Our National Moment of Remembrance
By Jillian | May 30, 2010
There are 260,000 graves in Arlington National Cemetery. This weekend each one of them has an American flag on its headstone, placed there by soldiers of the 3rd U.S. Infantry. Tomorrow is Memorial Day, the day on which we traditionally honor the men and women who died in military service.
In 1971 Memorial Day was officially relocated to a Monday, providing a three-day holiday weekend. While Americans appreciate the opportunity to spend time away from work, perhaps enjoying a traditional barbeque with friends and families, the deeper meaning of the holiday has receded in importance. According to surveys, many people today do not even know the exact meaning of Memorial Day.
To help remind Americans of the real significance of Memorial Day, Congress in 2000 passed the “National Moment of Remembrance” resolution. This resolution suggests that at 3 p.m. local time, Americans “voluntarily and informally observe in their own way a Moment of remembrance and respect, pausing from whatever they are doing for a moment of silence or listening to ‘Taps’.”
Since the U.S. declared independence from England, we’ve been engaged in 25 military conflicts, resulting in 1.3 million deaths of service members. Around 4500 American military personnel have died in Iraq and Afghanistan, and close to 40,000 have been wounded. War is a tragedy human beings keep repeating; it would be nice to think that one day we as a species may progress beyond killing each other. And, of course, we Americans are not alone in bearing the human toll of war. Both our allies and our adversaries have suffered great losses. The pain of bereaved families spreads around the world.
Whatever our feelings about the necessity of any particular war, or the political underpinnings of our current conflicts, I believe it is important to remember that each person who gave his or her life died in dedication to our treasured American ideals of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. Whether drafted or enlisted, each of them pushed through the fear of being at war, and willingly did his or her job in service to the rest of us.
So tomorrow at 3 p.m., let’s put down our paper plates for just a moment, and honor their lives.
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Am I right?
By Jillian | May 6, 2010
Have you ever noticed what an attachment most people have to being right?
My husband and I split the domestic chores, including running the dishwasher. I prewash every dish. He just throws them in the machine. It used to make me crazy. I spent years being irritated when I unloaded a dirty dish. After all, what is the point of doing a task if you don’t do it right the first time?
Eventually I gave up. Gave up trying to convince him to do it my way, and gave up being angry with him. After all, he’d say, if a dish is still dirty, just run it through a second time. He has absolutely no incentive to change (I’m not so obnoxious he’ll do it to shut me up), because from his point of view, there is no problem.
That small, ongoing interaction between us has been illuminating for me.
Perhaps, in most cases, being right is just a matter of perspective. One of the big issues on which most of us have an idea about what is right is abortion. People who believe it should be an available option feel passionately about it. People who believe it is immoral are equally sure they are right. If an alien landed here from some other galaxy, where life was generated differently, what would that alien consider correct?
Of course, there must be some absolutes. Murder, for example, is certainly wrong. But is it wrong to kill in self-defense? In wartime? To alleviate the suffering of someone dying in pain? In the abstract, I may have an opinion, but would my opinion change if I were the one trying to defend myself, or if my town was being invaded, or if someone I loved was the person in pain? The nuns who educated me would say I’m headed down the slippery slope of situational ethics, but the Jesuits would appreciate my carefully parsing the issues.
I’ve been thinking about whether this need to be right transcends cultures. My mum was Canadian, and I did a lot of my growing up there. Canadians are much too polite to tell you you’re wrong, but they aren’t immune from thinking it. Much of my family is British. They won’t usually bother to inform you if they think they’re right and you’re not, but you might get the facial expression worth a thousand words.
I travel quite a lot in Latin America, and have many Hispanic friends. As a culture, Latinos are non-confrontational (in Spanish, nobody drops a dish; the dish drops itself), but they definitely know when they’re right and you’re wrong. I used to have a boyfriend who was a Greek Cypriot. He was a lovely man, but goodness knows, he was sure he was right. My Chinese friends aren’t ever shy about setting you straight when you’re wrong.
The need to be right transcends even the Arab/Israeli divide. My Israeli friends are always outspoken and clear about their position. My Arab friends, while much more indirect and concerned with courtesy, are equally sure their viewpoint is the most valid.
