we need to be reminded that black lives matter, women’s lives matter, brown lives matter, poor people’s lives matter…

It doesn’t have to be that way. As a woman, I am affected by the fact that in our culture women’s lives don’t matter as much as men’s lives. But when I assert that women’s lives matter, I am not saying that men’s lives don’t matter. Men are part of my life—my son, my husband, friends and relatives. When I stand up for women, I am standing up for justice for all.

For black Americans, the separation between black lives and white lives is often complicated. Many blacks are mixed race and have a white parent or grandparent. For a black person to say that black lives matter doesn’t mean that they believe that non-black lives don’t matter. Rather, it is a much needed corrective, a reminder that the individual and structural behaviors and beliefs need to change now, and we need to act like America knows that black lives matter.

This injustice affects the soul of America, and that includes me. My freedom, your freedom, is intimately connected to everyone being free. Working together in diverse partnerships, we must unearth, then eradicate, at its roots, the racism built into our institutions and laws.

I look forward to the day when our nation embodies the truths claimed at the founding of America—Liberty and Justice for all. For all lives to matter, we need to first heed the reminder that black lives matter.

This is one of several blogs that got its start listening to The Seattle Times Under Our Skin: What do we mean when we talk about Race? video. I wanted to explore how I would respond to their inquiry.

April 30, 2016December 18, 2019

Stepping into What I Hated

I hated economics in college, yet most of my adult life has been diving deeply into money, class and economic justice.

I hate fundraising, yet I have been part of Be Present, Inc.’s fundraising team for twelve years.

Though I entered this field kicking and screaming, I’ve discovered that working with money offers an exquisite doorway to spiritual transformation and that addressing all aspects of fundraising can take the lead in social justice. While “economics” and “fundraising” sounded dull, spiritual transformation and social justice made my heart sing. The draw has been strong enough that I’ve continued this exploration of the intersection of money and faith for over thirty years.

Below is a distillation of Be Present’s Vision-Based, Social Change Fund Development philosophy, where we work to expand the boundaries of philanthropy while building a social justice movement sustained by trust, mutual respect and equality.

Even if you are disinterested in philanthropy as a subject, I hope that this perspective gives you hope in these times when money is at the heart of so much darkness.

Vision-based

Be Present, Inc. believes that philanthropy can take the lead in the journey for social change. Our fundraising is vision based; we begin and end with our vision in mind. This vision is guided by four core values: Grassroots democracy; Diversity; Equality and Inclusion; Personal and Global Responsibility.

We develop our fundraising strategy to be in alignment with these values, and then bring together the resources – people, time and money – to make the vision a reality. We believe that collaborative learning, transformative leadership and building effective relationships is what leads to sustainable fundraising. Therefore, everyone who participates in the network financially invests in our work together, supported by the Board’s Vision-Based Social Change Fund Development Team.

Social Change

Access to resources shapes social movements in the U.S. These resources – time, labor, and particularly money – are vital to organizational survival and political success. Exploring who gives, how they give, and the effects of the giving have an impact on effecting sustainable justice and therefore are important political questions to address. The Be Present Vision-Based Social Change Fund Development Model is based on the core principles that raising money is political and that all people from all backgrounds are contributors to and benefit from the work of social justice.

Be Present’s guiding principle is that philanthropy’s success is measured not only by where money is given, but also the process by which it is given. We commit to raising while using the Be Present Empowerment Model® to examine the dynamics of race, class, gender and power that influence fundraising and giving practices.

Be Present has a commitment to work with diverse individuals and organizations. Not willing to allow the ability to pay the full price be the deciding factor of who can access our services, we offer a sliding payment scale. To simultaneously thrive so we can continue to support the social change movement, Be Present has developed both a detailed budged for the actual costs of offering the trainings/consultancies and a multi-pronged, collaborative funding stream.

First, we ask individuals/organizations to pay at the highest rate they comfortably can. Second, we offer support to people/organizations to envision a fundraising plan to help raise funds to cover the costs. Third, the giving and fundraising by those in the Be Present network and our financial supporters are focused on ensuring that the diversity and inclusivity that weave through our mission and vision are reflected in all aspects of our work.

