I Did Not Know I had a Power Problem Until...

T~

            I have to go back into a wound that really hurts to write about power.  It’s painful to think about what I gave up and the prestige that went with being a super teacher.  I enjoyed being popular with parents, students, and administration.  I loved being the crazy science teacher who knew how to make a pickle glow like a light bulb or put a skewer through a balloon at parent orientation. At graduation I was mentioned as a favorite teacher.  One Principal told me that he went not hesitate to put me in any grade in the school because he knew I would do a good job.

            My students learned about the History of Science through lecture and replicating some of the famous principles that were discovered through the ages.

            I started with the Greeks and Archimedes with his water displacement theory.  We worked our way through Galileo and falling objects to Newton, Einstein, and beyond.  It took me two years to get through a curriculum of my own making with my husband and me test driving the demonstrations and labs before I taught them.  

            This all changed when I realized my students needed a better curriculum and a teacher with more education.  I was self-taught and being asked questions I could not answer; I did not understand the mathematical formulas in the new curriculum.

            I moved to elementary and taught fifth and then third grade.  I loved teaching math, science, Bible and social studies.  I thought I was doing a great job and I worked 25 hours a week.

            Fortune’s wheel has a way of changing.  During this time our family was dealing with a major illnesses, death of a beloved grandparent, and my husband’s job loss.  I did not know that I was being considered for termination.

            I got the bad news, protested loudly, and was rehired 24 hours later, but honest to goodness, that one day tanked 28 great years of teaching.  I now knew what it was like to lose security, prestige, and mental and physical health.

            I came back and taught one more year.  I  was scared and unsure. The place I loved, nurtured, and the school I considered part of my family was no longer safe.  I resigned at the end of the year before I was put on probation and possible termination.

            I have no doubt that at 57 I could go back in the elementary grades and be a terrific teacher.  What I cannot face is the meetings, expectations, paper work and the pressure to be a pleaser to a diverse group of people.

            I thought I never had a power problem until so much was stripped away.  Power and prestige is something I look at every day and remind myself that I do not want to intentionally hurt another person.  The cost is too great.

The Power Conundrum

K~

Power is one of those subjects that is especially hard for me to grasp. I am by no means unintelligent or lacking in ambition, I just don't understand the goal of amassing power. For me, power is a means to an end: if I work hard, I will be promoted to management. The only motivation I have for promotion is the monetary incentive. The control I would have over people is not a perk, but a burden. The extra responsibilty does not empower me, but it is simply a (daunting) means to an end. A higher paying job only serves to get me toward my personal financial goals that much quicker.

The thought of gaining power for the sake of power is baffling. What does one do with a sum of power?

One thing that was ingrained into me as a child was that more power meant more work and more responsibility. I remember as a kid, my dad went from being a manager, to a managing partner of an automotive shop. I saw him less often, and when I did see him he was either stressed or exhausted. I asked him once, what happened; why had he changed? He said he had a new job. He was in charge of more people - and those people kept screwing up. At a young age I realized that I didn't want that. I didn't want to be called in on my day off, to always have bags under my eyes, to have no energy to play with my kids because of stressful work was that day. The small amount of power Dad had managing an automotive shop had drained him.

I can only imagine how much more miserable a person might be with even more power.

Abortion: I Saw It Legalized

T~

I am sitting across from Krista at the Starbuck’s Coffee Shop in Fry’s Food Store.  Last week we met with two friends and had a lengthy discussion about abortion, bullying, and mental illness.

Krista has an unusual take on abortion.  She believes it is taking a life because we as a society believe conception begins at life.  Her justification for this is the sadness and sense of loss that accompanies a miscarriage and for some people an abortion.  Read her post; it is outstanding.

 When a woman or couple tries to get pregnant a missed menstrual cycle is a time of great rejoicing.  A day goes by.  A week.  A month, and at that point one is considered six weeks pregnant.  Many women start telling their friends as soon as the home pregnancy test is positive.

The Bible has a lot to say about an unborn child which is why as Christ followers take a stand that it is wrong.  Take for instance when Mary went to visit her relative Elizabeth.  Mary was barely pregnant with the Messiah and Elizabeth was six months along with John the Baptist, who as an adult would prepare the way for the coming of his cousin, Jesus.

Luke 1:41 “When Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting the baby leaped in her womb and Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit.  (New International Version)  

Also in The  Psalms,  “In your mother’s womb, I knew you.”

If you are a Christian and reading this, then you know the scriptures.