To be politically correct, let me add, of course, that these are generalizations and (like all such generalizations) based on a very small sample of people.
That pretty much exhausts my familiarity with other cultures. You may have intimate knowledge of others, and I’d be interested in your take on this. It may also be true that the need to be right doesn’t exist in some more primitive, innocent cultures, like the ones Margaret Mead studied in the last century. But most of them probably own televisions now, and are watching the Polynesian equivalent of Fox News, or MSNBC.
The last few days a friend of mine, Mark Hendricks, has been helping me learn some new software. Mark has a natural grasp of the technical, while learning anything technical is an uphill battle for me. He’s really been a prince. Mark’s politics couldn’t be much further from mine, but if I were to decide I’m right and he’s wrong, that would probably get in the way of the immense gratitude I’m feeling toward him right now.
A number of people in my family, particularly two of my sisters, are very conservative. I, of course, am not. But if we let that divide us, if we were each attached to being right and making the other wrong, we wouldn’t benefit from the tremendous love and support we share with each other.
The thing about needing to be right is that is separates us from each other, and that’s so sad. More than sad; it’s artificial. We’re all part of the fabric of life, part of each other, and I believe, part of God. We can’t really separate ourselves from one another. The attempt to do so just creates pain.
I’m pretty sure I’m right about this.
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Feeling Groovy
By Jillian | May 4, 2010
Last August I tripped on my old dog, and injured my knee fairly seriously. After babying it along with physical therapy, a brace, and limited activity, I decided in January to go ahead and have it repaired surgically. Then, when my friend Norma went into hospice, I delayed the surgery to be able to help her and her family.
Finally, last Monday, I had the surgery. And I feel good! I’m so grateful for the nerve block technology that provided me a really pain-free recovery. I went back today for my first post-surgical physical therapy appointment, and I’m doing great. I already have a high degree of mobility, and the surgeon tells me I’ll be climbing stairs, going on long walks, and even jogging if I choose, within the next seven weeks.
Thanks so much to everyone who sent me their good wishes, prayers, and notes of encouragement! Thanks, especially, to my husband, Dempsey, who took a week off to be my support system. I feel so loved and lucky. A diehard Simon and Garfunkle fan, I find I can’t get the old 59th Street Bridge Song out of my head.
I’m lookin’ for fun and feeling groovy!
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Looking for the Pony
By Jillian | April 12, 2010
As many of my readers know, my friend Norma Ray Johnson has been ill for some time. She lived much longer than her doctors predicted. But last week, she passed away peacefully, surrounded by her family.
Although I was expecting this, I find that I am dreading this week. There will be a wake, and the funeral here in Austin, then a graveside service in San Antonio. Of course, we will be celebrating her life. In fact, Norma planned the event down to the lunch menu, and I know she intended it to be happy. I’m just not quite there yet.
I’m thinking of the story of the little boy who found his room full of manure, and began digging to find the pony. As I’ve grown on my spiritual journey, I’ve tried to be more like that boy, and it’s taken some work. Joy is not always my natural response. But I know I have been blessed these past twenty-five years to have such a wonderful friend, and I also know at some point, each of us must leave and those who remain must find a way to cope. Finding joy in the sorrow is the challenge we all must face.
So today I am grateful for a couple of things. First, I’m grateful for Norma herself. She was brilliant and brave. She ran a public agency, and while most of the people who worked for her loved her, she had her detractors. There were several male executives who’d hoped for her job, who didn’t particularly like working for a woman, and perhaps especially for a woman of color. Norma charmed and cajoled them when she could, and when that didn’t work, she stood tall and held her ground. She fought cancer with every resource she had, with courage that left me in awe.
Norma did a lot of work in the community, but in a more personal way, she reached out to individuals, and especially to young people. We used to joke that her house was the “youth hostel north” and mine the “youth hostel south” in Austin, because we always had kids rotating in and out as they needed help.