The Vision-Based Social Change Fund Development Team has compelling monthly dialogues to develop skills in building long-lasting, thriving relationships; bringing more of one’s whole self into their giving; addressing money and privilege dynamics in relationships; understanding giving practices of diverse communities; and promoting innovative, sensitive and respectful philanthropic practices.

Fund development

Fund development is the process by which Be Present uses fundraising (and other revenue-generating vehicles) to build capacity and sustainability. The focus is on expanding and further diversifying Be Present, Inc.’s funding sources—from fundraising efforts, fee-for-services (consulting contracts and training registration fees) and merchandise sales.

While fundraising itself still isn’t my favorite activity, I love the doors it opens to a transformation of our spirit and our relationship with our global human family.

August 26, 2015December 18, 2019

Go Set a Watchman: Critical Warning for Whites Like Me

Atticus, To Kill a Mockingbird’s small town attorney, was one of my childhood heroes.

My girlfriends and I—white girls who rarely thought about race but considered prejudice ghastly—were deeply moved by Atticus. He was clear, inspiring and willing to stand against the racism of his Alabama neighbors.

We hadn’t noticed signs of racism around us in our white schools, churches and neighborhoods. I was glad that my family was respectful to our black maid, Mary, the only black person I knew.

We might have been polite, but none of us girls ever wondered why we carefully called all white adults by the formal Mr. or Mrs. followed by their last name yet referred to Mary by only her first name.

Oblivious to our contradictions, we distanced ourselves from the handful of openly racist students we noticed in our schools and believed that racism was on its way out.

In her recently published novel, Go Set a Watchman, Harper Lee paints a more complex—and more believable—picture of Atticus. And of us all. It is time to make room for a bigger, truer picture.

Atticus was a man of values who lived by the letter of the law. He had an unusual level of respect for all his neighbors, regardless of their behavior or skin color. In To Kill a Mockingbird, Atticus honorably defended Tom Robinson, an innocent black man. Unlike many of his neighbors, who believed that any black person accused by a white person was automatically guilty, Atticus stood on the side of truth.

Go Set a Watchman takes place in the mid-1950s, two decades after To Kill a Mockingbird. In the midst of a tense disagreement with his adult daughter Scout, Atticus asks, “Do you want your children going to a school that’s been dragged down to accommodate Negro children?” (page 246)

Scout snapped back about the low quality of her white school, but I focused on Atticus’s words and cringed at his racist assumption.

Unfortunately, some white people are still asking Atticus’ question today—people who would deny that they were tainted with racism.

My friend Sarah recently bought a home in Portland. The neighborhood school where her daughters will attend is 77% non-white (45% Latino, 17% Asian, 13% Black, 23% White and 2% Native American). Many of Sarah’s acquaintances and friends have responded with surprise that she would consider sending her children to school there. Unspoken, but implied, is that this is “a school dragged down to accommodate Latino, Asian and Black children.”

Schools were more integrated 40 years ago than they are today. Sarah’s children’s school is one of the few Portland schools with marked racial diversity. As a racially diverse elementary school, their classrooms will mirror the growing racial diversity of our nation. Children can learn their A, B C’s and also be exposed to a diversity of ethnicities, perspectives and cultures.

The issues, of course, are complex. The US has a long history of some public schools—more often in whiter and wealthier neighborhoods—getting better funding, staffing and parental time and financial support than schools in less white or affluent neighborhoods. Less affluent parents often work multiple jobs, have positions with limited job flexibility and have less money to invest in programs at their schools. Though the intelligence of the students may be equivalent, the opportunities diverge widely.

I remember being a mother of young children, and I worked hard to support their education. But any time my fight focused solely on what was academically best for my children and ignored the bigger picture, I actively perpetuated inequality and segregation.

The question for Atticus and for us today is not how to make sure our white, upper middle class children get the best possible education but how, together, all children get the best possible education.

Go Set a Watchman sounds a critical warning for whites like me. We need to begin to notice racism and its impact on people of all races, including ourselves, and learn to distinguish when our racial bias is active and when it is not.

The race problem isn’t “over there across the tracks,” as I naively thought as a child. The problem is in the middle of society (including our public schools) and in the midst of our own minds. Moral outrage or a good personal conscience isn’t enough. All of our children, black and white and brown and…, are harmed by racial inequality.

