The Art of Sabbath

I'm reading Jonathan Merritt's book Jesus Is Better Than You Imagined and he is talking about spending a weekend at a monastery observing a vow of silence. In exploring Zechariah, he makes this statement "Having first encountered this passage as a chile, I assumed God was punishing Zechariah thgourh Gabriel for probing the prophecy further. After all, I thought, God dislikes being questioned. But after encountering the Bible more broadly, I think more might be happening here...I now wonder if striking Zechariah mute was both a punishment and a gift. Rather than simmering over being questioned, maybe God knew Zechariah better than we...God knew he needed to stop talking in order to fully hear what God was saying, in order to receive what God was about to do in his midst."

Recently, I have been flailing against the life that surrounds me. Part of it is sheer exhaustion from working two jobs. Part of it is desperately missing the sense of purpose and mission that I had when I worked in non-profit. Part of it is just everyday human selfishness. I began this season sure God was doing something...but I also believed it would be short lived. I've been out of non-profit for over a year now. Maybe to God, that is a short time span...to me, it's a freaking long time!

The crazy thing is that every time I stop and pray, I get an undeniable sense of peace...but for some reason, that didn't make sense to me...so I flailed anyway. And I began desperately trying to apply for jobs in non-profit organizations and I put my boss on notice that I was looking for another job and I begged "please God give me this" and bargained and wheedled. I told God that since I didn't get to be married or rich, I really needed this. I reminded Him that my kids were old enough to leave home and it would be really, really nice to have a sense of purpose to distract me from empty nest syndrome (yeah, I did actually go there). And I stressed about it. Like, really stressed. And I was already stressed and tired. So it got ugly. Like the ugly where your kids see you come out of your room so they run to theirs ugly.

And then, suddenly I got it. And I didn't have quite the words for it until I read that particular chapter in Merriitt's book. I was feeling as though I was being punished. Like I did something that made me unworthy of the job so God basically 'muted' me. But He isn't punishing me at all. He is giving me the space for silence.

He is giving me the space for Sabbath. More than just a Sunday but a prolonged period of time to know Him, hear Him, and be with Him. And maybe it's because He's about to do something in the midst and maybe it's because God's more concerned with our relationship than He is the good works and the advocacy and all of those awesome volunteer groups. And that is a huge issue because, to be honest...I was more concerned with what we were going to do next, about who God wanted me to be, etc, etc. It was more about the doing, less about the being.

"When I pray am I truly trying to find out who God is, or am I trying to find out who I am?" 
~Oswald Chambers

Sabbath is about more than going to church, it's even about more than resting, it's a period of time to seek God in order to better know Him (that "Be still and know that I am God" thing). And it can be a longer season than 24 hours. I've failed to understand the season and have filled it with more work, school, etc. The sad thing is, as much as I love both my jobs, I can't say that working them both has made us more financially stable. If the car hadn't broken down or if we hadn't had to move twice in a six month period...maybe. But it's not worth the time I haven't spent with my kids or the fact that my friend-after years of praying and hoping-became pregnant and I didn't get to see the baby belly in person until her third trimester. It's certainly not worth the burn out and constant exhaustion and unhappiness. 

So, I sat down with my boss. Told him I was staying if he wanted me to. He did. And-being awesome-gave me projects I could sink my teeth into and a great raise. It was funny how, in deciding to stay, I almost immediately calmed down. And have had the most fantastic sense of contentment since then. I also told Horizon that I needed to work a lot less (though I love working there so probably won't give it up completely) and now I've had time to rest, hang out with my kids, help care for a friend of mine's children while she recuperated from surgery, and I get to help organize a nursery! And I have time to be quiet, to reconnect, to know God.

I think we have lost the art of Sabbath. We've confined it to one day, decided what it needs to look like or forgotten it's importance all together. We've forgotten the beauty of it. The creativity that is found in the midst of it. The discipline of it. For me, at least, it was time to take that back.

On Raising a Man...and a Soldier.

When Trey was about six years old, I was given the book "Raising Up Boys" by James Dobson (it had been on my Christmas wish list). I read to a certain chapter where Dr Dobson detailed statistics and probabilities that seemed to fate my son to a life of crime, addiction, depression and suicide. Overwhelmed with despair, I crept into my sleeping son's room, knelt by his bed and prayed in desperation. And I heard God ask me if I trusted Him to see my son as more than a statistic. Of course I did. And I held on to that like a promise.

