Measuring a subtle assault

Intent…? Energy…? Entitlement? .. what goes behind a move or touch?

Aye, there’s the rub.

My disability means I’ve lost a lot of feeling and dexterity in my hands which means I often ask people to dig in my pockets for house keys or needed items. It’s not a big deal. People overcome their discomfort at the close proximity the awkward intimacy, dig in, find the key and move on. 

He is a driver for a service that takes me to an appointment. He is one of those people who’s desperation for connection permeates the air. From another country every woman is “baby”. When putting the seatbelt on me his face is always too close to mine. Does he imagine like a romance novel we will kiss as he leans across my body? My head swivels so far to the left I’m peering into the back seat until the click of the seatbelt and he has shut the door.

The key was in my right pocket. I like my deep pockets on this puffy coat. He digs in and gropes for the key but the energy is different: his hands move and move. Is it the angle or is the key that elusive in these deep pockets? Why does the coat move, shifting center? His hand lingers a nanosecond longer than a brush between my legs trying to find the key. I flinch. He finds it and opens the door.

The violated feeling does more than linger it takes up residence and visits so that you shudder at the thought. The offense was but a nanosecond but it was there. I was not assaulted or raped; I was touched inappropriately by a man who has driven me several times to appointments, who I’ve had casual conversations with. The encounter wouldn’t register to him…And there it is: the difference for the assaulted and the perpetrator in the case of a subtle offense. A matter of energy not even intent or is it entitlement?  Did this man plan to touch me inappropriately?  No. He took advantage of a situation he found himself in – a freebie in his mind. His sense of entitlement, towards women combined with his desperation justify the nanosecond thrill. But for me the damage is done in a nanosecond, the offense so subtle to anyone but me.

The subtlety of the offense is why Brett Kavanaugh, Clarence Thomas and countless other people cannot understand why their behavior can be construed in such strong and offensive terms and words such as “assault” or “perpetrator” and why such language doesn’t apply to them. But we, the assaulted won’t let them off the hook. Can’t let them off the hook. It’s a basic lesson in human dignity:  that one persons interest, wants and/or desires cannot overshadow another’s even for a nanosecond. The thought that it can is entitlement stemming from the basic belief you’re superior to another person. For these people human dignity seems to be nuanced, their entitlement takes root allowing them the opportunity to always be the innocent and maybe even the victim while the real victim questions their own sanity.

I didn’t say a word. Should I? Could I? It was a nanosecond. But does the time negate the offense? Not to my spirit and being. Because I asked for assistance have I relinquished my rights to complain? In that moment that’s how I felt. Here’s the problem: perpetrators will never recognize or be called to account if people don’t speak up. In the moment I couldn’t, his energy overpowered mine and that’s how the cycle continues. So to any future victims of the subtle, nanosecond assault here’s some things to remember:  Your dignity as a human is never in question. If you’re uncomfortable in a situation honor that feeling and do what you need to do. The measure of time doesn’t negate its offense. NO ONE gets to touch you even for a nanosecond. And to any future, quickie, freebie thrill seekers: your actions are not harmless nor free. Trust me, someone paid the price. 

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How I’m praying these days…

If you don’t know me let me tell you who I am: I’m peacemaker. I am a liberal, spiritual, charismatic Roman Catholic who subscribes to Catholic Social Justice teachings. I love people. I’m an artist that worked in corporate America. I tend to be blunt because I don’t believe in wasting people’s time. I’m African-American. I’m a woman. So to say that I was horrified by Donald Trumps candidacy, campaign and ultimate win is an understatement. Throughout his campaign the one thing I kept saying to anyone who would listen was that was coming out of his mouth was vile, but what was more dangerous was the energy that he was putting into the country:  the hate, the intolerance and violence.

Everything in my life goes before God: from the seemingly mundane and ridiculous to the major questions. I believe that God created the world, gave it to us but also gave us a pesky thing called free will, which means that unless we seek God (as St. Paul says “even grope for him”) we cannot expect him to help us. We must ask.