I remember in 1974 I had a friend in high school that had an abortion. The Supreme Court had ruled that abortion was legal in 1973. She was pregnant with twins and we were both eighteen. I visited after the procedure, but we did not talk about what happened.  She was my friend and needed me.  Period.  We briefly considered going to Northern Arizona University together.  In the end I went to a Christian College and lost touch. I ran into her years later.  She was happily married with two or three kids.

I, on the other hand, was trying desperately hard at that time to become pregnant.  After two bouts of ovarian cancer and numerous chemotherapy problems, I was married and obsessing about becoming fulfilled, as a wife and mother.  I remember my husband asking me, “Why can’t WE just be enough?”  I just couldn’t BE enough without a child.  My destiny was to be a mother.

  I became pregnant and at fourteen weeks lost a set of twins.  I never cried so hard in my life as I was put under anesthesia to have my uterus scraped to make sure no products of conception remained.  I became pregnant again and lost the baby, and again, and again.  Finally after four pregnancies and five babies my pregnancy “took” and I delivered a healthy nine pound, eight ounce boy.  Two years later, we became parents again, when our daughter was born. 

I had the right to choose to become a mother.  Roe versus Wade is a done deal.  I may not like it, but I am choosing to focus on one person at a time  with eternal value  and not the issue that divides our country.

The Abortion Argument from an Agnostic

K~

Abortion is one of those “button issues” in politics. I imagine that it will be for quite a few more elections, unfortunately. Now, I can see both sides. It took me a while, but I really can understand why one group is so opposed, and one group tends to be more pro-choice. (I hate that term. The opposing team likes to argue that the baby isn't “choosing” to die. Ugh. Really, guys? That's the best term you could come up with - something that gives the other side a comeback?)

Rant aside, here's what I can understand: Some people believe that life begins at conception. Okay. I can see that point. For instance, look at miscarriages. I realize that a miscarriage is nothing to joke about, and just because it is called a spontaneous abortion does not mean it is equivalent in any way to an abortion. This is a very serious subject to a number of people because they lost a life that was being carried. That's the reason miscarriages are sad, because a life has been lost. Given the reality of the sadness behind every miscarriage story, we as a society seem to have accepted that an unborn child is considered to be alive.

I have found, from the edges of the internet to the daily news, a very wide number regarding percentage of miscarriages. I've heard anywhere from 10% to 75% of women have a miscarriage at some point in their lives. I found a fantastic article that summarizes a 1988 study* that found 22% of all conceptions (fertilization of the egg) did not implant, and 31% of implanted eggs (clinically recognized pregnancies) end in miscarriage. Now it should be noted that the majority of that 31% of implanted eggs that are miscarried occur so early on that the woman's period still comes at a relatively normal time. Nobody panic. Regardless, that's a lot of miscarriages. A whole lot.

I cannot argue that life beings at fertilization. I just can't see anything wrong with ending that life given the frequency with which it occurs naturally.

This brings me to abortion. Yes, it is absolutely the woman's choice. I feel though that the woman should make an informed choice. There's nothing wrong with deciding you're not ready to be a parent, and you're not willing to force another child through the foster/adoption system. (Has anyone looked into some of those horror stories?!) I feel that within the walls of an abortion clinic there should be informative posters touting real facts. I don't believe a woman should be pressured out of (or into, for that matter) abortion. I just feel that a woman needs to fully understand what she is aborting. She is aborting just a small cluster of cells, but that cluster has a heart that beats 65 times each minute before she is even aware that she is pregnant. If that kind of information bothers a woman, then abortion may not be for her. It isn't something that can be swept under the rug once the procedure is performed. It's hard to find a statistic from a neutral source regarding the number of women who regret having an abortion. Regardless of whether it's 1% or the audacious claim that up to 85% of women regret their abortion, I feel that those women, with more information, may have reached a decision that did not end in regret. No woman should feel ashamed or regret over a decision she made between herself and a healthcare professional.

As for the law, I feel that abortion should not be illegal. Let's postulate that abortion becomes illegal. I live within 100 miles of the Mexico border. If I had my heart set on getting an abortion, I wouldn't be stopped. For those who are farther from the border, dark alleys, a back room in someone's house, or a rented storage unit can all become impromptu, and likely far more dangerous, abortion clinics. I think that it is dangerous and irresponsible for lawmakers to make abortion illegal.

