So there I was...: Dec 24th- What I have learned in 2016

So there I was...: Dec 24th- What I have learned in 2016: If I had to summarize 2016 in one word- it would be 'heartbreaking', the entire spectrum of the word. Civilized Americans went on ...

Dec 24th- What I have learned in 2016

If I had to summarize 2016 in one word- it would be 'heartbreaking', the entire spectrum of the word.
Civilized Americans went on hateful rants everyday. Spewing judgment and intolerance onto anyone with a different view. What I feel should have happened this election year, is that those running for the POTUS should be vetted like the immigrants coming into this country. I'm sure that both Clinton and Trump would be labeled terrorists and not allowed  entry into the United States. I think a better show of "united" states might have been a population that refuses to be bullied and bought by fake news, propaganda, and the media bias. How can we as a nation of civilized people, be unable to refuse the choices being presented to us for the leader of our country? Why and how, did our Presidential ballot have two "evils".  It is truly disheartening.

I guess I have the answer to that, also due to my experiences this year.
The American people are lied to. Everyday. Lied to by news outlets reporting from all over the world. In fact, I've found that the truth of things reported is about 165 degrees in the opposite direction- or the information has no basis in reality whatsoever. We are merely puppets. Even thinking, investigating and coming to the conclusion that we are steered by the power elite of the world somehow still makes us pawns in a game we never wanted to play in the first place. Edward Snowden blew the whistle on the surveillance, worldwide, of unsuspecting people. The NSA and the governments of many countries around the world agreed to collect meta-data at a rate of 1 billion/per second, to store in case they might need it someday. I'm admitting right now that I have been the one to say- who cares- I haven't got anything to hide. I don't. But that no longer seems like a legitimate answer. The investigation into the NSA found testimony blatantly denying that it was happening and we're supposed to believe that they just stopped because new laws were passed?
Does anyone else think, as I do, that the corruption in our politics- home and abroad- is ...heartbreaking? I have lost any notion that the government of the United States is "for the people".

2016 has taught me that we are all terrorists. The bad guys who think they are good guys get to call the good guys terrorists. And terrorists get to call governmental authorities terrorists. And the American population gets to condemn anyone from the Middle East as a terrorist, for reasons I still can't understand. When Syrian citizens began to rebel against their government, President Bashir Assad, because of the corruption and distrust of their government (because of the killing of its civilians), guess what they were called? Terrorists. When the real terrorist was their president. Ironically, the "war on terror" made the United States terrorists in the Middle East and yet again the cycle of bloodshed continues.
As a side note- If a country is in the midst of a civil war and the US needs to pick a side- how do you think we would go about picking that side? It will be picked by deciding which side has more to offer us. Whether by trade, military advantages, or other capitalist objectives- I'm sure there are lots of noble things our country does around the world, I'm not saying that we are just a bullying, money and power hungry democracy. I'm saying that rose colored glasses shouldn't be the main pair you wear when reading or watching the news and it's coverage of our involvement in foreign affairs.

I also found a young Muslim man to be more filled with the light of God, then the people who have condemned him because of his ethnic and religious background, some of those people being in my own family. Which leads me to another lesson I learned in 2016- it is easier for people to hate and fear than to listen to logic and reason. The young muslim man has become like a brother to me. But I find it heartbreaking that it seems I have lost one to gain one.

After working in the ICU setting for the majority of my career, I have discovered that stepping away from the bedside of critical care has not released the burden of stress I feel during non-critical nursing care. I am sure that this could be classified as post-traumatic behavior, the compulsion to wait for something terrible to the patient right in front of me. To prepare my work area for worst-case scenarios and being highly sensitive to others who don't see the thousands of potential things that could go wrong (maybe because they've never worked critical care). And jumping into another nurse's care of a patient when I was certainly not invited to do so and it certainly wasn't a life or death situation, is apparently considered unhelpful and bossy. The residual of years working in a very fast paced, high stress department has made me a not so favorite nurse to work with and this year, I've been humbled.

2016 has taught me that last conversations can be haunting, first impressions can be completely wrong, and that the dog nose prints left on the back windows of my car can be more important than a huge jar of her ashes. Even if it has been a year and half since I lost her.

2016 has also taught me that God answers my prayers, that making time to walk through the bible and getting to understand His message for me is more important than exercise in treating my depression, and that gratitude to God for the miracle of my life is cause enough to spend the rest of it showing others the love and grace He has shown me. I have learned that when in doubt, kneel.

December 3, 2016

I recently spent a weekend in New York City with 3 women that I have known for ages and who I admire and respect. A girls weekend for birthday celebrations, for the chance to escape from the everyday, and for the experience of adding to our collective histories. Two of them were sisters that I went to high school with and the other I met 15 years ago in Orlando. A sacred sister from the get go. One of the biggest changes, besides the obvious effect of the years that have passed, was the well known use of Uber. Forget catching a cab, log in and load your destination, and within minutes, some stranger, driving a Camry (they all seemed to drive Camrys) will get you to your destination. The problem with this is that the likelihood of your driver not being able to maneuver around Manhattan in any way besides the little red line on their cell-phone or iPad, are high. You end up being the schmucks in the middle of the intersection for 10 minutes, just because some map app decided that this particular one way street was better than the one previous. Then to arrive at our destination only to realize we could've walked the 3 1/2 blocks in less time than it took to get through the intersection of death. 

Our dinner conversations were the second thing that had definitely changed. No laughter over Sex and the City episodes, or tales of long work outs that didn't seem to be giving the buns of steel they promised, or the topic that naturally followed of get skinny quick diets that some celebrity waif was selling in a 30 minute infomercial. The conversations ranged from the epic election that was only a few days away (the general consensus being that our government and the elected officials are more crooked than a game of Twister) to the various different growing pains we individually had struggled through in our recent years; depression, anxiety, divorce, job burnout, family strife, vulnerability, and the growing suspicion that embracing singleness for the blessings it offers was, in fact, the one shift in consciousness that made the milestones of life (or lack thereof) less rigid and overbearing. And those were just mine. 

We also talked about children, life without them, futures that could involve them, and the state of childhood today. I recounted my flight into Newark. Sitting next to a woman who had moved to Lexington, from Manhattan, only a year ago. Our conversation was rich with honesty and one truth bomb (for her) she laid on me was that children are over-rated. She talked so lovingly about her two children and her partner, a man also from Manhattan (A side conversation was had about what to call someone you're in a relationship with when you're over the age of 40. Boyfriend being too juvenile, partner leaving the impression of a homosexual relationship, and mate sounding like an Australian drinking buddy). So she and her "man-friend," we jokingly called him, had opted to have children together without the marriage. She offered up explanations regarding her view of having had children. The fact that they are all consuming was a big one. Their basic needs up to and including loving them and feeling no other such emotion is astronomically complex in the emotional realm of life. Neglecting self and partner, for the treasures of your life, takes a portion of your psyche and fills it with guilt and shame for having thoughts that no one dares speak of for fear of being ostracized, or sent to an AA meeting. I applauded her for her honesty and ability to let it speak for itself. 

There is more to this than just selfish reasons, in fact none of the reasons really sounded selfish to me. It's not about being unable to make lunch dates with the ladies, or traveling to exotic, lush resorts. It's about having your mind hijacked by fear, worry, stress, self-loathing, bitterness, anger, impatience, and unconditional love. Parenting is all consuming and it's in a world that demands more and more of one's attention, not as a parent, but as a citizen of this planet. 

I know mothers who would not change their choice of having children for anything. That being a Mom has been their dream since they were children. It gives them meaning and ultimate happiness. They are women with gracious and generous souls. 

I'm just going to say the majority of us in NYC were not in that category.