I’m not necessarily questioning how our country got to the point of electing a demagogue like Donald Trump.  I love my country but like being in a relationship you kind of have to be realistic about your lover’s imperfection. We are prideful, arrogant and we have turned our back on some of God’s basic tenets namely to love our neighbor like ourselves which means loving the widow, the orphan and the refugee. Dirty words in our society are things like humility and surrender, words that when their proper definition is applied we should be using more than the “I” that starts everything in our popular culture (as I write this post on my iPhone!). The definition of humility is to be free of pride or arrogance; modest: to be humble although successful. The definition of surrender is to yield or resign (an office, privilege, etc.) in favor of another. But truthfully, I often think of surrender as simply letting go

We, as a nation can be greedy and apathy has become a way of life as the art of personal contact and relationship diminish with our increased reliance on wireless communication. If you’ve ever had a fight or “meaningful” conversation via text with a millennial, you know exactly what I mean and get the picture of how I believe we got to this point. But the question is how to get out of here and beyond wailing and grinding of teeth how do we pray to stop the torrent of darkness and hate that has been unleashed? How do I pray for Donald Trump? How do I love him as a brother in Christ while his actions repeatedly affront Christ’s teachings?

Philippians 4 tells us to “Rejoice in the Lord, always” to “let our gentleness be known to all” and to rely on Him. That seems like an impossible task in the face of a Donald Trump presidency where his right-hand man, Steve Bannon, cites Hitler and Satan as power icons. But, despite all, rejoicing in gratitude is where I begin my prayer every day. Hebrews 13:15 calls it a “sacrifice of praise”. Despite my fears I am sitting with a roof over my head, food in my kitchen and my belly, surrounded by love and family. So I am incredibly grateful for all the gifts God has showered down upon me and I thank him for those. Next I move on to Scripture, going wherever the Lord leads me. Lately it has been the theme “four” meaning the fourth book of any part of the Bible and It has yielded some interesting reading.

After scripture I go to prayer petitions for myself, for people I’ve said I would pray for and since the election, I pray for our country. I ask the Lord to forgive us for our pride or arrogance and apathy, and to have mercy on our land. I often quote 2 Chronicles 7:14”if my people, who are called by my name, will humble themselves and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and I will forgive their sin and will heal their land.” And it is based on that promise that I pray, asking Lord to have mercy upon us and forgive us because I believe that God can do anything and he can save us from this present ‪force of evil.  When I pray for Donald Trump and the people in his administration, I often pray that they will have what I call a Damascus experience: that like St. Paul, on the road to Damascus to continue his work persecuting Christians, the Lord struck him down and spoke to him, completely changing his course. I pray that for Donald Trump and his administration. I pray that the hatred, indifference and greed exhibited already be halted.

I continue my prayer by clothing myself with Full armor of God as described in Ephesians 6:

• The belt of truth around my waist
• A breastplate of Uprightness,
• I wear shoes of eagerness to spread the gospel of peace
• I carry the shield of faith
• The helmet of salvation and
• The sword of the Spirit, that is, the word of God

 

And then I surrender myself to God by reciting the Suscipe of St. Ignatius of Loyola:

 Take, Lord, and receive all my liberty,
my memory, my understanding,
and my will:

All I have and call my own.

You have given all to me.
 To you, Lord, I return it.

Everything is yours; do with it what you will.


Give me only your love and your grace,
that is enough for me.

 

I end by saying affirmations and then traditional prayers of the “Our Father”, “Hail Mary” and the “Glory be…”

Prayer changes things. It’s not passive it is active because when we pray and LISTEN to God we can receive instructions, guidance and peace. If you are not already, get in the habit of a daily prayer routine and feel free to use any or all of mine. I offer this to you as a tool to build up your strength and faith, and to combat ‪the darkness in our world. But remember: REJOICE; be at peace and surrender it all to God for nothing is impossible for God.

Amen

 

 

Object Lessons

I’m often quite grateful I’m not a parent in this day and age. I really can’t imagine the pressure parent’s are under to navigate social media, copious unrealistic sex portrayed in entertainment, increased violence in media, cyber bullying and a pop culture littered with Kardashians and Miley Cyrus… Yes, I’m aware I sound like an old woman.

I posted this on Facebook. And it caused quite a few discussions amongst my girlfriends. It made me think a lot about how girls dress these days, the messages they send and receive in media & pop culture and how the male population perceives them.

And this is a billboard I pass on one of the main thoroughfares where I live. Study it closely before you think it’s just another add for a nudie/titty bar and who cares. Catch the end of the line?“…And 3 ugly ones”.