I have raised my son with a set of values, beliefs and principles. I raised him to believe in things, be willing to fight for those things, to hold on to his faith, to live life like an adventure. And now that he is 18, he is living out all of that...and, to be honest, I may have days where I wish I could take it back! Not all of it...just redefine "adventure" to something like "live really close to your Mom-always!" But it would appear it's too late. The course is set.

When Trey was four, he told me when he grew up he wanted to join the Marines and be a soldier. At some point, he'd stopped talking about it and I stopped thinking about it but a couple of years ago he told me that he planned to join as soon as he graduated high school. At my request, he agreed to wait until he was 19...he turns 19 this February.

By May...he'll be gone. He'll be in boot camp.

In the past few days, we've talked about it several times. I asked him if he'd finished registering for next semester and when he told me no, I started to chide him but he reminded me he's not going to school next semester...he'll be gone before the semester is over. Bree and I were discussing Thanksgiving when we realized that this is the last Thanksgiving for the next four years that we are guaranteed Trey will be home. And then I read that President Obama has approved the deployment of 1500 more troops to Iraq.

I have to tell you...I have had friends and family members serve in the military for as long as I can remember. I had friends in Iraq during Operation Desert Storm and cousins fighting in Iraq and Afghanistan. I've had friends who had family members-even their sons-serving in the Army, Navy, Air Force and Marines...and I have prayed for them, diligently. But I think I realized that I didn't pray for them nearly enough. I have been praying for my son as desperately as I did that night 12 years ago. And I realize that for the Mamas out there, I had no idea as I dutifully prayed for their child what they were going through. I still don't. Not yet. I just know the anticipation of it...and I am going to be bluntly honest and tell you that I don't fully trust the United States Government to make the best choices when it comes to my son. When I look at Korea and Vietnam and then I look at Iraq, Afghanistan, and ISIS I feel like we are making the same decisions and the same mistakes. I think we fail to fully understand the culture and the people and what we are fighting for and what we are fighting against when we make military decisions. As I am not a military strategist, general, soldier, etc I could be absolutely wrong...but that is the way it seems to me. And now, the decisions the military and Commander in Chief make affect me in a very personal way. And that is scary.

My son is-understandably so-one of hundreds of thousands to the US government and military. They don't know about his comedic timing, ability to take amazing pictures, love of Ultimate Frisbee and video games. They don't know that when he found out he was in the same college class as his Mom, he didn't run to his adviser and beg for rescue but actually enjoys it! They don't know that he is a favorite with all little kids and most dogs. That he hopes to make movies one day. That he is the best answer God could have ever given me in my prayer for a son.

And then God reminds me that He does...He knows all of those things.

I trust my son to know the desires of his heart and to go after them. Because of my raising, and sometimes in spite of it, because of the goodness of God, because of the love of so many friends around us my son has grown into a remarkable young man. He will make a fine soldier. And I will wave him off with pride when he leaves for boot camp and I won't cry until he's gone and each time he comes home and has to leave again I will do the same. Because that is the best thing I can give him...to know he is loved, that I am proud of him, that I support him, and that I am praying...and that I trust him and God  that whatever they do is for the best. I'm holding on to that. Like a promise.

Mamas, I am praying so hard for your soldiers. For your hearts. For our leaders to make wise decisions. Because I understand more than ever how personal it is. Thank you for being brave, for being wise, for modeling how to do it right so that bumbling Mamas like me have a model.

Here's to hoping and praying for the day the sword is beaten into plowshares.

Honor Thy Mother and Father...

There's this cardinal rule when it comes to calling my mom.
Don't call after 9 pm. Like...ever. Even if you are in your last moments of life, just don't.

My mother has bipolar disorder. As in, debilitating, life altering, generally hanging on by a thread bipolar disorder...and she takes her night meds at 9 pm every night. And once they kick in, she can not (and will not) be responsible for what she says if you break the rule and she picks up the phone.