The world hasn't decided what to make of us. It's funny, thinking about being old without children to take care of me or grandchildren to spoil, used to leave me feeling uneasy. I have only just realized that I might not be in the minority in the future and I imagine my future being very much closer to the Golden Girls, then some grayish-green colored nursing home of loneliness.

No longer crazy old cat ladies or spinsters. I do think all of us have a maternal instinct, of various strengths of course, we are the singles that can mother, or father, the world. 

A Metallica song comes to mind- "Wherever we may roam"- indeed, we'll be watching for the opportunities to pass on our values and wisdom. To be a blessing to any child at any time. 

Ahh. Life is splendid. 

Of course, some things never change. There was laughter, drinks, tears, and photo ops. There was a lost clutch, that had been in my Momma Sophia purse, that had apparently been replaced with an open bottle of Stella Artois. For sure, shenanigans are always called for.

 

So there I was...: Land of the free, home of the dead

So there I was...: Land of the free, home of the dead: I’m not sure what I want to write about but I know that my entire being is in a state of overflowing thoughts and concerns. I looked at a ...

Land of the free, home of the dead

I’m not sure what I want to write about but I know that my entire being is in a state of overflowing thoughts and concerns. I looked at a neighborhood here in Lexington that is on the Reservoir. Even considering buying a townhome to call mine permanently. There is something so off putting about the idea of permanence these days. The country that I have grown up in, that has given me freedoms that millions of people can only imagine and enough of everything- food, water, clothing, TV networks and blockbuster movies. A country that in its short life span has risen to the status of world Super Power.

But does being a Super Power mean that those powers are used for good? For me, history class taught me that our military skills helped saved millions of people in World War 2. I didn’t learn much about Vietnam, or Desert Storm for that matter. The bulk of history I’ve learned after high school has come from TV. A very biased and censored information source.

Does the winning team admit to cheating? Do the good guys ever do the deeds of the bad guys? Do human beings naturally feel compelled to admit when they are wrong? Are we so gullible as to believe that our status as the USA in this world is one of a humble, do-gooder that goes out to seek and serve justice in areas where no qualified judge and jury exists? Are we brain washed throughout our primary education to believe that we are the best country in the world and taught only the evidence that supports that instead of the reality that exists?

And yet we condemn every country in the world that does the same thing. People say Muslims are brain washing their children to hate America and to champion their own country and beliefs. Why do Muslims teach their children these beliefs? Is it justification of the oppression that gets dispersed throughout their countries? Do the governments of Muslim nations weave dark, evil stories of the ‘West’ in order to rally support for defending their nations and engaging in wars that only suit their interests?

Does the average US citizen realize the view outside, looking in to this country is not pretty? The horror of children killed in accidental shootings because of the negligence of their parents? The laughable waste of resources in our very own country full of hungry, even homeless men, women and children. The excesses that we can’t live without and the hours of vacation we will never take because our material lives matter more than any other part of our lives. A country with no moral priority and little encouragement that anyone, anywhere is going to stand up and demand that as a citizen of this great country we should at the minimum hold some inalienable truths to be MORE than self-evident. That we the people should give a good God damn whether or not we are living the values and the beliefs of a good and honorable nation. As the rest of the world looks at the race for the most powerful position in the world, two people brought up and put on pedestals; as the best that we have to offer to be the beacon of beliefs for all that we stand for and hope for, for our country. The world is left dumbstruck as to what has happened to allow such a mockery and reality TV show cringe worthy excuse for a Presidential election. Where is dignity? Where is diplomacy and concern for the citizens of this country? Where is the simple element of proper manners and class, honor and respect for this position of power? It simply has been beaten out of priority.

We live in a country that has 6 story high billboards of women in underwear but doesn’t want to be so put out as to see a woman breast feeding in public. We watch shows of death and violence, sex and power and allow this filth in our homes where children are being raised to be upstanding citizens.  Only to scratch our heads when teenagers shoot up schools. The uneducated arrogance that gets to root for their race over all others, and has the audacity to actually believe, through and through, that because there is a difference that must mean one has to be better than the other. The mean spirited rivalries in sports. Teaching our children that loyalty is better than grace.

Looking through the eagle eye view at the country we live in, the world sees injustice, inequality, corruption, oppression, addiction and citizens who aren’t even batting an eye at it. The world looks into this Christian nation and laughs at what a mockery we are next to people who live good, humble and noble lives without a single belief in a higher being. The Christian Nation who has done so much less for their own, then what non-Christian nations have done for others. Walking out of million dollar churches, many parishioners drive past the slums, the ghettos, and the homeless. Making sure their car door is locked. Those who live with more than just thoughts of themselves; those who are kind, caring and not afraid to help others. This is what we should be standing for. Those who don’t act on the basis of some ulterior motive. Children, at a young age when they have not yet been initiated into the American mindset, are like this. People who have a passion for something, anything and putting it to good use, this is what we need more of in our neighborhoods, communities and towns.

People like my mother, who opened an entire recycling center in the late 90’s when only a few dumpsters would have done the job.

People like the teenagers that formed a cheering section for the juvenile detention center basketball team, because no one was there to cheer them on when local high school teams came to play them.

People like the numerous young entrepreneurs under the age of 12 that have seen a need in their schools for children who didn’t have lunch money or went hungry over the weekend. Children taking action to do for others because there was no reason not to.

Imagine your city, your street if you knew more people on a personal level. Celebrating life’s great events. Like my sister Carrie who put together a party at the local park, paying for the band and bringing people together for the experience of community. If community meant more than the fancy name of some subdivision in some cookie cutter suburb that can be found in every state of this country, then imagine who we might have running for President instead.

There is a great war going on, although here in the US we are lead to believe that we are sending our military troops in to do the right thing, the best thing for the citizens of war torn countries. That the leaders of our country are fighting the good fight. Countries being terrorized by the very rebels we armed when we needed them. The US has currently built up military fronts on the western border of Russia, with more troops than what was at the height of the cold war. The US has stock piled more and more nuclear weapons than any other time in the history as a country. The US Military has trained with Australia ways to block China from getting through to the Middle East for reasons we are not quite privy to. We killed millions in Iraq, Yemen, Libya, Somalia, Saudi Arabia, Syria and who knows where else over the last 10-15 years, but most of us don’t know anything about that. Most don’t know that we’ve sold weapons to rebels, countries and military groups that are engaged in genocide, war crimes and worse. A lot of Americans can’t understand why so many foreign countries look down on us in disdain. We the people are the bullies of the world. We have our freedoms and insist that everyone else have our same governmental ideology. No one else in this world has the right to be anything but like the American way. A homogenous world of American democracy looks a lot like a dictatorship. Comply or die.

We have been living in beautiful ignorance for far too long. My mind churns out ideas for change. My heart hopes for de-escalation of the war stances that the US and Russia have taken. I think of my niece and nephew, playing in my parent’s pool. Swimming and laughing because they don’t have a care in the world. Going to sleep in beds that are in houses on quiet streets. And just as I get to that sweet image, I have flashes of Trey covered in the dust of a bombed out city. Running over rubble, with thundering sounds of bombs and guns. How can I protect him? How can we protect our children, our families from the inescapable judgment the world wishes to unleash on us, for the doings of our government leaders. The nations’ citizens will be judged for the crimes of their leaders.

This terrifies me, for our leaders have a long, bloody atrocious list of crimes.

May peace find you and may you share it with the people you meet.  

So there I was...: I found the broken pieces of my heart on the top o...

So there I was...: I found the broken pieces of my heart on the top o...: So there I was- sitting with three amazing women that I had gone to Bali with last year. It was as if we were still in that beautiful villa...