She was warm and witty. She was also deeply spiritual, and she always uplifted me. She threw great informal parties where she cooked delectable soul food and served it with cold beer and funny stories. She was a wonderful “auntie” and godmother to my younger children, and we’ve celebrated many holidays with her family. Her passing is a loss not just to me, but to our whole family.
Second, I’m grateful for the way we met, and the role Norma played in my life. I had moved back to Austin, and was interviewing for jobs running social service agencies. In the interim, I took a temporary job working for the local transit authority. Norma was my new boss. Almost immediately, she started twisting my arm to make the arrangement permanent. I kept turning her down, but I ultimately accepted. It turned out to be an important decision in my career. As Assistant to the General Manager, I was in charge of a lot of community outreach. I ended up on the board of an affordable housing organization, and co-wrote a new housing ordinance for the city. From there I moved on to getting a grant and acquiring my own affordable housing project, and eventually to bigger projects for myself and clients.
When we met, Norma and I were both single parents. We had a plan that if neither of us remarried, we’d spend our golden years living together and sitting on the front porch in our rockers. As it happened, we were both fortunate enough to make great second marriages. We both loved The Blues Brothers movie, and we spent many hilarious hours watching the DVD, reciting all the dialogue and singing all the songs.
I wish now that I could look forward to hanging out with Norma in the years ahead. Still, as I write this, I can hear her saying, “Jill, there’s no point worrying about something we can’t change. Keep me in your heart, but go on out and make the most of your life.” My task now is to let go of what has been, and accept and find joy in what is. Don’t we all have to do that, over and over, in a thousand little ways?
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Do You Believe in Destiny?
By Jillian | April 10, 2010
My friend, Michelle Castro, is a wonderful spiritual coach and writer. She’s written a great book about a big subject: destiny, and I’m eager to share it with you.
You can help my friend Bright Michelle achieve one of her dreams by taking a moment to cast your vote for her in the Next Top Author contest:
http://www.NextTopAuthor.com/?aid=2107
Here is an excerpt from The Destiny Decision: Integrating Choice and Grace on Your Sacred Path of Purpose (release date Jan 2011):
Whatever you desire in your heart, align your consciousness with it, and you shall experience it.
Living your destiny comes from consciously walking your sacred path in the light of your own Truth. Go where God leads you and when you feel like who me say “Yes, Me! for I am a powerful creator and with God, all things are possible.”
In simple terms, fulfillment of Destiny is a life that works for you—even with it has its ups and downs, you know at a deep level that each relationship, each stumble, each risk, each opportunity, each win, each loss, each mis-step is a guide for you to find your rightful place in the world. You see and know yourself to be the hero or heroine of your own life story.
How to vote (it just takes a moment!):
1. Review the page and listen to the audio to see if you resonate.
2. If you do, register your name and email.
3. Confirm your email
4. Then return to this link to cast your vote http://www.NextTopAuthor.com/?aid=2107
Your vote may be the one that helps Michelle advance to round 2!
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Is Security a Myth?
By Jillian | April 5, 2010
My parents grew up during the Great Depression, although they had very different childhood experiences. My mother’s family was relatively unaffected. My dad’s family, however, lived as sharecroppers, subsisting for months at a time on a diet of cornmeal and home-grown tomatoes.
As I was growing up, I observed my dad, and my friends’ parents, and I developed a theory. I noticed that children of the Depression took one of two routes in adulthood. Some, like my father, became big risk-takers, always going for the brass ring in life. The majority, however, spent their lives working in jobs that promised security. They were drawn to employment in government jobs, and in stable corporations. They wanted the regular paycheck and the guaranteed pension.
After World War II, college attendance began to rise sharply. Today we encourage our children to get a degree because we believe a good education will guarantee the security of better jobs. More and more people are seeking graduate degrees to improve their hopes for economic security.
Currently more than one out of ten Americans are out of work, and I am constantly receiving emails from readers who are desperate for financial security. Many people I know are losing their homes. We have a number of friends in California whose beautiful houses have dropped hundreds of thousands of dollars in value. Many people now have absolutely no idea what shape their financial future will take.
But it isn’t just financial security that people are seeking. Often we seek security in relationships. Single people long for a close connection to a partner, and people in unhappy marriages dream of the security of being with someone more compatible.