Recently, I broke the rule. I didn't mean to...I was driving home from rehearsal, missing my mom and picked up the phone and dialed. I realized as soon as I heard her "high" voice (like she just woke up but a little higher pitched) that this was going to be a short conversation. But we chatted for a bit.

Then she said, "I've been thinking. I'm actually glad I'm not married to (insert ex husband's name here) anymore." I was quite pleased at this and thinking she'd had a major break through of some sort, said "Oh, do tell..."

Apparently, my sister (half, but we're not counting) had told my mom about riding with her dad recently and he'd been quite aggressive and even rude to other drivers.

My throat closed up. My stomach clenched. Tears came to my eyes.

Hearing no response, my Mom said my name "Cindy?"
"Road rage?" I said through gritted teeth. "You're glad you aren't with him because he has road rage?" My Mom was actually quite pleased there was a term for it. I could barely hear the rest of what she said because the screaming in my head was getting loud. I ended the conversation quickly.

My mom had just explained to the child she'd given up in order to protect the aforementioned ex husband from being convicted of child molestation that she'd found closure and finally been able to not only accept, but be happy they were no longer together...because he wasn't a good driver.

Reacting to all the emotions and thoughts I yelled "SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP!" at the steering wheel (because steering wheels don't care if you yell at them) And things got quiet, and then-because I could finally hear it-that still, small voice said

"Honor your Mother and your Father"

And I said (because I am super spiritual ya'll)
"Don't give me that load of crap right now."

 Let's be real...Some days you just don't feel like taking the "higher road"

So the rest of the way home, I had this argument in my head. And I went home and read Scripture. I really started considering what it looks like to "honor" our parents so I researched, talked to pastors and people whose opinion I respect. I was looking for the exceptions to the rule.  I wondered if the expectations for honoring parents when they were "good" parents were different from when they were "bad" parents. I decided maybe God set the bar lower for us so that particular commandment was easier to fulfill. I looked for an "out"

For myself.
For my kids. (Both my biological and all my "adopted" kids.)
For the ones reading this who struggle with this same thing.

Because God bless you if you have the parents that make it an easily accomplished task. If the least you can do is honor the amazing, wonderful, perfect parents who brought you into this world, loved and nurtured you, instilled the best values in you and never, ever made a mistake. But for the rest of us...the ones who were abandoned, abused, neglected, overlooked in favor of an addiction or the television set, whose parents weren't quite perfect...we aren't really up for it.

I've got good news. And I've got bad news.

The bad news...there is no out. I looked guys...for weeks. There is no place in Scripture that says if our parents stink, we don't have to honor them. So, having found no out, I began to look into what exactly "honor" entails. I tend to think of "honor" as saying 'yes ma'am' and 'no sir' and not sticking my tongue out at them or calling them names (out loud). I know that meaning and depth is often lost in translation so I asked several pastors about the word "honor"

"The Greek word for honor means to revere, prize and value"
"The root of the Hebrew word for honor means to weigh heavy"
"It means weighty or heavy. It speaks to the significance we place on something"

So, if I manage not to roll my eyes...that's not quite cutting it?

Matthew Henry says it like this. "That obedience which God demands from their children...includes an inward reverence [honor], as well as the outward expressions and acts."

There's more...
Before Jesus, the spiritual life had become more about actions than intentions or motivations. Going through the motions was enough. But after Jesus...it was more about the intentions or motivations than the actions. Look at what He said about giving, adultery, murder in your heart...

So it is with honoring your parents. It can't be just about going through the motions. As Tim, pastor at Brown's Mill Church, puts it "It's your posture as you obey"