I found the broken pieces of my heart on the top of Big Bear

So there I was- sitting with three amazing women that I had gone to Bali with last year. It was as if we were still in that beautiful villa, cocooned in our vulnerable but safe haven in Kuta.  A place that felt like the safe shelter of the covers that you hid under with your brother or sister when your parents were fighting. It's interesting that at the top of some random mountain (Big Bear, CA) the 3 of us could just start where we left off. It seemed as if I had just seen these sisters last week. As I had looked forward to this trip in August, even though I found out it ruined my 40th birthday surprise party, I felt so blessed to have worked through so many things with them in the past and would now enjoy the hysteria of our combined personalities. We were all pretty damn funny and entertaining! I'm not sure if it was my slight panic (is panic ever slight? ok.. not panic- maybe fear) of heights riding up the ski lift, or the altitude of 7400 ft- but for some reason our lunch at the top of the world unraveled me completely. Trust me when I tell you that I didn't see that coming.
Having lunch over the excitement of getting out of a stressful, life sucking job, celebrating the journey of starting a Master's program, even tiptoeing through the giddy anxiety producing new relationship and all of the hurdles these events required jumping, there was confidence in the path ahead - the 4 of us had all seen transformation after Bali. None of those 3 scenarios were me of course. No- from left field came, from a glued together, broken space, a barrage of pain. I believe I even said in stunned awareness, Holy Shit. As in Holy Shit, I need some serious therapy.
If you've read either of my blogs, the other being thriveingratitude.blogspot.com, I talked last fall about vulnerability. I had met a man that I saw wonderful things in and I hopped onto a ledge based on mutual verbalized thoughts and said that we should be exclusive. He said no. It was a crash landing that I NEVER want to experience again. Ever. On the top of our small space in California that afternoon- besides reliving that rejection, reliving, the now conscious understanding that my request for exclusivity was in fact a ploy to minimize my vulnerability, I allowed another devastating blow to escape my subconscious. Wait, make that plural- blows.
We all have events in our lives that help set the timeline of our lifespan- besides birth and death that is. Reaching puberty, first kisses, losing our virginity, graduation, marriages, children, divorces, deaths of relatives, maybe even our own health scares. We all go through these things for the most part. Some more, some less, but I am certain that we have all been scarred in some way shape or form. It makes an even playing field.
No.
No on so many levels, no. This idea of a "playing field"- some universal space that we are all destined to go through the same struggles of life, as if it is some 'rite of passage'. NO. (Sorry Mom- ya may wanna skip a few lines, I mean- paragraphs). My field has it's own land mines, and I would never minimize your land mines to make us even. Our fields are not equal. The pain each and every one of us carries is inescapably our own private anguish. Thankfully or not, the subconscious does a great job of hiding these unfortunate scars.
I gave my virginity to a guy that I loved and cherished, beyond measure. We waited until the timing was right and on a beautiful night together, it happened. Of course it was awkward for me because- well, it's sex. It wasn't the first time for him, and the shear anxiety I had about my naked body alone was enough to make me want to puke. As I shared this story on Big Bear last weekend, I felt like I was that young woman again. I felt the shame of it come to crumble my thin layer of self-esteem, all over again, because after "the sex" was done- he accused me of not being a virgin; The guy that I had on a pedestal put me 6 feet under. I had given all that I was, to him, and he called me a liar. I couldn't tell you anything about the rest of that night- his words left me with only one small memory. A memory to never give all of myself to anyone. I'm not sure if he believed my pleads of honesty about it, not that it mattered. When I gave him all of me, he left me feeling unworthy of being loved physically and emotionally. He was not intentionally planting these feelings in me. I can see from his point of view that he meant to believe that I was a virgin, but the act of sex itself didn't allow him to perceive that I was.  There is more to it than even just that, but it's various other histories that are not mine to tell. What I can tell you though is that it was just a week ago that I realized that one night, 23 years, 13 days and 2 divorces ago, I broke a piece of my heart away and buried it so deep that I only found it on the top of a mountain.
It still makes me want to puke just thinking about it. Now that it is being carried on my sleeve, with a few other pieces of my heart that I have uncovered, I want to drape myself in beautiful linens and never lose these pieces of my heart again.
Why am I showing you this shame? You may think- shame? Why is she calling it shame? Brene' Brown talks about shame and vulnerability and I'm sure I've mentioned her before. She defines shame as the belief of being inherently 'bad' (unworthy, less than..etc) and guilt she defines as doing bad. We've all felt guilty about something- hurting someone's feelings, lying to a friend, even calling out sick to work. But this? This is my shame. Even more- my shame is that I do not feel strong enough to to try again. Remember that ledge last fall I thought was a safe bet, but ended up being devastated once I got out there? That I was told in no uncertain terms, that I was amazing and such a great match, but that even with those qualities, I wasn't enough- yep, it's on my sleeve too.
To add insult to my vulnerability resilience- earlier this year I was told by someone that I love, someone that I would give my life for, that I was "fucking stupid for going to Greece because I was helping people that would come to the US and kill us."
I was shamed for being someone that I thought was good and decent, that I thought would make them proud of me.
These events, these happenings came out of me and flooded the air around us on the top of Big Bear. I started and couldn't stop and the wide eyes of my Bali sisters only made me think that my sleeves were bleeding and making a mess, and I never wanted to be thought of as a mess.
If this were you talking to me, I know what I would tell you- I would validate that those are some seriously heavy things to work through. I would tell you that one of the most difficult things has already been done- the realization of the self-protective walls that have been built, and acknowledging that those walls are keeping wonderful things from happening and need to be taken down. I would tell you that in all of those painful memories were people who reacted out of fear and misunderstanding on their part and not on the inherent truth of who you are as a person. I would tell you to stop carrying their projected pain around.
In this shirt of broken pieces, I feel safest with those arms wrapped closely to my body. There is less of a feeling of being vulnerable. Wearing this shirt, with the broken pieces of myself on it's sleeve, I do laundry, go grocery shopping, read, work, visit my family and friends, attend church, laugh, and stare off into the sunset. The view from Big Bear showed me that when I wear this shirt, I do not trust, date, care or even hope for those things. I can not bear it. I do not seek friendships with the new people I meet. Instead, I project onto others this emergent need for them to help the hurting children in this world. The children of Syria and South Sudan. I project onto others the belief that there should be no support for someone who shows contempt or disdain for women, this man who is so narcissistic and foul to my senses. Who would certainly call me names and belittle me if I were ever so unfortunate to be in a room with his ego maniac self. An arrogant, racist bigot running for president no less.
These uncovered pieces of my heart, that have taken rest on my sleeve, don't feel like they are bleeding so much anymore, but that they are fossilizing and shrinking, one sleeve on top of the other. At times I even find myself blaming men for all of the world's ailments. Women are not raping and pillaging African villages. Women are not beheading captives or burning children alive. Women are not beating refugees in the streets or at the borders. Women are not buying toddlers as sex slaves. I feel the bile in my throat and the anger in my heart. Which makes me realize that the security of my closely wrapped shirt is nothing but an illusion. Because when I look at myself in the mirror, I see that it has become a straight jacket. And it is heavy. I am weary of the prospect of healing these wounds. Opening scars of such caliber may even be more painful than the original injury. I ask myself what good it would do. That someday I may fall in love again- not worth it. To foster truly meaningful, deeply connected friendships- I've got as many friends as I need. To have faith and hope in the human race- have you seen our presidential candidates? To have hope that I am worthy, good, decent and lovable- and can trust others with my wounds- sounds good - but ultimately, I must heal these wounds because I want to be a light in this world. I want to be a smile and a loud laugh. I want to inspire others to do the same. I want to show the world that my scars exist but will not nail me to be an unmovable heart. I want to grin and say I have hurt much more deeply than this sweet child. I want to lean in and whisper- "Those pieces of your heart were not yours to keep. Now, it's time to let them go find their true owners, because sweet child, the more of your heart you give away the more you get in return."
I do know one thing for sure- just by allowing myself to write this, to show up and honor my ability to do the best I know how to do, then and now, I have gotten the love and support from the only person that makes a difference, and that's me.