Sarah’s daughters will grow up with a diversity of people I couldn’t have imagined as a young girl. In order to support her children’s thriving, Sarah was wise enough to know that she needed support and training* to hone her own skills for living values values that empower all people in the middle of a world, and a school system, that has been divided by race, gender, power and class.

Now is the moment for clear sight and honorable action as together we turn the tide toward justice and equity in our own hearts and in our nation. What does that look like for you?

*In college, Sarah used skills gleaned from the National Coalition Building Institute to present prejudice-reduction workshops for her peers. As she prepares for her oldest child to go to kindergarten, she is joining a Be Present Peer Led Support Group.

June 23, 2015December 18, 2019

Double Helix Transformation

Science has affirmed what I know intuitively—genetic changes happen throughout our lifetime, can affect our behavior and are passed from one generation to another.

In the last few decades, epigenetic research showed that epigenetic changes (molecular methyl groups attaching to our DNA) occurred during one’s lifetime. In the middle of writing Big Topics at Midnight, I discovered the work of Barbara McClintock exploring changes in a gene in response to environmental stress. In my book I noted, “Dr. McClintock had won the 1983 Nobel Prize for her discovery that stress to a corn plant caused genes to change their position on the chromosomes. She proved that genes, the genetic building blocks passed through the generations, were mutable and could be changed. If this change could happen due to stress, I presumed it could also happen due to a positive stimulus. It appeared to me that generational healing through changes in our DNA was scientifically possible.” *

When my ancestors began to share their stories with me, and then wanted them woven into my social change memoir, I knew experientially that transformation was possible not only in my own life but also genetically in my family line.

Often we trace physical characteristics back to our families: creative like Mother; stubborn like Grandfather; walk like Dad. But the similarity can also flow into emotional states: fear, anxiety, optimism. There are also behaviors to consider: control, integrity, obsessive tendencies.

In addition to family patterns, we also carry the imprint of the culture’s influence on our ancestors over the generations. For me that has included guilt around playing when there is work that needs to be done or dissatisfaction with my body. Culturally we also have the stain of sexism/patriarchy and racism/white supremacy woven into our DNA (both conscious and unconscious).

Trauma, nurture and emotional patterns of all sorts can be passed to us through our genetic make up at birth. However, genetic and epigenetic research both point to the fact that change is possible within our DNA itself and/or molecular attachments to our DNA.

Some of the characteristics I’ve inherited, I want to keep. Others I’d like to shift, such as generalized fear, feeling inadequate and unconscious use of excessive power and control sourced merely on society’s inaccurate and unjust bias toward those of us with white skin.

Every choice I make can have genetic/epigenetic consequences. When these choices and changes are sustained over a period of time, I believe they will support healthy genetic evolution.

I want that change to improve the integrity of my life, to be sure. But I also want to make changes in my life that will support generations that follow me.

Here is where my understanding boldly steps beyond scientific proof. I believe that these genetic changes move both directions in our family lines, affecting our ancestors and those descendants who are already born and those yet unborn. In addition, I believe that this shift can change the culture as well as individuals

Maybe one day science will catch up. Maybe not. Either way, I chose to believe this intuitive knowing that my efforts to shift entrenched, generational patterns—familial and societal—are part of my love and service to the world.

* Thurston, Nancy. Big Topics at Midnight (Portland, OR: Rosegate Press, 2012) pages 205 and 206.

June 12, 2015December 18, 2019

Grandmother Ann Takes the Lead

“I loved the idea of grandmother and granddaughter dancing together, plaiting beauty across the tears in the fabric of the world. Together we twirled, hoping beyond hope that our dance across the generations would serve those yet to come.”¹

Ann Cahoon Mathys take the lead:

Unlike some of my ancestors, I avoided epidemics, early widowhood, shipwrecks, Texas and prisoner of war camps.² Nevertheless, I shared my family’s determination to better life for myself and others.

After High School graduation, I bucked tradition and headed off to college. I graduated from Milwaukee Downer in 1913 with my Bachelor’s degree, and from University of Wisconsin in June of 1915.