A couple of years before my dad passed away, our relationship was on pretty rocky terms-again. Most of you know that my dad was an abusive alcoholic for most of my growing up years and that he sobered up, became a mentor for those walking the path to sobriety, and that he and I still had our issues. Oftentimes it was as much hard headedness as past hurts that led to our falling out but neither of us was willing to take the blame...and I had the pretty convenient role of "victim" so I rarely had to. My dad fell one day and broke his leg. A bad break and the fact my dad was a diabetic meant he spent a lot of time in the hospital. My aunt and I took turns being there for him...keeping him company, emptying out his pee pot, picking up the ice and other trash he threw at the door when the doctor or nurse left after telling him something he didn't like, washing his hair with those dry shampoo caps because my dad couldn't stand for his hair to be dirty. At first, I did them begrudgingly while at the same time feeling like quite the wonderful Christian daughter. After all, look what I was doing for my dad...after all the times he hadn't been there for me. It didn't take long before the Spirit provided an attitude check and I began to deliberately change my attitude about the tasks I performed for my dad. I'm so glad I did because those days in the hospital brought my dad and I closer than we'd ever been. After he had his stroke, the day they told us would be his last, they put him in a room where he could be "comfortable" and the family could be with him. The nurse asked if there was anything she could do and I asked her for one of the dry shampoo caps. She looked at me puzzled. I explained that his hair hadn't been washed for days and I knew how much he hated oily hair. So she brought me several and I did one of the last things I could do for my dad-wash his hair. As I scrubbed, I told my dad how much I loved him...how glad I was that he was my dad...and I meant it.

Here's the good news...God doesn't just tell us to do something and then leave us to do it on our own. I know some of you are shutting me out, thinking "oh...but you don't know..." I have heard so, so many stories. Stories that make me even more grateful for the parents I have because OH DEAR LORD! The brokenness of this world, the brokenness of our parents, the brokenness of your heart as you put one foot in front of the other. But I have to tell you that letting go makes the journey so much easier...and just like forgiveness is a choice, so is honoring those who gave birth to us...no matter what came after. And just like forgiveness, obeying the Lord in this means that we are also letting go of the past and freeing ourselves to live the future. 

Hear me when I tell you that forgiving your parents, honoring your parents is not about saying that what they did to you is okay or right. God gave them a mandate as your parents and they didn't do it and that is not okay! 

But that doesn't mean we don't have to do our part. We do. And the reason we do is because God is going to use it to make us whole again. And as we are honoring our earthly parents, we honor our Heavenly Father. And the weight of that isn't like a stone but like our favorite sweater, or a comforter thrown over us. Our posture is of reverence and the overwhelming emotion is love. And God, to help us honor our parents, will give us both a glimpse of how He sees us and how He sees them. And we are free to be ourselves and live the lives God planned for us because we are free of the hurts and regrets and the ever present, nagging desire and absolute must be accomplished goal of "fixing" it or "figuring it out" And sometimes, as we honor our parents, we are free to have a relationship with them. Perhaps not the one we hoped for, but a relationship nonetheless. And, if we aren't...because it's not safe, because they choose not to, because it's too late and they are gone from this world...then we are free from the sorrow of not doing our part. 

It's not easy. I'm not going to pretend it is. I know plenty who are struggling to find a morsel of "honor" for their parent(s). My kids don't even call their biological father "father" or "dad." In fact, he's barely mentioned at all, and if he is, he is called by his first name. And I am not going to stop them. My children have to work this out in their time. I hope that as they've seen me wrestle with this and as they've watched how I have honored my parents (and how I haven't) that I've made it easier for them. I'll be there for them as they figure it out.

The Gospel, as Pastor Tim often reminds us, is counterintuitive. It goes against everything in us that tells we're entitled to or what's "fair" and it's a constant reminder that we don't do this in our own power but by God's grace and His power.

From one of the emails Tim and I exchanged as we discussed this: "Honoring your parents when they've been abusive, absent, etc. is not about the parent...it's about the one offering the honor...and the one who gives us the ability to do such a crazy thing. In fact, honoring a parent who is "not worthy" of honor is one of the most kingdom-minded things we can do. Jesus taught us to love our enemies. The original wording is not just a "don't curse them out under your breath" but it's also "intentionally seek to tangibly bless them." It's connected to what I mentioned yesterday, in that following Jesus means embracing these counter-cultural, counter-intuitive ways of seeing/doing things. Whereas the world says "they hurt you and do not deserve your honor", Jesus says "honor them because it pleases me...and it tangibly demonstrates my love for you AND for them."

If I talked to my Mom about the conversation that night, she probably wouldn't remember it. She'd most likely be astounded at how much it had hurt me. Both the illness and the medication have taken so much away. But my Mom gets up every day. She chooses life every single day. And regardless of all her past mistakes (and the ones she will make in the future), she is my Mom, she is a surviver. And she is worthy of honor.