So there I was...: Divided we fall

So there I was...: Divided we fall: There was a coup last week where the military attempted to overthrow the government. In multiple cities, with bridges closed by tanks and s...

Divided we fall

There was a coup last week where the military attempted to overthrow the government. In multiple cities, with bridges closed by tanks and soldiers. Many were killed and many more were wounded. The civilians, the citizens that have lived there all their lives, wouldn't stand for it. They rose up and supported their elected officials. They killed soldiers and police officers, and one could argue that they became the barbarians that they rose up to defeat in the first place. The President has continued over the last few years to chip away at some of the very freedoms that were embraced to begin with- journalists getting arrested maybe killed. Being defined as more of a dictator than anything else. Borders being guarded by armed men who have shot and killed families as they were seeking shelter from a worse hell in their own cities.
The President has detained thousands upon thousands of soldiers and police officers. The homes of many are full of families scared to leave their shelter, because of - their government? Their neighbors? Their armed forces? Who is out there? A self proclaimed militia of the people? But does that mean that the people agree with the military or the government? Is the government on your side? Or against you? The location of their homes and schools may dictate whether they are seen as likely enemies of the state. Maybe they have had discussions about the dictatorship and oppressiveness of this President. Maybe they too, like the military, felt that changes should be made. That the elected officials no longer work in service of the people, but in accordance to their own political agendas. The foreign policies of which have left their country vulnerable to attack from not one but potentially two sides of opposition forces that they have no control over.
The parents, children and young adults who have not encountered an experience like this before, they agonize over what is good and what is right. They saw their best friend get shot in the head as they were fleeing from the chaos between the military and the citizens fighting for their country. Dead. It happened to many that night. If it wasn't their best-friend it was their auto mechanic, or their high school teacher. The confusion of why and who fades away to the need to survive. Seeking shelter, you pass your neighbor but not the version of him that you have always known. He is not fearful, he is enraged, but shoots at a couple of people that were attempting to move to a safer hiding place than between 2 cars. Only one got a chance to get to safety, but the shock of watching the life leave the body in front of him, left him frozen, unmovable in that very spot..
What will the months to come bring for these people?
This was Syria, Turkey, and I beg you to imagine the possibility of it being the US. The divisive course our country in on, the embracing of hatred and the belief that your government is against you- maybe trying to take your guns, what would it take for a coup to occur here? Racial relations are worse than after the Rodney King incident in LA. If you are a minority, who do you side with if you don't side with the government? Safety in numbers? Or do you take up arms and defend to the death what is best for you and your family? Your neighborhood? Your state? If you're a black man in America, who do you side with? Anyone but the white man merely out of principle? And you, the white folk in the US- feeling persecuted for your success, your unfound fears of  Muslims, Hispanics, African Americans- who else is on your side? Anyone at all?
Now I ask you? What has had the biggest effect on the decisions of  "judgment" against our fellow man?
What has planted the seed of inequality and unjust treatment; of being used, mistreated, overly taxed, and robbed by the government; of your belief that you are more deserving than others, or maybe just that some are less deserving than you?
Your personal experiences? I doubt that to be true for the majority of Americans.
It's the Media. The media has force fed images and ideas into the mainstream that has us forming sides against each other. The doctor who has taken care of you for the last few years? He's different colored. The firefighter who has risked life and limb regardless of race, color, age, or address- he's not even originally from the US? The nurse who cared for your father- she speaks English with a thick accent? Your soldiers, that have fought to protect our country, might just be from some of those Middle Eastern Countries that you think are full of terrorists. So think about it- whether you are Trump or Clinton fans. Whether you are American or Foreign, Black or White, Man or Woman.. Is the venomous debate through a computer screen really making a change for the better? Is the bashing of someone because of who they vote for going to bring positive changes in this country? Does the media give rise to  the end all be all of pot stirrers? The answer you are looking for is yes. How about we worry more about working together towards better solutions than losing friendships over various media postings that have slanted the truth, if not out right lied, to push their agenda. Coming together for good will bring us all closer to what we all want. So I ask you to stop and listen. Stop trying to spout off reasons for not hearing. Can our concerns really be so damningly different?
Our country is not immune to treason, dissention, and attacks from within. So should we look at that possibility in an honest effort to find common ground before we find ourselves hiding between cars, locked behind doors and unable to distinguish between friend or foe?
You might be asking how?
Start with your next political conversation, your next post about the killings of black men and police. The next rant and ridicule against your government that you have every right to ridicule but also have every right to work at the city level, county level to make changes. Keep your finger pointed to yourself, because if you cannot find a place of peace and compassion inside of you, you will never find it in someone else.

I say enough already

I walked under a weeping willow tonight- I felt the heaviness of my worries, sadness and anger. So many things going on in the lives of those I care about. It was a beautiful night. It's easy for me to say that. I am cocooned by the certain anonymity of my life. I can enjoy the simplicity of a clear sky and lightening bugs. I have no worries in the grand scheme of things. Are these wrinkles starting to freak me out? Hell yes-ish. But, when I peel away social expectations, they don't bother me at all.  I come from a small family, a small town, and even though I was not raised in any certain way, be it Catholic, Christian, atheist, etc... I hold some things to be unwavering truths. Clearly written in stone. Black and white.

The rape of another person is wrong. There is not a position in society, or a color of skin that should ever give that a free pass. There are no circumstances, conditions, or assumptions that make rape ok. 

That goes for every age, every sex, every culture. Rape as a weapon of war- apparently being done in our own military, should be considered more than a war crime. It is NOT ok. It is not deserved by any woman, man or child. It is NOT. It is not morally acceptable for Giants to crush ants just because they are bigger, and just because they can do it and get something out of it. If you take advantage of people because of what you have and they don't- you are raping them of something- maybe a job, money, education, maybe credit where credit is deserved. If it is not yours- it is not yours to take just because you can.

Abusing children falls under this category. Children are to be protected. Any sick, twisted, person, especially parent, that makes their child perform sexual acts with animals, should be put to death. There should be no concerns about "vocabulary" and "definitions"- the violation of the sacred relationship that SHOULD exist between a parent and a child, should be punished. The punishment should fit the crime- not be debated over because of historical language. When will it be okay for the average man and woman to stand up and say enough is enough?? Who is fighting for those kids?

If you have guns in your home, and the consequence is the accidental death of a child or family member- then guess what- you should be held responsible. When will common sense prevail? When will people be held accountable? You thought it was funny that your 4 year old took a picture pointing a gun and throwing up gang signs- then laugh when that child at 16 kills someone, or gets killed by someone because he was made to live and "be" beyond his years. Your child? Your punishment. Under age- means parental responsibility. If you can't get control of your child then you might look and see if you even have your own shit together. Stop letting kids watch violent movies. You have the right to say no. Stop letting children watch shows or movies with sexual content in them.. if you don't think it hurts them, then I ask you to take a look around at the world we are living in and say "Do you really think it helps?" Do children even enjoy childhood anymore? Are they allowed to become bored and whiney because there's nothing to do? Are they allowed to be told they can only watch 2 stations on cable? Are they allowed to have their TV time limited? YES. yes. Yes. YES. For the love of all that is good and right- look around you. How are you living? Keeping to yourself and your family. Not intruding on anyone else, even though you might suspect something is wrong? It is our fault. OUR fault that this world is becoming unsafe for children, women, the elderly and the poor. Where are the real men in this world? Where are the men that are showing up and standing up for their wives, their daughters, their sons. Why aren't we celebrating them? 