It’s not easy being a girl (or woman) and never has been. Everyone knows our collective history – we’ve been coveted objects and property, and in some parts of the world we still are. But to me, a woman being objectified is worse than being property, because it completely negates our intellectual value. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a girly-girl I like dressing up and being pretty; I love shopping, clothes, makeup and high heels – Love it all! So this rant doesn’t come from an anti-femininity standpoint: it comes from a place of wanting all women and girls to have the right to be pretty or beautiful by their own standards and not have to worry about how men will perceive and handle it. I mean, really – “three ugly ones”?! So you can point and laugh at them? Who was the judge anyway? But most importantly, where does the audacity come from to say that?!

So I have to ask: What are we teaching boys? If it’s left to the media and pop culture are we telling them that women are only worth their beauty and sexual appeal? That as men, they are expected to grow into guys who are not expected to control their urges and act like animals? That they’re “poor, baseless natures” are not expected to do anything else in the presence of a beautiful woman except drool and have sex with her? Forget her intelligence just focus on her tits? That’s the shame that both of those pictures bring to mind. The shame of our society: that as we’ve increased in knowledge and technology, thus making our lives more efficient and accessible, we’ve decreased in sensitivity to our fellow human beings… and in this particular example those fellow human beings are women (I’ll save race relations for another blog).

I’m not a parent, so I will not get on the soapbox about parenting. Everyone knows that attentive parenting can navigate this crazy world. But I will get on my soapbox about media and pop culture -as much as I love it, I can’t say I like the messages it sends. Whereas the focus should be about empowering young people, male or female, to stand in their power as intelligent individuals with beauty coming from the inside out, now more than ever the message is beauty comes from the outside in. So no matter what beauty lay inside it is completely shamed into nonexistence by pop cultures ever changing mood thus reducing pretty people, especially women, into objects of desire.

I wish I knew how to start a thought revolution so that even with the existence of copious unrealistic sex in media, nudie and titty bars we could dial down the objectifying of women… but I don’t have a clue how to start the revolution. All I can hope and pray for are good parents who are leading their children through the maze of sex, media, Miley Cyrus, the Kardashians, violence in the streets and the double speak of the religious right. All I can hope for is that the young woman sent home because her clothing distracted boys from heir studies, decided that despite the plethora of emotions she was feeling, shame would not be one of them… and that at least 85 of the 100 “beautiful girls” and all three of the “ugly ones” are using their income to pay for college and become doctors, lawyers, educators and business owners.

THE MAGNIFICENT 7

Last week I heard about seven deaths. None of them were my inner circle but they were the inner circles of my circles. Four were unexpected; one was a battle with cancer and a life ended too early and two were octogenarians with lives well lived.

I thought I was acquainted with death. My parents taught us that it was a corporal act of mercy to bury the dead so I kind of grew up going to funerals and my mother died when I was 16. But the death of these seven people, that are not close acquaintances, taught me I’m not acquainted with death: I’m acquainted with fear. The fear of losing those close to me.

Tuesday’s funeral was a writer, poet and artist, Brooke Stephenson. His was the first of The Magnificent Seven, and not that one can really compare, the most shocking. He was 41, dancing at a wedding and dropped dead. I’ve heard in death he had a peaceful look on his face that meant he was probably gone from the earth, in his joyous state, before he hit the floor.

These deaths made me realize that when someone dies I lose my mother all over again and enter into a panic about losing anyone close to me. As I watched Brook’s family, his close friends who flew in from New York and especially his beautiful girlfriend (stunning in a white dress) mourn him I was devastated by their grief. How is it that one minute you’re with your best friend or lover, laughing and the next minute he’s not physically with you? I just don’t know how they’ll recover… And, selfishly, I’m not sure I will either.

I’m clingy this week, and I think I’ll be calling people and reconnecting for a little while. I’ll be loving and hugging a lot. I just can’t get enough of the people I love. Life is precious- it’s a cliché but clichés are based in truth. Every person who passed last week has a group of friends and family who are lost right now. For the ones who died unexpectedly their friends and family are probably like zombies and you can’t blame them but in my experience no death, whether expected or not, is easy.

My faith teaches me that the Magnificent 7 are indeed magnificent, they are glorious in heaven. But those who loved them are a little less brilliant at the moment and only God’s grace will give them a glow again. My faith also teaches me that for the family and friends of Brooke Stephenson; the young father killed on his motorcycle; the air force veteran killed flying solo; the mounted policeman who had a heart attack; the brilliant PhD in Sports Management taken too soon after battling breast cancer and the two beautiful matriarchs 83 and 91 respectively, that for those who loved and lost them, I am called to glow and be light for them as best I can.