Squawking

I'm kinda, sorta...stuck...in two very stressful situations. It's so bad that my stomach gets upset, my entire body clenches and I am perpetually close to tears whenever I find myself in these areas.

 As I processed both situations on the drive home the other night, something profound occurred to me. The things causing the stress are the minority. In both situations, if I list the good things and the negative things about the situations, the good things outnumber the negative.The problem is, the negative things are the "loudest." And it's a shrill, squawking kind of loud...not the sort of thing you can ignore.

But putting it into perspective, it was sort of like that moment in A Bug's Life. You know...when the ants finally realize that even though the grasshoppers are WAY bigger than them, they outnumber the grasshoppers by like...a gazillion to one...and therefore they are stronger and more powerful!!!

And they run the grasshoppers off and they all live happily ever after! However long that is for an ant...

So I walked into one of these situations with a new attitude of "I've got this!" I was ready to turn things around! It took about 30 minutes before my resolve was shattered, my gut was tight and I was blinking fast to stop the downpour.

I'm just not sure what to do! I'd say I was one of those people who don't handle conflict well...but how many people do you know that actually "handle conflict well"?

And the more I think about it, the more I realize how squawkers have taken over! The trolls on blogs, articles, etc are the minority but I've had to stop reading comments because of them. A popular blogger has seriously considered shutting her blog down because of them. Westboro Baptist Church has something like 40 members and most of them family but somehow they have perpetuated the mainstream media's version of the "church". The Tea Party is a minority and yet they can stop the government in its tracks! The lists goes on and on...

If you really, really think about it the good outweighs the bad. There are more moderates out there than we know but they can't be heard over the squawking! So what do we do? What do the positive forces out there do? Do we get louder? Or does that turn us into squawkers? Less problem solvers and more just adding to the din and chaos? How do we handle the situations where there are 14 people in a room and two of them are making life miserable for everyone?

I just don't know. This isn't one of those blogs where I have solutions, ideas or resources. If you do, please share! I just want those of you who think you are alone in the bathroom stall trying to get away from the nasty that I'm in the one next to you.

Dangerous

After my divorce, the "church" taught me something I hadn't known...nor, to be honest, ever suspected.

I was dangerous.

I must say, this information came as a surprise. I'd never thought of myself as dangerous. At least not to others...in my crazier days, there were times I was a danger to myself. But I couldn't think of any time I'd ever been a danger to anyone else. (I know what you are thinking...but a bowl of ice cream doesn't count as "anyone")

But here was the situation. I was just hitting 30. Divorced. Not unattractive. And a somewhat sympathetic figure as the wronged wife left alone with two young children.

To my shock, I found that I was in a perfect position to cause church going married men to "stumble" (read, lust after the pathetic female) and I must do everything in my power to protect them.

I must be careful how I dressed, how I smiled, how friendly I was...
I must never be alone with a married man in a room, house, building or forest (okay...no one ever said "forest" but...you get the drift). I must never ride alone in a car with a married man.

Because, just by being me I was dangerous and apparently the church going married men could only defend themselves so long before they "stumbled" into sin because of me.

Before I go on, let me tell you that I believe in healthy boundaries. I actually do my best not to be alone in rooms or cars with married men. I am rarely friends with them on Facebook if I'm not also friends with their wife. And basically...just use common sense.

My problem isn't with the boundaries. My problem was with the extremity of the boundaries and the focus. The focus was never about avoiding the "appearance of evil" in Biblical sense or protecting me...or even both me and the married man.

It was about protecting him. From me.

Because apparently he doesn't have responsibility for his own actions after a certain point. He "stumbled" into sin while it seemed I ran into it...pushing the poor hapless male along the way. Guys are supposedly the stronger sex so how is it the female's responsibility to keep them from sinning?

Years ago I allowed my daughter to attend a youth conference that included a talk from an older teenage boy on the way girls should dress. He told the girls that when they showed their bra strap, the guy didn't just think "bra strap" but his mind went down to what the bra strap held. The moral of the story...don't show your bra strap. Incidentally, my son was at the same conference. At no time did he attend a talk from an older teenage girl about what guys wearing tight pants or going shirtless did to girls. He was also never told how to take his thoughts in control when he saw a bra strap.