In a study of more than 10,000 women, 14% of them were cited as suffering from postpartum depression**. We'll assume, for the sake of argument and the lack of statistics, that only a negligible number of these women unwillingly had these children. So in this study where most women chose to have the child, 14% had postpartum depression. 19% of those cited with postpartum depression had thoughts of harming themselves. The rates may soar if abortions were to become illegal. Imagine how many women, stuck with a child they didn't want and suffering from postpartum depression, may choose to harm or kill themselves. That could result in the child being left alone for an indeterminate amount of time. Regardless of when one feels life begins, once the child is out of the womb, living, breathing, and squirming, it is undeniably alive. The weight of that reality, of that being, ever present for the next 18 years, dependent forever, may be too much for the woman. Untreated postpartum can be deadly, and it isn't fair to place an unwilling woman in that position.

*This website summarizes the study quite nicely: http://miscarriage.about.com/od/pregnancyafterloss/f/70percent.htm

*A link to the original study:

http://www.omicsonline.org/scientific-reports/srep109.php

**An article on the study of the occurrence of postpartum depression:

http://www.medscape.com/viewarticle/781167

It has some other interesting information about what a problem untreated postpartum depression can be.

** A link to the original study:

http://archpsyc.jamanetwork.com/article.aspx?articleid=1666651

The Shame of Being an (ex)Millitant Atheist

K~

I'm a little ashamed to say that at one point I was a militant atheist. I believed that Christians were wrong and needed to see the error of their ways – and of course they were all closed minded bigots. Any theological debate turned into an argument, no matter how innocently framed. Any mention of God in society needed to be eradicated, from being on our money to being in the pledge of allegiance.

It was bad.

My family was Irish Catholic, and by that I mean mass was attended twice a year, once at Christmas and once at Easter, and the remainder of the time alcohol was the God that we prayed to. Nevertheless, a healthy dose of Catholic guilt flowed like the beer from our family's keg-erator.

I recall one Easter that my dad insisted I go to church. I threw a fit the best way any hormonal 14 year old girl could: with tears, spite, and door slamming. In the end it didn't matter. My dad was a pro, and my older sister had primed him for any possible tantrum a teenager may throw. Dad said I would go, and it didn't matter if he had to carry me. I was well aware that that wasn't an idle threat.

So being the spiteful atheist that I was, I wore a baggy t-shirt that boldly stated “It's called thinking, you should try it some time.” I was hoping at the very least I could embarrass him and offend the churchgoers as a whole. Dad rolled his eyes and grunted, but didn't say anything. I sat in the pew, the entire time reading Frankenstein for class. I don't remember anything about the service.

Luckily everyone at the church took the hint and didn't risk talking to me.

Eventually, as I became older and met different people I became significantly less zealous about the whole thing. Although I still don't feel that we should have any reference to God on our money or in our pledge of allegiance*, I no longer see the need to argue over it. There's no point. The militant atheists of the world are nothing but the big bad wolf trying to blow down a brick house: in the end they're red in the face and nothing has changed.

*Just a brief historical note, the phrase “under God” was added to the pledge of allegiance June 14, 1954, by President Eisenhower, after a campaign by the Knights of Columbus. Originally that line in the Pledge of Allegiance read “One nation, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all”. The Knights of Columbus argued that the inclusion of the phrase “under God” didn't violate the separation of church and state, because it didn't condone a specific religion, but instead "The phrase 'under God' recognizes only the guidance of God in our national affairs.”

More on this subject at the Smithsonian Magazine website: http://www.smithsonianmag.com/history-archaeology/The_Pledges_Creator.html?c=y&page=1

The Earnest Teenage Christian

T-

At thirteen I was striving mightily for the Christian Character Award at Camp Tanda, a Church of Christ camp located in Big Bear, California.  This entailed being really nice to the campers and staff all week.  I went out of my way to befriend the lonely.  I learned all my Bible verses.  I made sure  my bunkies' personal belongings and sleeping bags passed inspection every morning. With a wisk broom, I swept the dirt in front of our cabin.  I volunteered for extra kitchen patrol and  picked up trash around camp.  My ace in the hole was my older brother and sister who were counselors and had the power to put in a good word for me after the campers voted and left the final decision to the staff.

I lost. According to my sources I came in second.  The winner was cuter, nicer, younger, and had been my best friend the year before.  I could have gone back the next week and tried again, but I was heart broken and I did not. Failure was something I was unwilling to face again.

This small episode characterized my teenage walk.  I lived for youth group because it was affirming and I fit in with my peers.  This was no small feat  when you had braces, glasses, acne, and short curly hair in 1969.  At church I felt safe and respected, and I in turn  respected the leaders of my youth group. I had a voice.