It sickens me. People would rather be politically correct than morally responsible. Who is your judge and your jury? Your government? The criminal justice system that allowed OJ Simpson to go free? Or pretty boy Brock- who only gets a few months in jail, when it's all said and done? If you're happy that the US Government supplies you with your moral code than I say- how about aiming higher? How about standing up for what is right? Our citizens who have volunteered to protect this country should never go to sleep hearing the traffic on the bridge above them. WE, as the benefactors to the services they provided should not look away because they are addicted, and/or mentally ill. No one ever said freedom was going to be pretty. And look at what they have fought for- what do you see?

Look closer--- can't pinpoint it? It's an apathetic society unconcerned about how their lifestyle is actually possible. Ungrateful. Arrogant. And I hate to lay it on the line like this- but we are going to get what we deserve. A government who considers soldiers expendable- who do you think they will throw under the bus when the soldiers run out? How will this world fair when society actually debates over the lives of a child and a gorilla? Have we nothing better to fight for? You're voting for Trump- great. Clinton- fantastic... How about we start giving a shit about our neighbors, our cities, our states- putting as much effort into our communities as we do with our foul mouthed, name calling, and offensively arrogant judgments of the people who vote opposite of us. We are our own worst enemy. But let's go ahead and treat each other like bullies on a playground so that the real issues get handled. Because that has always shown to be an effective way to run a society.

Is living every day minding my own business good enough? No. For me it is not good enough. There are things that I can do. There is an impact I can make. There are so many people in need. Yes- there are many who abuse that privilege- but standing by and doing nothing isn't an answer to that dilemma. 

Doing nothing is certainly not working. 

I'm sorry but I'm deleting you- It's not you, it's me.

In 3 months, I will be 40.
I want the next half of my life to be different. More accurately, I want the next 20 years of my life to be different. The last 20 years have been fabulous. Absolutely across the board, even the most horrible parts. It's actually the last decade that most of those horrible parts took place.
Sitting on the verge of 40, I realize life isn't meant to be a Facebook post. That entertainment held in my palm will only leave me empty handed. My mind and my body have suffered from this need to preserve my milestones and mishaps on social media. I find myself checking my phone. Which is funny, because no one calls anymore. Like when I was in high school and would pick up the receiver to make sure there was a dial tone and that the phone was actually working- in case someone special might be trying to call me. Now, we look up from our phones to make sure we don't run into things, that no one is trying to get our attention, or if the stop light turns green.
No offense to my friend's list- but there are few and far between any people on it that I really want to be sharing my life with, or more importantly should be sharing my life with. My closest people are bunched in with a lot of acquaintances and their importance to me becomes greatly diminished in a newsfeed of unimportant, trivial, and misinformed posts.
I have been an irrelevant peeping Tom in so many people's lives, that I have forgotten to keep my deepest friends and family relevant to my life.
My infatuation with inspirational videos, memes, and juicy gossip is going to continue, but only with people that I would feel comfortable giving a totally authentic hug to the next time I see them. I want rich relationships. Personal and important. So for almost all of you I am saying goodbye. I wish you well and pray for your health and happiness. Remember- don't believe everything you see or read on the internet, being small minded keeps your life small, and most importantly, don't forget to look up and interact with your world.
I must go- there is a bookshelf with 20 or more books that I haven't read, hikes I haven't taken, and an unknown number of amazing people I haven't even met.
May peace be with you-
Brooke

The plight of a refugee is the plight of humanity- Leros, Greece

There are many times, too many to count, in my life that I have heard and told no one, that I have seen and said nothing, and that I have watched and done nothing. In every heart breaking instant there was a choice. Still, on the Island of Leros in the South Aegean Sea, these heart breaking moments certainly continue. The moments are different than the moments we see on an average day on an average street that we frequent in the comfort of our neighborhood, our town, our state, our country. Certainly racism, sexism, ageism exist universally. In a half square block of space, called “Camp”, occupied by various nationalities- Syrian, Afghani, Iranian, Algerian, Moroccan, British, American, Dutch, Swedish, Greek, and more – peace existed in the hope of having enough. Enough time, enough money, enough sleep, enough food, enough shelter, enough hope. The haves and the have nots become somewhat blurred. Volunteers working to find enough warm jackets, water, food, and shelter for these refugees. The refugees hoping to just keep moving forward with enough momentum to see them to their new homeland.  Needing enough warm clothes for the entire family, needing enough people with open minds, hearts, and lives to continue to make the long journey even possible.

These women and children, families and young men want what we want. More accurately, want what we have; an average day, on an average street, in a safe neighborhood, in a safe town, in a country they can call home. Their home country, that they love and that every one of them hopes to return to someday, is imploding. I heard of a young man who was going about his usual morning routine on his way to work, you know- stop at a sidewalk kiosk and get coffee and smokes… but one particular day he just turned and went into the café instead. Stepping into the café by about 2 steps, his familiar sidewalk kiosk blew up. He tells of remembering himself laying on the floor covered in broken glass, blood, and rubbish. He didn’t know if he had any “holes” in him. After he and a few other survivors helped the wounded get out from around the dead, or more accurately pieces of the dead, he went to work. He sat down in his chair and thanked God for saving him.

The best analogy that I came up with to describe what is going on in Syria is actually inspired by the ‘The Walking Dead’.  If you haven’t watched the show, don’t worry, I will explain it without the need to have.     There comes a point in time where even the good guys have to become bad guys, if they want to survive. This survival mechanism is adapted in various, uncountable ways (which is why the show will continue almost endlessly). There are the main characters of the show and then there are other living folks that they always come upon on their journey (to who knows where for who knows what). One such group had an interesting philosophy- you are either the butcher or the cow. The people, let’s call them group 1, had been previously rounded up and used for whatever whim the other living folks, group 2 had. All whims perpetrated were generally crimes against humanity, up to and including death.  Thus, group 1 took to overtaking group 2, vowing to never be taken to “slaughter” again. So when new people arrived to their compound, such as the main characters of the show, group 1 was sure to be the butchers and not the cows. Kill or be killed. Sound familiar? In Syria, there are various butchers attached to various “meat markets” for lack of a better description. It seems the whole country exists of butchers. Kill or be killed. At least, that is what is portrayed. The cows don’t want any part of any of the meat markets because number one they are vegetarian and number two none of the meat markets run a reputable, honest, humane business that the cows believe in. Most herds of cows tried going unnoticed, laying low in the shade, just doing everyday cow stuff. Living under the radar didn’t work really. Groups of cows ended up getting together to fight against the butchers, in effect becoming butchers themselves. The various meat markets believed that only THEIRS should exist. So, butchers went about killing off other butchers as well as any cows that were in the path.  There are even butchers coming from other areas of the world, because they want to support the meat market of their liking. Many of the cows have been killed, as have many of the butchers. Cows that could be of use to the government meat market will be forced to be butchers. The supply seemed unlimited; until the cows decided to jump over the moon, by becoming refugees seeking asylum anywhere that offers them safety for themselves and their families (not a theme in the Walking Dead of course). Cows are of all ages, economic status, education, gender, and religion. They are students, doctors, firemen, mothers, fathers, and criminals. None are perfect and they do not claim to be. They had only a few things in common: wanting to leave and wanting to live. Butchers force the military aged males to the frontline. Unless they can pay the fee (which changes at the whim of the government or even the fee collector, sorry I mean butchers). Even if the fee is paid, it is paid only to buy a window of time to leave Syria. If that window closes, then the cows become butchers or worse.

In a ridiculously over-simplified and under imaginative way- this is how I understand the climate in Syria, and some other parts of the Middle East, to be at this time.

I am not writing this as an exact fact of every detail. I am writing from what I have seen and heard, from the people who have lived it. None of this worried me when I felt pulled to go to Greece to help. I was as certain as the sky is blue that just going would be my protection. Probably sounds weird but let me explain. Refugees from various Middle Eastern countries are seeking asylum in countries that will open their borders- Germany, England, Sudan, Lebanon, Jordan, etc. The people have so little with them. Only what they can carry in bags and unfortunately what their minds continue to carry for them. Being with these people in need, even if they are terrorists taking the long way around, they gain nothing by harming those along their path. What is the use of terrorizing, on an island, with no escape but the sea? I wasn’t worried. Sometimes my mind works down the simplest path possible.  