I knew I was born for such a time as the opening years of the 20^th century. From my family’s experience as Welch immigrants to my volunteer work at Milwaukee’s Settlement House, I understood that “my people/our people” included far more than my family or nation. Many families, like mine, came to this country in the midst of tragedy and poverty, needing a compassionate helping hand. I was glad to offer mine.

Personally, and through my teachers and fellow students, I also knew that the boundaries of intellect didn’t end at the edges of a man’s mind. Despite the belief that higher education was a waste of time for a woman, I couldn’t wait to become a scholar of both the intellect and the body.

The intellectual narrow-mindedness of the world around me also needed to expand politically. I joined other Wisconsin women to fight for our right to vote. I wanted to bring my wisdom and knowledge to the legislature and make a difference in the world.

Nancy, as a child and teenager, you thought I was a boring old woman, but now you know better. I am delighted that when you came to your senses, you too caught sight of the possibility of a just world. That is good, as you are living in the early years of the 21^st century—a moment of history that is even more in need of awakening than mine.

Nancy follows Ann’s lead and steps into the dance:

Grandma, I have gladly stepped into your dance, plaiting justice and faith, compassion and equity. I know my approach and beliefs are different than yours, but we both loved to stretch the boundaries of our day and wanted to serve the larger community around us.

I knew so little about you when you were alive. Even when I walked across the stage to get my master’s degree—wearing the same gown you’d worn seventy years earlier—I knew little about the world outside my neighborhood.

I now see a bigger picture than I did during my university days. For example, I understand that doors opened for our educations because of our intelligence, to be sure, but also because of the color of our skin and the financial support from our family. Though today gender and race don’t usually affect admission, going to college too often results in substantial debt as well as a degree, strapping graduates financially for years.

The vote you helped secure wasn’t available to everyone for decades. Even today we battle voting irregularities and gerrymandering. The candidates on our ballots are just beginning to cross gender and color lines but have been much slower to cross class lines.

We as a nation seem to have forgotten that most of us came here as immigrants. Over the years our national racism controlled who was welcome—usually those with white skin—and who was not. We Americans enjoy the fruits of immigrants’ labor eating the food they grew, traveling the roads and railroad tracks they constructed, enjoying motel rooms and houses they cleaned—then turn around and threaten deportation, pay unjust wages or speak as if these newer immigrants are lazy.

In the midst of these two centuries, we’ve both listened for the song of justice playing beneath the inequities. This month it has been 125 years since your birth and 100 years since you graduated with your master’s degree. I am delighted to reach for your hand once more, and join you in the dance of Life.

¹Thurston, Nancy, Big Topics at Midnight, page xviii

²Ann would love to share the details about these events at another time…

May 27, 2015December 18, 2019

Anointing Ancestral Land

This was the first time I’d felt called to go on a spiritual pilgrimage. I needed to meet God on the land of my ancestors, trusting that this would help me step outside of my collapse with shame over the fact that they’d owned slaves.

Within the week, I’d confirmed that my friend Alease Bess, whose ancestors had been slaves in North Carolina, was excited joining me on this journey.

I wanted to take something we could offer to the land. My friend and earthmother, Candice Covington, recommended I take rosemary, cajeput and black pepper essential oils for anointing the soil.

“Oil from evergreen cajeput trees,” she explained, “purifies and purges old rot and decay of emotion, pain, loss and fear and creates a fertile place to plant new seeds. As you step onto your ancestral land, you need some of this heavy-duty purification of the old. Rosemary will help strengthen and center you with its healing of memories, and black pepper will strengthen and fortify your cleansing.”

Knowing that I wanted all of the spiritual and energetic support I could muster for this pilgrimage, I packed pocket-sized bottles of each of these oils, trusting I would know when and how to use them.

I gathered maps of North Carolina. I wrote down the few details I knew about the location of the home of the original Tipps immigrant, Lorenz, in Salisbury, and the Dogwood Plantation of his son Jacob near Morganton. Union General Sherman had torched the courthouses that had held the titles to the land, so I had to rely on the description of the general location Mom had found during her genealogical research.

A few weeks later, Alease and I headed west from her home in Durham toward Salisbury. First, we were looking for the homestead of immigrant Lorenz Tipps, Jacob’s father. Lack of exact locations on the map demanded a different sort of navigation, so we listened to the breezes and trusted that the Spirit would guide us.