What we all know, but are often unwilling to face honestly, is that there is no security in human life.
During the 1970s, many of those adults who grew up during the Depression learned that difficult lesson, when big companies began to lay off older workers to save the expense of paying retirement benefits. After the sustained excitement of record stock market highs, the economy is now in the deepest recession since the 1930s. And after some years of dramatic rises in real estate prices, millions of properties now sit in foreclosure, or face imminent foreclosure.
As we have seen, economies may change quickly. Peaceful societies may disintegrate into war. People we love sometimes make new decisions, and leave us. Even in the most devoted relationships, one person will die first, and the other will be left behind.
In our human lives, there are three paths we can walk. We can live in the fog of denial, simply choosing not to allow ourselves to think about all the uncertainty. This first path is the one most of us travel.
The second path is cynicism. Some people prefer facing uncertainty head on, and they manage life by expecting little and anticipating the worst.
The third path, the path of highest consciousness, is to recognize not just the facts of life, but the ultimate Truth of life. Yes, on a human level, here in this physical body surrounded by material objects and circumstances, we acknowledge that the only constant is that we will face change.
But we also understand that there is a Truth that underlies these facts. We are more than physical, material beings. We are children of God, manifestations of the Divine in physical form. We have the ability to create reality with our thoughts, and we are constantly creating the lives we live.
The world is a co-creation, and our joint circumstances are projections of the thoughts we are all collectively thinking. Because human beings collectively often operate from feelings of fear and lack, our world often reflects that chaos. One person can have a huge impact in the world, but one person cannot immediately change the overall physical reality.
What we can each do, however, is to retain our perspective and to know, deep in our hearts, that as long as we hold in consciousness the awareness of our Divinity and our connection to God (however we may conceive of God), we are safe. We are secure. We must be willing to release things, circumstances, even people, while remaining confident that we are ultimately protected. Moment to moment, we must lift up our thoughts away from fear, anger and judgment, and put our thoughts on love. We must love ourselves, love everyone else, and remember that as we do, we are loving and affirming our oneness with All that Is, with our God. And therein lies our only, our absolute protection and security.
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A Day for Renewal
By Jillian | April 4, 2010
Spring has arrived. Here in Texas, where only a few weeks ago there was snow, the fields are filled with Bluebonnets and Indian Paintbrushes. We received an email today from friends in Montana, saying they are expanding their garden and buying new seeds.
The park near our home will be filled this afternoon with children hunting for Easter eggs. Like many of the Christian holidays, Easter is observed near the time of an ancient pagan holiday, one that celebrated the advent of Spring. Today churchgoing Christians will gather to commemorate the resurrection of Jesus, the day his friends went to grieve at his tomb and found his body gone. “He is risen,” explained the angels keeping watch.
This story, like so many of the wonderful stories in the bible, is rich in symbolism for us. Life is often painful. Endings of all kinds are always with us, and we know that our material lives will also end. Yet for every ending, every loss we experience, there is a miraculous renewal awaiting us.
Happy Easter! Joyful renewals to you!
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The Value of One Life
By Jillian | March 31, 2010
Today is the birthday of Cesar Chavez. He died at the relatively young age of 66, but had he lived, he would be 83 years old. The grandchild of Mexican immigrants, Cesar was born on his family’s farm outside Yuma, Arizona. During the Great Depression, his family lost the farm and they became migrant workers, following the harvests in fields and vineyards throughout the southwestern United States.
Cesar saw firsthand the hardships, exploitation and discrimination suffered by migrant workers, and in 1952 he joined the Community Service Organization, a Latino civil rights group. Eventually, along with Dolores Huerta, he founded the organization that became the United Farm Workers of America. He spent the rest of his life working for and achieving change, including fair labor practices, health insurance, improved living conditions and retirement benefits for migrant workers.
As a child working in the fields, Cesar attended over 30 schools, and he left school after the eighth grade. Yet he believed passionately in education. He read voraciously, and continued to educate himself independently throughout his life. He once said, “The end of all education should surely be service to others.”