I got a call from the organizers on the day I was going to take the ferry to Leros, saying that Doctors without Borders and Greece’s emergency medical group, Praxis, had gotten to Leros and took over all the medical care. Long story short- I wasn’t really going to be needed as a nurse for the entire length of my stay. In reality, only one night of my stay on the island was spent in some resemblance of a medical fashion. I was offered the opportunity to be connected with the organizers on Lesbos but I declined and headed to Leros anyway.

I arrived at 0430 which was a bit disorienting to me. The coordinator, Anna, as well as two other women met me at the boat. This was Saturday morning and after a short nap they showed me around the small area in the city of Lakki that was processing and caring for the refugees. It wasn’t much, maybe a half a block. The Camp was sandwiched between 2 rectangular shaped buildings. The front building held the donations and was called “Storage”- the back building had the 2 boutiques that the refugees would “shop” in to get proper clothes, shoes, and jackets. The front building looked as if it was last used in World War II. The back building looked like the skeleton twin of the front building: windows broken or just plain missing, without doors, mold of green, black and other colors- in the US it would probably meet criteria for being condemned. There was a fenced area that the refugees had to go into to be processed properly by the border police and then they would eventually get out into Camp. All rock covered ground, with rows of “tents” (maybe 10 x 14 hard plastic huts) that would be allocated to the refugees on arrival. All in all the Camp was able to accommodate 300 refugees comfortably, 350 pretty snuggly, and 400 in a pinch. Within 24 hours of my arrival there were over 900 refugees in Camp.  

The arrival on Leros is different than the arrivals frequently seen on the news with the rafts of refugees landing on the island of Lesbos. Either way, refugees went through Turkey to get to one or the other. I imagine the trip through Turkey to be akin to the Underground Railroad that slaves used here in the US. In the dark of night a guy tells you to quickly go stand across the road and get in the bus/truck/car that stops to pick you up. Then you hide out waiting with others that you know are there, many you see and many that go unseen. Until you hear “run, run, run” and your group gets into the raft. A raft meant for 35 bombarded by 60 or more. Taking off into the dark night surrounded by dark water, and being left by the captain of your raft to fend for yourself whenever he gets picked up by another boat. Human trafficking, otherwise known as the “journey of death” by some refugees, at its best. Some refugees are prepared for this experience- knowing to watch the weather and the tide, having the GPS on their phones up and running, and learning how to remain calm over all. Knowing to go with the current and not against the waves- saves those who knew. Refusing to go in overloaded boats and being patient for the right circumstances. The kiss of death for these rafts is the taking on of water. Too many people weighing down the raft with too many waves from rough seas and running into rocks that punctured holes in the rafts- these caused the rafts to sink. Lifejackets cannot save a person from crashing waves repeatedly holding them down, at least they cannot save the life, but maybe the body.

We all know about the 4000+ refugees drowning in those dark waters. I had the honor of talking to a group of men from the British Royal Navy who were aboard the Vos Grace- a large boat that has some other specific duty that does not consist of the search and rescue of these “shipwrecks”, but was put into service for that very purpose. The morgue on the Vos Grace had reached capacity more than once from what I gathered from hearing the various stories. The problem wasn’t in finding the dead, it was in identifying them. One gentleman talked of having to bring in the mothers to identify their deceased infants. Infants that had been in the water for many hours. More than life was missing from some.  I’m not sure Stephen King could even describe such a horrific scene. I asked myself what would be worse- being able to identify my baby- or not being able to. This same gentleman told me that on one particular night as he was trying to sleep, he just couldn’t get the image of a deceased infant in an adult body bag out of his mind. It clawed at him until he went to the morgue, took the infant out of the adult bag and wrapped the child in a blanket and placed them on top “because babies are not supposed to be in body bags.”

If the rafts of refugees made it to the island of Farmakinisii (I have no idea how to spell it- and not sure if that’s the island’s name or the Greek military base’s name) they were greeted with a biscuit, water and any piece of ground they could find suitable to lay their bodies on. No blankets. No shelter. Refugees would burn lifejackets to get warm. The fumes of which made them sick and whose damage, I fear, will be long lasting. Weather permitting the refugees would be ferried over to Leros, once the boat or boats were available. There was a 16 day old, an elderly man that required a wheelchair, women in all stages of pregnancy and every age in between. All in some form of shock or possibly complete and utter denial. Once they were allowed to disembark the boat they got to stand in a line. Not unlike cattle now that I think about it. Eventually they would be escorted to Camp. Blankets were handed out, small snacks, a mat to put between their already beaten bodies and the ground, waiting to be let out of this tragic nightmare that was just another day on their journey.

I felt useless in a way. I couldn’t speak anyone’s language, including the Brits if they really got to going. So I did the next best thing. I started using Google Translate on my phone. I could talk into it and pick which language I wanted it to translate to- it felt a little Star Trek-ish and was time consuming, but it was better than nothing. When they talked back in Arabic or French or whatever- it would translate it to me in English. It was a huge win in my book, but Abdullah was a God send. A Syrian, 25 years old, Abdullah could connect me to those I was trying to communicate with. He did not just translate the words we spoke, he reflected our worries and concerns. They trusted me, because they trusted him, and that trust built a bridge between all of us involved.

I remember meeting Abdullah on that second night of chaos. He appeared to be translating for his family, what Charlotte (who spoke what I considered to be great Arabic- as if I have any authority to say that) was trying to tell them. Charlotte, a 21 year old French-British Cameron Diaz looking girl, was the volunteer heading up the logistics of putting people in huts, tents, etc. or in this case finding anyplace even remotely useful as a place to lay their heads. I always seemed to be interrupting her with the most ridiculous of questions that I just couldn’t get answers for- like, where do we get more blankets? Everyone would patiently and gracefully pardon my interruption while I got an answer and another task to take care of.  It might have been the second interruption or the 22^nd, I can’t remember but I realized Abdullah was translating for everyone. He followed me after being given an errand and said “Let me help you.”  Which of course my first response was “Oh no that’s ok. Have you eaten? Do you have everything you need?” Which may or may not have been answered when a young family stopped me and were in obvious need of an important answer. Google Translate would be like dial up whereas Abdullah was high speed and guess which was more preferred? I thanked him after the questions were answered and he said “It is no problem. I want to help.” It only took me 2 days and a bazillion attempts to get his name right. After the 2^nd night, or was it the 3^rd, I took a day off.

The average day of a volunteer doesn’t exist. The days usually start with a volunteer meeting at 0900 to see who is available to do what and with that number of people, what exactly could get done? The feeding of bottled fed children was its own warhorse. Sterilizing bottles, getting the right amount of the right formula to the right child, 4 times throughout the day. The prep was done by volunteers and the families did the feeding. There was the general operations of the boutique- getting the donated clothing items on tables in some sort of type and size that could be looked through quickly, as well as the replacement of those items, as they got lower and lower over the course of the day. Trying to stay ahead of the needs of the next refugee family coming through the boutique doors, the “runner” would shuttle bags from storage to the boutique on a pretty continuous basis. There were volunteers that helped hand out meals and volunteers that helped with sorting in storage. And on it went. And then, on some more.

There were other jobs to be done as well. The Villa, a building off of the block, was an area reserved for the most vulnerable women and children, and Pik-pa was an area off the block for the most vulnerable families. I never got to any of these places- there seemed to be jobs better suited for the more short- term volunteers and those didn’t really include these other areas.

Around 3:00 pm, another meeting of the volunteers got together with those doing the “late shift”- 5pm to 11 pm. A general idea of a plan would be made and life in the Camp moved on in a constant state of adaptation to the current needs required at the time.