At the time, I was struggling at home.  My older sister was leaving to go to Harding College in Searcey, Arkansas and we had always been close.  My older brother morphed from being my bike riding and adventure buddy to someone who did not recognize my existence at school.  He teased and played the piano and "Iron Butterfly" so loud I would take my younger brother and sister and sit out in the backyard.  My mom went back to work teaching as my dad was pursuing a Doctorate at USC - with five kids expenses that were not being met. My family was a mess and inside I was a mess.

I nursed doubts.  Why was my family so different?  What if Jesus was not real?  What if I had a bad week when he came back for his believers and I missed the ride in the sky?  What if I had a good week and had to leave my friends to burn forever in the lake for fire?  Why was I not brave enough to talk to them about needing Jesus as their Savior?  What if at the judgment seat I went to the left and became a goat instead of being allowed to go right and become a sheep with Jesus as my good shepherd?  What about all those people who had never heard of Jesus?

I never told anybody because I was afraid my inner self would be exposed to the outer world and I would probably have to rededicate my life some Sunday night to the acapella hymn, "When the Roll is Called Up Yonder."

I had a friend who went up to request prayer for his sins at least twice a year.  I always felt rather unworthy after he did this because I never made the trek up to the front of the church except to be baptized.  Twice.  Once when I was nine and then at fifteen to make sure my salvation took.

I know one thing,  Jesus is the Truth.  I am now fifty-seven years old and I still seem to have more question than answers.

First Impression of Krista

T~

An OCD Guardian Angel. Falling Ferris Wheel cars. A waitress/artist with a mold problem.

I loved Krista’s story of Sherman, the OCD Guardian Angel, who was sent to planet Earth to annoy/supervise Ruby. Ruby first meets Sherman while he is cleaning the grunge from the tile in the bathroom with her toothbrush. Ruby is a newly unemployed ex-waitress and wannabe artist when Sherman enters her life.

I read this story in writing class, laughing and snorting my way through it. I thought to myself that this brilliant author ought to be published! This story is outrageously funny and quirky! Why had she not been issued a contract?

I soon found out the answer to my questions. The person in question was a nineteen year old college student with beautiful, green Irish eyes and a penchant for making moonshine to supplement her income.

She was an anomaly to me. When discussing one of my stories, she shared church was someplace she had been to only twice in her life. I had attended two to three times a week at her age. She lived with her boyfriend. My first live-in was my husband after we were married. The Bible terrified her. I knew most of the New Testament by heart.

So why was I drawn to this class and Krista? I was tired. After twenty-three years of teaching in a Christian school, I wanted to meet people and especially young people who were not brainwashed to see the whole world through Jesus glasses. I needed to know what non-Christ seekers thought.

I knew many Christians hated Muslims. This did not make much sense to me because Jesus loved everybody and told us to do the same. I figured that the majority of Muslims wanted to live a normal life and raise their kids. I was tired of hearing about how bad the world was and how we are on a trajectory towards the end times and the apocalypse. I felt judged by some people at my former workplace and friends at church. I wanted an escape.

Since I was nine years old I always wanted to write a book. I have written short stories through the years, but nothing publishable or even very interesting. I decided to take a writing class. I told my Christian friends I felt “called” to do this. Encouraging words were spoken to me as I took on this new ministry. I felt like a hypocrite. I think I really just wanted to learn to write.

Krista knew how to write. She spoke her mind and gave thoughtful reviews. She liked everybody and laughed a lot. She wore short shorts in winter and t-shirts that proclaimed her Irish heritage. She did not judge and I found that refreshing. I wanted to know how she did what she did.

I knew I had a lot to learn about life from the class, but especially from her.

First Impression of Trudy

K~

My initial impression of Trudy was based on the first story she had submitted to our writing class. She had written about a black woman in Oklahoma, in the early 1900s, who was trying to pass for a white woman. The characters were all fresh and interesting. They were individually distinguishable, and the grammar was correct enough that I felt like I was reading, not deciphering. I thought, man, I'd sure like to read more by this writer.

So, I set out to find out which person had submitted that story. I found Trudy. She went on to tell me that this story was based loosely on her family history. I stared at this clearly white, middle aged woman. I examined her thin lips, her short, but undeniably Caucasian nose, her olive skin, and light eyes. The only thing that remotely suggested mixed race about this woman was her curly hair...which was blonde.

If Trudy looked at all like the main character of her story, it must not have been terribly hard to pass as white.