Driving up and down country roads, Alease and I explored the area described in Mom’s account of Lorenz’s homesteading documents as “on Hagan Fork off Lyle Creek, tributary of the Catawba River.” In that general vicinity, something faint but clear in both Alease’s and my spirits indicated it was time to pull over, park the car and step out onto the land.

A few fences marked off the field, but no homes lined this stretch of the road. Wandering in silence, we honored the beauty of the land and vastness of the sky. This had been Cherokee land for thousands of years. A few hundred years ago, white settlers named it Rowan County, then Lincoln County and now Catawba County. Political lines drawn in the dirt may have changed, yet the land remained whole.

Alease and I brought what felt to me like meager gifts to atone for such a horrifying history—a few oils and prayer. I picked up a stick and scraped a cross in the hard, dry soil. Opening up the small bottles, I poured fragrant essential oils of tree, herb and flowering vine back into the earth. Their spicy scents rose like incense.

Over the anointed dirt, Alease and I extended our hands in blessing—hers pecan tan and mine a peachy tan. She sang of blood. I spoke of water.

Alease prayed, “Blood has saturated this land. History tried to shove these bloodstains under the grass. We know they are still here.”

She leaned her head back and began to sing, “Nothing can for sin atone; nothing but the blood of Jesus.”

As the last notes of the hymn faded away, she was silent for a few minutes. “Today a new blood is offered, poured freely into this blood-soaked land. This is birthing blood, cleansing blood flowing from Immanuel’s veins.”

I added my prayer: “Come living waters, come to this country soaked with generations of tears. Wash the land and satisfy our deepest thirst.”

When the anointing was complete and a rock left to mark the spot, we returned to the car and drove away. The reality of both of our ancestors’ experiences remained unchanged, yet we felt lighter.

We stopped in town to break bread together and share stories sparked by the morning. Then, we headed west to track down the land that once was Jacob and Margaret Tipps’s Dogwood Plantation.

After the Revolutionary War, Lorenz’s son Jacob moved westward a few miles to Burke and Caldwell Counties to make his fortune. He staked his claim, worked the land and received the title to six hundred and forty acres. Jacob and Margaret had fourteen children and “owned” thirteen African slaves.

“Near the Morganton-Lenoir airport” was as much as we knew. Alease and I drove up and down the roads near the airport. Old Amherst Road wound its way to a new subdivision. We turned around and drove halfway back down the road. Once again, we both agreed when it felt like we had arrived at the right place, and we stopped the car.

Stepping out, we walked through a break in the trees onto to the edge of a pasture. Ancient mountains had eons ago eroded into the blue hills that lined the far side of the field, while Jacob’s plantation home and slave shacks had long since disintegrated.

Sitting on the ground, I picked up a rock. Once again I scored the hard earth and poured out the anointing oils while Alease and I prayed.

As our prayers grew silent, I stood and walked over to lean on a white pine that might have shaded my family members when they lived here. Through her prickly bark, a warm tingling soothed my back, just behind my heart allowing my shame and anger at Jacob to lessen. The sins of racism and slave-owning remained, but compassion flowed freely in me and out into the tree.

Gazing at the Smoky Mountains, Alease stood at my side praying softly. A white pick-up truck whizzing down the road startled me. Through the dust I saw a white-skinned man at the wheel, gun on a rack behind his head. When he caught sight of us, he did a double take. I assumed he wondered what we were up to.

Actually, it wasn’t a bad question. What in the world were we up to?

We were there on a sacred pilgrimage, not to our spiritual holy land in Israel but to our ancestral land. Standing together, Alease and I felt the hallowed ground under our feet and prayed that healing would move forward and back through the generations.

The next day we headed for our respective homes. Through this shared pilgrimage, I had been given a way to honor my ancestors without forgetting that they also owned slaves. The land and our prayers wove the stories of Alease’s and my families, their joys and woes, into a single fabric.

Excerpted with a few adjustments for this shortened format from Big Topics At Midnight: A Texas Girl Wakes Up to Race, Class, Gender and Herself, my book published by Rosegate Press in 20012, pages 274-286.