Like Martin Luther King and Mahatma Gandhi, Cesar believed in the principles of nonviolence. In leading the movement, he used marches, boycotts, and fasts to bring attention to the causes he supported. In 1992, Chavez received the prestigious Pacem in Terris Award from the Catholic Church, and the following year he was awarded the highest honor accorded an American citizen, the Presidential Medal of Freedom.
As we deal with the everyday stresses we all face, we often feel our lives are limited. We think that because we do not have wealth or power, we cannot affect change in the world. We may have a desire to make a difference in our communities, our nation or even globally, but we defer action to some time in the future, when we may have more resources.
Cesar Chavez never made more than $6,000 in a year. He never owned a home. He died, as he had lived, with no money. But he used his life to affect greater change in the world than most millionaire business owners or powerful politicians. He was touched by the suffering of migrant farm workers and their children; he saw a need and he determined to make a difference. He created a vision of change, and he worked tirelessly to fulfill that vision.
Money and power are certainly tools that can be used for good. But as the life of Cesar Chavez demonstrates, the most important tools we can have are available to all of us: the clarity of our intention and the scope of our vision.
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The Healthcare Debate
By Jillian | March 21, 2010
Although I have been fairly politically active in my life, I don’t plan, as a general rule, to address political issues in this blog. I’ve made that decision because I am sad to see the tremendous political divide in this country today, and the gaps that have opened up between people of good will on each side. I believe a lot of this divide is actually artificial, driven by a media culture that thrives on conflict. When people find common ground, that is not news. When people call each other names, that garners airtime. So broadcasters and talk show hosts fan the flames of dissent.
My life and my work are about celebrating unity, not about supporting division. Having said all that, I’m going to go out on a limb and offer my opinion on the healthcare legislation slated for a vote today in Congress.
I believe it is a tragedy that more than 40 million people in perhaps the richest country on earth do not have access to healthcare. For the most part, these are working people who pay taxes and contribute to our American way of life.
We’ve all heard the stories. A woman friend of mine suffered a serious stroke eight years ago. She was in graduate school, with little income and no health insurance. She was taken to the emergency room and got immediate treatment, but could not afford the intensive rehab she needed. Her recovery has been much slower and more difficult that it would have been had she had the appropriate ongoing care. I have friends whose insurance costs have doubled after an illness. Other friends have had their health insurance terminated. Many people who could afford private health insurance are denied coverage. My own daughter, who is the mother of four children, has no health insurance. It’s simply not within her reach, financially.
Over the years, there have been some milestones. Medicare has undoubtedly saved the lives of many seniors, and Medicaid the lives of many children in low-income families. Children’s Health Insurance Programs in the various states have made health insurance affordable for many more children. But the U.S. continues to trail other developed countries in access to good medical care, and the World Health Organization ranks our healthcare system only 37th in the world.
When uninsured people get sick, they go to hospital emergency rooms, which often charge thousands of dollars for a visit. The patients can’t afford to pay these bills, so they end up being covered by us, the taxpayers. Overall, the cost of healthcare has grown more than 17% in the past year. It is one of the major drains on our beleaguered economy, and we simply cannot fail to act to curb these rising costs.
Most first-world countries provide healthcare through some form of government support, and citizens of those countries are generally pleased with their systems. But the U.S. is a highly individualistic society, and we value and protect entrepreneurship and private enterprise. Accordingly, our insurance companies, healthcare institutions, medical suppliers and drug companies have grown stronger and stronger. Using the carrot and the stick, buying millions of dollars in advertising and using organizational blinds as fronts, as well as contributing millions to legislators, they wield enormous power. Although many people believe some form of government program, such as an expansion of Medicare, or a single-payer program, would be the best option, that simply isn’t going to happen now.
So we’re left with a healthcare proposal that is, without a doubt, an inelegant mess. The old adage says making law is like making sausage, and we’ve all had a front seat view of the meat grinder. It’s not pretty. Still, the non-partisan Congressional Budget Office reports the proposed legislation will cover 32 million more Americans, bringing the total covered up to 95% of the population, while reducing the deficit $138 billion over the next ten years.