A few days ago a father brought his two sons into the shop and arranged to pick up a surprise for his wife on Friday. That particular day I looked and felt like crap. Several people mentioned I looked sick but mostly it was just the exhaustion from moving. Yesterday, I felt much better...but I hadn't gone to any big lengths. My hair was in a pony tail, I wasn't wearing makeup, I was dressed in a shirt that showed no skin and a skirt that comes to my ankles. I tell you this because it's important. Because of what comes next. Because I need you to understand that I was as friendly as my job expects me to be but nothing else and I wasn't dressed in any shape, fashion or form that would cause a man to "stumble". Because when I tell you that two hours later that husband and father called me on the business phone to proposition me, some of you are going to immediately wonder what I did to make him think it was okay. And I know this. I also know that when I hung up the phone shaken and disgusted, the first thing I asked myself was

"What did I do to make him think this was okay?"

I know that when I ranted about it on Facebook, I told people what I was wearing in order to circumvent having to defend myself. And I know that it impacted one of the teenage girls that I love and "mother" that I did so.

I am dangerous. Just by being me, that man thought it was okay to disrespect me, his wife, his boys, himself. Just by doing my job. Just by breathing.

I don't know what to tell you. Maybe, since there is no defense against my lure (even when I haven't waxed my upper lip or pulled out those little hairs on my chin for weeks), what we need to do instead is equip men to take care of themselves in such a way that they learn to control their thoughts and actions.

Maybe we start holding them responsible.

Then maybe, I won't be such a danger. Because, as exciting as being "dangerous" sounds, I don't like it. I don't like being eyed, whistled at on the street or propositioned. I don't like being viewed not only as an object but as an object some man is entitled to have. I don't like seeing women objectified in every source of media and hearing "what can you do?" as people shrug their shoulders.

Here is a hard cold truth for you. The media is controlled by their audience. And they are selling what you are buying. And if you are buying, it is not their fault. But your own.

Stop using the media as a convenient excuse for the fact that women are objectified and treated disrespectfully. Stop pointing the finger at the billboards and women in yoga pants who just want to freaking be comfortable and start pointing the finger at yourself.

Because I am only as "dangerous" as you allow me to be. And people generally "stumble" when they aren't looking where they are going. And I'm tired of being told that being treated this way is somehow my fault.

Ahhh...

You guys!!! Last night I took a long hot bath.
And I shaved my legs...like the entire leg!
Calves...knees...thighs. BOTH legs!

I realize the effects on my legs will be short lived...but it was positively luxurious!
I could've been washing dishes. Unpacking boxes. Spending time with my lovely kiddos.

But...I'm gonna be honest. The kids liked me a lot better when I got out of the bath. And the dishes got done. And the unpacking is waiting on me. And I really, really needed to chill a bit. Rest, relax, take care of myself.

Because we have to choose to take care of ourselves. We have to choose to value ourselves. And it doesn't have to be anything big. A cruise to the Bahamas is unrealistic at this point...but a bath, book and cup of tea. Totally doable. But it isn't going to come out and grab me and force me to enjoy it. I have to choose to. And even in the midst of enjoying those wonderful, quiet moments...that nagging voice that reminds you of your responsibilities. Shut it up. In that moment, your responsibility is to you. To your sanity. To your peace.

So, choose to rest. Choose to luxuriate in whatever makes you smile and think "ahhh"
Some of you can enjoy a spa day. Some of you just have to deal with a few minutes to put your feet up and channel surf for a minute. And some of you just need to lay down while the infant takes a nap and enjoy the quiet.

If you need permission, here it is. We, as women...we as the entire freaking world...give you permission to take care of yourself.

So what's your favorite way to treat yourself? Share some ideas!

Happy Interdependence Day

"The landlord of the 'Chat Gris'-by name Brogard-had taken no notice of his guests...and in the meantime it was not for a free citizen to show deference, or even courtesy, to anyone..." 