Children began to laugh, run, play and chase. Smiles crossed faces and spaces and devastation segued into breathing a bit easier. The refugees walked the harbor when the sun was up and the winds were warm and calm. The small island town of Lakki got a much needed boost to their economy by those eating and shopping in their establishments, volunteers and refugees alike. Clowns without Borders visited and boosted the spirits of the Camp. The only thing left to do was wait for the ferry and the papers that gave the refugees the right to get on it.

Abdullah traveled with his brother. They had become a small circle of people that would gravitate towards each other during meals, announcements, and the like. Abdullah himself was constantly being asked to help out with translating and by the end of his stay on Leros, he was probably known by everyone. On my day off, I took my laundry to get done and wandered into a bakery where I bought a bottle of water and what looked like an éclair. At the last minute, I got 2 eclairs. When I stepped out of the bakery, I saw Abdullah walking down the sidewalk, earbuds in, relaxed.

I gave my extra éclair to him and we walked around, up and down, the many little streets in Lakki and even further toward the center of the island. We talked a lot about God, blessings, faith, and hope. He described what living in Damascus had been like and what it had turned into. He talked about missing his parents and his nieces and nephews.  He reminded me of myself when I was 25, and perhaps even myself now, since the years in between have been said and done. I guess the best word would be hopeful.

As I woke up to continue this blog post this morning, I’ve read gut-wrenching news about refugees and volunteers being treated like – I can’t even find the words. I can’t seem to hear my thoughts through my tears. I can’t convey to you the madness that is happening. I sit here in absolute fear and anguish seeing that the nightmare is real- volunteers and refugees are now being treated like criminals. By assisting sinking boats, Spanish lifeguards are arrested for human trafficking. How is saving lives a crime? Someone please tell me. They opened the borders and now those borders are becoming walls. Walls that I fear will make the Berlin wall, and all that it stood for, look like playground equipment. Those inside Syria in areas under siege are being starved. Refugees caught in the purgatory of no longer being in Greece but not yet in Germany are facing imprisonment/detainment/ abandonment- the options seem bleak and none are what was being offered to the refugees when the borders were opened.

I say this here and now- terrorism did not cause this- the media gorging on society’s fears of terrorism did. Ask yourself who is controlling the media and in 100 years the next generations will tell you what they gained from it.

Abdullah was last with the Red Cross at the Macedonian border. That was Saturday. There is only silence now where his updates used to come through. Every time I look at my phone I say a prayer that he will be there.

In between the anxious thoughts and useless worry, I feel a force that steadies me. I want to kick, yell and scream at all the injustice I see, real and imagined- the needs of the people are hard to tear my eyes, my heart and my soul away from but yet I surrender to the stillness. There, in quiet sorrow, He comforts me and He hears my prayers in every tear drop.

For my fellow people of faith, I offer up these verses to you:

Book of Daniel: verses from chapters 11 and 12    “The king will do as he pleases. He will exalt and magnify himself above every god and will say unheard of things against the God of gods. He will be successful until the time of wrath is completed, for what has been determined must take place. He will show no regard for the gods of his ancestors or for the one desired by women, nor will he regard any god, but exalt himself above them all.

“At the time of the end the king of the South will engage him in battle, and the king of the North will storm out against him with chariots and cavalry and a great fleet of ships. He will invade many countries and sweep through them like a flood. He will also invade the Beautiful Land. Many countries will fall, but Edom, Moab and the leaders of Ammon will be delivered from his hand. He will extend his power over many countries: Egypt will not escape. He will gain control of the treasures of gold and silver and all the riches of Egypt, with the Libyans and Cushites (people from the upper Nile region) in submission. But reports from the east and the north will alarm him, and he will set out in a great rage to destroy and annihilate many. He will pitch his royal tents between the seas at the beautiful holy mountain. Yet he will come to his end and no one will help him. At the end time Michael, the great prince who protects your people, will arise. There will be a time of distress such as has not happened from the beginning of nations until then. But at that time your people- everyone whose name is found written in the book- will be delivered. Multitudes of people who sleep in the dust of the earth will awake: some to everlasting life, others to shame an everlasting contempt. Those who are wise will shine like the brightness of the heavens, and those who lead many to righteousness, like the stars for ever and ever. But you, Daniel, roll up and seal the words of the scroll until the time of the end. Many will go here and there to increase knowledge.”

We will not know the day- but we should live as if it is today.

The least of these-

Tonight will be my first night working in "Camp". Working 11p-7a. I arrived at 0435 today and it already feels like it's been days here. The group I am with are being responsible and resting up for the night ahead. After a few hours of almost sleeping, I decided to get up and see if I could watch the sunset from the docks. Here in Lakki (name of the city) on Leros Island, the shoreline of the harbor is clean, quiet and the sidewalk is dotted with various benches. It is not a beach town but it is beautiful. What I never realized when hearing about the Greek economy and the government going bankrupt (if that is technically what happened I do not know, it's just my understanding at this point) workers are not getting paid. Government workers, transportation workers, military, police .... I'm not sure how far reaching it goes, but what is usually considered "on Greek time", is much, much worse. There are so many empty store fronts, abandoned buildings. Skeleton in appearance, as I expect most island destinations look when winter comes, if the island is not in the tropics.
Walking on the sidewalk, or boardwalk as it is on the water, I see a boat being untied from one of the tie outs along the way. As I looked across the harbor I understood why it was not at the real dock. It was not a real boat compared to the monstrosity of a cargo boat was coming in to the "real dock". As I passed the little boat and I hear it get started up, I imagined how incredibly seasick I would be in that boat. Then the damn thing blew it's horn and I about stroked out from the fright it gave me. I've always been a bit jumpy anyway. This was a whole new level.
The big cargo boat was apparently parallel parking at the docks, and now that it had pulled around I saw the name of it "Vos Grace". I realized it's cargo would be the 400 refugees that were expected to come from the military island of Farmakinesae (I have not googled how to properly spell that). A far cry from the luxury Blue Star Ferry that I had taken from Athens. I took my pictures of the sunset that seemed to be rushing behind the two hillsides protecting the entrance to the harbor, when I notice a cat sniffing at my coffee cup that I sat on the ledge of some forgotten ledge to nowhere. Her 2 kittens peered out from behind the shelter of a forklift with a flat tire. Momma kitty had a sad, almost desperate cry as she followed me closer to the water. I know that this was probably just me projecting my desperation onto her. I feel so desperate to help. In this 30 minutes of walking to the dock and back to the sidewalk outside of Camp, nothing was really happening around the Vos. I sat down on some concrete thing that was not a bench and was not a tie out, but it made a good enough seat. I prayed. God had put the call into my heart to come here. He aligned the stars and those near to me to make this trip happen almost effortlessly. I just felt a little disconnected from that purpose at that moment. "Show me" was all I kept thinking. Show me why you brought me here.
The view of the part of the boat that the refugees were exiting from was mostly obstructed. Unfortunately, the long, single file line was forming towards the gates of the reception area. All different shapes and sizes. There was no luggage being pulled behind them like the 100's of people that got off the ferry with me. The light of the evening pressed down enough to show the general outline of the folks. Nothing more. The visual instantly made me think about those who had watched a similar situation. Instead of exiting a boat, they were entering a train. Instead of a refugee camp, a concentration camp. The irony that Germany figures into both situations did not escape me. I would tell you that the cool wind made my eyes water, but I would be lying.
The line of displaced souls stopped moving and so I decided to move along. I went back to one of the two places to eat in Lakki. It was named 7 Gates and it was the best wi-fi in town apparently. I sat down near a young woman who had a chunky cherub of a baby girl on her lap. The baby was happy as can be with her oatmeal yumminess. Extra cute was the little bit that formed a mustache. Is not it the case that babies make the best ice breakers and conversation starters? The little one's name was Chaplin (like Charlie, her mom said- also ironic that she had the same mustache as her namesake). Her Mom spoke English perfectly, with a hint of an accent. From Sweden, her and her husband had been on the island for 2 months. He worked for the United Nation's branch for Refugee aid. The Camp was built by this group.
As we talked, she said that the arrivals that just docked would make 400 for the day; the good weather encouraged the Greeks to do a mass exodus of the refugees off of Farmakinesae. The Camp accommodates 300 refugees, 350 tightly squeezed. I have in mind just how busy our night was going to be. I am not going to tell you Mom's name, as I did not ask permission. I know, I know. But I'm using her baby's name. It is what it is at the moment.
I mentioned the weather, as it is a good prediction of how many refugees show up and she added that any day without a shipwreck was a good day. My obvious question was "Does that happen very often?" You can imagine the unfortunate answer.
She began to tell me about the weeks of Christmas and New Years. "We lost many, many people. Most of them children."
My next obvious question was how did the ships wreck- and so a translation is needed here..ship = raft. Almost 100% were caused by the taking on of water. Whether by stormy seas or the appearance of a deadly hole in the raft, the results were equally horrifying.
The week of Christmas, there was a raft that sank. On arrival to camp. a young woman that had been rescued from the water befriended Mrs. UN, and shared her story. Mrs. UN can speak Arabic, so she gets a lot of attention. The Syrian woman, a mother of 4, was fleeing with her children, her mother, her husband and her brother-in-law. There were only so many life jackets but even that did not save her children, as the waves were too strong for their small frames. She was the only adult that survived. She was able to keep a hold of her youngest baby, just a month older than Chaplin. The young woman knew that her baby, in her arms, died about 4 hours before she was rescued. She had no one. There was no one left from her life. The conditions in Syria are so bad that this possibility, losing your family or even yourself, was a risk worth taking. The bodies of these fleeing lost souls were retrieved from the water. Or, as in Turkey just yesterday, the bodies wash up onto the shore (37 in this particular case).
Then, like a light bulb, it registered why I was here (one of the reasons anyway). I am here to write this tragedy into being, bringing it into a human form. Sharing the grief of the refugees, the volunteers and the Greek natives on this island.
I ask that you share this post. Every news clip and internet article I've read or watched has this political air to it. The reality could not be further from the truth. One million refugees fled in 2015. There are 2 million more trying to escape. These are families just like the ones we've all come from. So many are voiceless or silenced by whatever media agenda is the favorite of the day.
Fear of isis (I do not believe they deserve capital letters) and Islamic extremists attacking from their version of the Trojan Horse, is abundant in the US. The collapse of Europe has been suggested from one of my own family members. I'm of the opinion that it will not be the acceptance of refugees into the European nations, or even our own, that will cause mass destruction. It will be the refusal of them that will. Martin Luther King, Jr. said it best "You can not destroy hate with hate. Only love can do it."
Or better yet, Jesus Christ who said in John 13:34, A new command I give you: Love one another.