Many of my conservative friends don’t trust the government’s ability to make good healthcare law, and feel Washington should stay out of the process all together. But clearly, that is not working on so many levels, both human and economic. I hear many middle-class people say they are happy with their present healthcare, and they don’t see the need for change. The good news is that this proposed law will not change their coverage. But it will protect them from potentially losing coverage, or having their premiums explode, if they themselves one day experience a serious health condition.
As a society, we have left behind the days of workhouses for debtors and children working 15 hour days in factory sweatshops. Isn’t it time we step into the 21st century, and ensure this most basic of human rights?
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Good Hair
By Jillian | March 10, 2010
Tonight I finally got around to watching Chris Rock’s documentary film, Good Hair. The movie has caused a lot of buzz in the Black community and a lot of interest around our house. It’s fascinating, illuminating, hilarious, and thought-provoking.
For me, watching this movie was like going down the rabbit hole. It brought up all kinds of memories and feelings about race, but also about beauty, and what it means in women’s lives.
At this point in my life, I seem to feel compelled to write about the things that are on my mind. But I must admit I’m reluctant to write about this. I’m White and my husband is Black. Given my family, I probably have more credibility in this area than some people would, but in the final analysis, I am still only Caucasian. And I’ve just picked up a social hot potato. I’m imagining an audience of Black sisters out there, reading this. Please, ladies, cut me a little slack. I know I can’t really get it, but I’m trying.
Thirteen years ago, after my husband’s sister died, her three daughters came to live with us. When the White women in my life heard about our expanding family, they said things like, “Three little girls? With all they’ve been through? And at your age? Are you sure?” (Translate that to: “Have you lost your ever-loving mind?”)
The Black women in my life said, “But what about hair? You don’t know anything about taking care of their hair.”
My friend Norma (the friend I’ve mentioned before, in hospice) is Black. In her usual matter-of-fact way, she said, “You’ll do fine.” Then she gave me the phone number for her hairdresser.
“Good grief,” I said to my husband. “I can love them, educate them, and show them how to grow up to be happy and productive. It’s not brain surgery. It’s only hair.” I was right, of course. And I was completely clueless.
I once read that adopting children is like falling in love. I had fallen in love with these little girls the first time I met them. But as is true in all love affairs, living together brings new revelations. One of the biggest revelations was their feelings about their hair. They wanted it straightened, and right now.
Using my best mothering communications skills, I tried to explore the issue. I explained that I was uncomfortable with the strong chemicals in relaxers, especially for children. I offered the thought that they were beautiful just the way they were. I invited them to think about some more natural hairstyles. I encouraged them to love their hair as it grew from their heads.
One weekend we went to visit some homeschool friends. The mother was a singer who wore dreadlocks. Her two daughters’ hair had never been treated, and they wore it natural. On the drive home, of course, we resumed the hair conversation. My oldest niece had finally had enough, and she made a statement that left me stunned. “You don’t understand, and you won’t ever understand. You have nice, straight White person hair. We have ugly (insert the “N word” here) hair.”
Her words pierced my heart. These beautiful, intelligent, personable children had completely accepted the idea that they were somehow less, because society told them straight hair is inherently better than kinky hair.
Over the next few years, there were hundreds of conversations about hair, and about gradations of color, and the shape of noses and lips. This story was new only to me, of course. Women of color in this country have all grown up with this pain, and have had to help their own children navigate the land mines of a majority culture that values blond hair and blue eyes and white skin above any other look.
On the subject of hair, we compromised. They went to Norma’s stylist and she straightened their hair with a hot comb. When we spent summer days in the pool, she muttered about White women who don’t know how to raise Black children, and constantly undo all her hard work. When they got into their teens, they had relaxer perms, and braids, and eventually, weave. They learned to love themselves more, and of course, that was about a lot more than hair. I broadened my thinking, and came to appreciate their desire to style their hair so it was easier to comb, and could be arranged in different ways, and to have the feeling of long hair that moves and swings.
After all these years, the conversation continues. My girls are young women now, and if you’re going to have Black women in your life, you’re going to talk about hair. A lot. See the movie, and you’ll know what I mean.
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