I laid back in the bed, happy and tired. We'd had a great day with family and ended the night watching the fireworks display my cousin's children had designed (complete with playlist of patriotic songs). I scrolled through Facebook and smiled at the pictures of kids with sparklers, the patriotic memes declaring gratitude for independence, the American Way, the soldiers who protected it...I grimaced when I read my friends post complaining about late night fireworks waking up his young son. And then I read a post from Unvirtuous Abbey (if you appreciate irreverant humor and thought provoking "prayers" check them out) 

"For soldiers with PTSD whose neighbors decide to let off their own fireworks in their backyards we pray."

I read it and thought "Is that really a thing? I mean...how many soldiers with PTSD..."
A lot.

I read through the comments as veterans shared their ways of getting through the night...headphones, ear plugs, loud TVs, loud music, alcohol. I read comments from people complaining they needed to "lighten up" and that people should be allowed to "have a little fun" I mean, after all, its a "free country"

"It took Brogard some few minutes to consider the question. A free citizen does not respond too readily to the wishes of those who happen to require something of him" 

So we celebrate our independence...we thank our soldiers...but we don't appreciate the trauma that the loud booms, pops and explosions put them through. Because we are damned well going to celebrate the freedom you helped protect whether you like it or not!

Oh dear Lord. I hadn't even considered it.

One woman mentioned that her family knew a soldier lived down the street from them. So they asked him before setting off fireworks in their yard. Another mentioned young children and said their subdivision had come together and agreed that no fireworks would be set off after 9:30 for the sake of the babies and the parents...and that everyone had complied.
(Yay! Hope for humanity!)

Here's the thing...in America, we love to celebrate our "independence", our freedom, our rights. But we become so enamored with our independence that we forget our interdependence. We are so busy exercising our rights that we forget we might be trampling on the rights of others. 

"...and lounged about, smoking his evil-smelling pipe, sometimes under Marguerite's very nose, as any free-born citizen who was anybody's equal should do." 

The other day I was working at Horizon. I had the inner lobby doors closed because the Community Center in Little Five can be quite a boisterous atmosphere. Close to the end of the show, a young woman opens the lobby door and shouts at me across the room "Can you tell me where so and so is being held?" (In her defense, she wasn't deliberately shouting...she projects naturally...I can relate...I do it, a lot) I turned around and without thinking did the finger to the lips and the "shhhh" And she immediately became angry "DON'T YOU SHUSH ME!" she said. Walking over to her, I quietly tried to explain that we had a show going on and the patrons inside the theatre could hear her. "Well then, you ask me to be quiet, you don't shush me!" she said...getting louder and louder. I finally got her out of the inner lobby and calmed her down. But she left offended...and I was kinda okay with that because I was offended. She felt her rights and dignity had been abused and I felt the same...on my behalf and that of my audience. But later I thought about it and realize that we'd both been so busy defending our "rights" that we hadn't taken time to consider the other. I have no idea why the finger to the lip and the "shhh" was so offensive to her and she had no idea why it wasn't okay for her to be that loud in my lobby. 

"It was distinctly more fitting to his newborn dignity to be as rude as possible; it was a sure sign of servility to meekly reply to civil questions" 

There's this great song on the If/Then original cast recording, "Ain't No Man Manhattan" depicting on each of us is connected, how everyone's life connects, etc. It contains the line "How much you love your life is, what ev'ry life is worth" We need to be as protective of other people's rights and feelings as we want to be our own. Whether we are cutting people off in traffic to get to our destination just a split second sooner, shooting off fireworks, or leaving comments online. Other people matter. The way we treat them matters. And if we give up shooting fireworks in our backyard so that a former soldier struggling with PTSD can have a calmer evening, that is not our rights being infringed upon...that is saying in this instance, someone is more important than our entertainment. If we remember that certain gestures are offensive to certain people, then we are honoring them and/or their culture. If we refrain from the lewd joke, rude comment, or hateful comeback...we are not silencing our voices but becoming the voice of reason.

"And with this parting assertion of his rights as a citizen and a free man, to be as rude as he well pleased, Brogard shuffled out of the room, banging the door after him."

We are interdependent as a nation...we rely on each other, take care of each other and need to continuously lift each other up. Because if we are continuously lifting each other up, then everyone gets to climb. And we are all better for it. And that is something to celebrate.

(All quotes from The Scarlet Pimpernel by Baroness Emmuska Orczy)