January 4, 2016

So here I am, after months and months (and months) of not posting to this blog, needing a place to speak on some important issues. I have been cheating on this blog by writing another one.  Thrive in Gratitude was the blog I started after a little come to Jesus meeting I encountered in December 2014.

My inspiration for the following is spurred on by the too numerous to count articles that go something like this- '15 things women need to do before they are 40'; '20 things I learned in my 20's'; 'Why your 30's will be your best decade ever'.

As a woman, I feel like 90% of articles read like a grocery list. I'm pretty sure the 10 best moves to have a bikini body never worked. I'm absolutely certain that the top 5 fat burning foods haven't been all that was promoted of them either. And for the record, there has not been one resolution, New Year's, or otherwise that I have ever kept.

It's petty. All of these notions of generational wisdom and split second self improvement are toxic.
Let's face it- there are no 2 lives, regardless of what generation they are or are not in, that are full of the same struggles and supposed growth and knowledge that has come from the triumph over said struggles. And if there is ever a resolution to have, it would be to STOP READING BEAUTY/FITNESS/GLAMOUR MAGAZINES. They are the most passive aggressive bullshit slingers you'll ever encounter.

Take a step back for a minute. Pan out from the lens of your life's video recorder and look around. Do you see all those men who walked off the cover of GQ magazine? No you don't. So, why in the hell are you putting yourself up in comparison to some extreme standard that even the models have to be airbrushed to make. Aren't you over it, all that self inflicted soul crushing negative talk that seems to ramble on continuously in your brain? Don't you just want to say 'Shut Up already'?

Now, take a huge leap back from yourself and forward in time. Maybe it's only been a few months that you've spent time with the bitch in your brain, but I'd bet it's been a very complicated long term relationship. So, 2 years, 5 years from now- are you still going to be listening to the biggest liar you know? Are you still going to be held down by the fact that you're not a multi-million dollar making model, who still gets airbrushed? More importantly, are you still going to be living your life on that small of a scale? Folding in on your life instead of expanding? (Shut up. no I did not mean your waistline). The world is passing by and you're on a self loathing treadmill, riding a pity train through the life that you don't really find fulfilling anyway. What in the hell for?

I met a woman, 100 years old mind you, and her son, 67 years old, today at Panera Bread. She talked about their travels when they went around the world. Around the WORLD, not the block, or the USA, the freaking WORLD. Her favorite place was Kenya (Africa keeps calling to me!) and he found it hard to narrow down. Rio for partying he said. Sri Lanka was a favorite and when it came up that I was traveling to Greece they both enjoyed telling me how they had gotten so drunk on Red Zenith when on a greek island, that they looked just like those 2 drunks you always see in the movies, with elbows interlocked, swaying and singing all the way back to the hotel. I don't know how old the duo was on their amazing adventure of world travel, but I could tell it lived in them. Adventure that is. I asked how they afforded such a wonderful lifestyle to take the trip and the time. He said they lived cheap and traveled cheap. They both loved being in the world so much that having a simple life was part of the joy.

I would like to point out that neither of them said that they got some great advice from a to-do list in a magazine. Neither of them said they worked super hard to get in the best shape, have the best job, and the perfect hair before their journies. What they did do was sponsor an African family in Kenya with 6 children, and put them all through school. Visiting the family in Africa and sharing in their lives made the simple life they lived feel extravagant. Two of the African children are now living in Florida. What an impact this family has had on theirs.

I have lived a lot of years, A LOT of years, full of disgust for myself. Life was generally easy and carefree, but the longer I listened to the bitch in my brain, the more I struggled with depression. Until I couldn't even stand taking my next breath. How sad to have lost so many lifetimes in those years. I know that the biggest changes came when I started being grateful, for everything. Seeing the beauty of life in some of the ugliest places. I've been lucky to have the nursing profession as a form of therapy. Helping others, caring for others, giving to others of yourself, these things can affect a person's mood. Do these things on purpose, and it will change your life. Stop trying to be perfect and start being happy. If you don't know what makes you happy, which I didn't really know, until I stopped being so "self-centered", then I suggest you take a long look in the mirror and acknowledge the person looking back at you, because you haven't spent enough time taking care of her. She may even seem like a foreigner. If you're looking at your reflection and you don't see someone you love, I humbly suggest you find ways to figure out why. I'm a strong believer in therapy. It's some of the best money I've ever spent. Your life will suck until you like, if not love, the person you are living it as.
I have one other nugget of advice- live for something bigger than you. I'm not talking on the level of your husband, children, family, I'm talking about something that breaks your heart and punches you in the gut when you hear about it. Those things, those passions, are where your humanity lives and giving of your time, energy, prayer, money, whatever, will have a positive, lasting ripple effect in your life. In your well-being and happiness.

Happy January 4th. May you let your heart rule your brain and not some bitch.
Love,
Brooke